Jack Bunburry drinks and writes
There is a bottle sitting in front of me. I can’t be entirely sure, but there appears to be something floating at the bottom of it. It could just be backwash, but it could be something entirely different. It looks a bit like an answer. There’s no way to know for sure. Well, there is one, and it looks like that’s what I’m going to have to do.
I’ve been at this for a couple of hours now and I haven’t found one yet. Other than the obvious one that drinking is absolutely wonderful. Most of you will not be unfamiliar with this concept. But I should say, I think there are good and bad reasons for drinking. None of the reasons you’re thinking of are good ones.
That was an aside. The more pressing matter is what I will find once I’ve had a bit more of what’s sitting in front of me. I have tried this before with varying degrees of success. Scratch that, success is the wrong word. It may be more fitting to say that I have endeavored upon this pursuit with varying degrees of unsuccess.
With the benefit of alcohol I have attempted to prove the existence of God several times while citing various sources in my defense. In case any of you were wondering, Frank Miller’s Batman is not an excellent source. The Apostle Paul is slightly better, but only slightly.
This is not to say that alcohol is not always beneficial. I mean, don’t get me started on the many great historical figures it’s benefited. Ulysses S. Grant was supposedly a better commander under the influence, Truman Capote was a massive fan of drink, and Hunter S. Thompson was…well he was just Hunter S. mother f-ing Thompson if you know what I mean. What I’m saying is, if it worked for them it can work for me.
I know what you’re thinking. “But author whose unconvincing pseudonym I completely refuse to use,” you say, “Thompson killed himself, Capote died from complications due to alcoholism, and Grant only managed to squeak by ahead of poverty because Mark Twain paid him an ungodly sum of money for his memoirs.” “Yeah,” I say, “but reader who I’m projecting my own feelings of self doubt onto, so what?”
No, that isn’t a good comeback. No, you weren’t thinking of any of that. But I’m drunk and I’m the narrator here, aren’t I? So it looks like you’re just going to have to find a way to deal with this. I’m not The Sun, so sadly enough for you there isn’t a surgically perfected pair of breasts just a few pages away if this starts boring you. Instead it’s just a bland story on what some sports team is doing.
I like my odds against that.
On the other hand, you’re probably sick of idiots talking about how awesome drink is and how much they can have. All of those people are full of it. Freshers and lads I am talking to you. If you are delusional enough to believe that you’re wild or rebellious for imbibing something that almost anyone can legally buy in a shop then you need to rethink your definition of rebellion. While you’re at it, rethink your life because you’re probably a prat.
This sentence you are currently reading took me a while to write. This has nothing to do with me wondering what to say. It has everything to do with a debate I’m having with my friend. According to her, I drink too much and what I’m currently pouring into a mug was her birthday gift. According to me, I’m doing some very important research for this article. But where was I? Oh yes, good reasons to drink.
For my part, I am drinking right now because my friends are convinced my drunken rants are good enough for publication. This is not a good reason. Yesterday I was drinking because my mind became preoccupied while I was alone with a conviction I once had in an illegal state of mind. While I’m dishing out advice, don’t read existentialist philosophy on drugs.
On Friday I showed up to a society event drunk because a friend of mine and I had a tiff. Tomorrow I will probably start drinking as soon as I find a bad excuse. All of these things have one thing in common and that’s that they’re god-awful reasons to drink.
I bet you think I’m going to finish by telling you what a good reason to drink might look like. In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have any. Actually, I’m going to finish writing it by chinning the glass of vinegar tasting white wine in front of me and going home to pass out.