You Wouldn’t Dare!

I can’t have empathy like that because I have never had a gun to my head.

Really?  That’s it?

This post was supposed to be called 100 Days of Drinking (in La Crosse); however, my recent trip home was more sobering than festive in almost every way.  Like so many have said before, most notably  Bukowski, in some form or another; its not the big things that make us snap its the small things, like having to tie a shoe lace, that is what pushes us over the brink of mental collapse.

I am not crazy because I don’t feel like I am crazy.  I don’t read about crazy because I don’t care about crazy.  I am not obsessed with things that I could careless about, or things that would most definitely effect me in an adverse way.  If you believe it, then it is the truth.

Imagine that novel idea.  I am intrigued by money, genius, food, sex, and, my favorite, death.  I will Wiki search just about anyone’s death and skip all of their life stories.  Its interesting to read how others have died.  Ha, ha.  What?!?  I enjoy this.  I am not crazy and I probably will die in a punctual manner.  I believe that anyway. Imagine that.  The description of my Wiki death  will read as boring, or it won’t even be featured.

What I was going to write would have probably consisted of how drunk I became and/or how I wound up on a friend’s couch, or how I had sex with someone randomly only to be shameful of my animal motives later in the weekend.  None of this happened, well some of it happened, but not the exciting bits.

The first night I had a date with a girl I hooked up with in High school a bit, but I knew the date would fall through so I told my family we would hang out all night.  The date fell through as predicted and family time happened.  Everyone discussed my visit, asking me why I came.  Like, “why did you come down, when are you leaving?”  Ha, ha.  We hung out until it was their bedtime.  I then proceeded to my friends house.  We talked about problems, basically the whole time.  I have a smoking problem, red hands (Raynaid’s Phenomenon, to readers who do not know me in person and don’t understand my obsession), and a drinking problem.  The funny thing is I know all of this.  I am embarrassed to the point of obsession about most of these ailments.  I also think they are funny and hilarious, because if I didn’t have a drinking problem I probably wouldn’t have acted like a retard ever.  I had to use the R-word cause you all know when a person is acting like that, and not in a bad way, its a very descriptive word.  Whatever.

I then told my friend that if he obsessed about things then they would become true.  End of story, he is a genius, I am a genius.  He is a Gemini, I am a Gemini, we won’t change each others’ minds.

Part 1 of this story turned out surprisingly well because I did not want to drink, or get drunk, or hook up with someone, so the night was successful and I ended up sleeping on my friends couch.

My hangover the next morning was not horribly bad and I drove to breakfast at The Nutbush Bar and Grill.  I tried my best to refuse a drink, but my Aunt insisted that she didn’t drink alone and everyone suggested I would be the only person to help her out with her wishes of not drinking alone.  I had a few sips.  It was pretty good, but the coffee was much better.  My throat hurt from my cigarette problem, which took hold of me the night before, and my hands were not red yet because I hadn’t consumed enough caffeine and/or nicotine.  I had a Veggie Omelet with no cheese and some slices of ham, cubed, by my Aunt.  The ham was also great. My Uncle Rust got mad cause he was not offered the choice ham, waaaaa, cry babies.

My family then drove me to Goodwill, my favorite place ever!  Where I purchased a Johnny Paycheck cassette tape and 2 VHS movies:  The Shining and Home Alone 2 (motherfuckin lost in New York, Son!).

This visit was going great; however, I almost shit my pants and had to use the public restroom.  If there is one thing I hate more than anything it is using a public restroom to drop a big soft one, especially, on/in the plumbing of the city of Shelby, Wis: Land of Christian ideal, equals embarrassment central for bodily functions i.e. farts, and fucks.  Not only was it loud, but I required a shower after this visit.  And because of splash-back issues I had to throw my shirt in the trash.  On the real it was an irregular day for me because of the amount of hard alcoholic beverages I had been drinking the night before.

The reason I drank so many hard alcoholic beverages and not beer, causing this BM to go awry, was because I was told by my photographer/model scout that I was amassing a beer-belly.  I could lose my modeling career because of this, so the only option was to switch to the hard stuff and work out at the school gym.  See me on this one in a few weeks.  I am killing it with 8 minute abs.

The rest of the day I sat around milling over leftovers which were in my Mother’s fridge, and messaging on FB chat.  If there is one thing that FB chat is not good for it is getting me laid.  There is no way in hell that FB chat will ever get me anything other than a headach and massive amounts of wasted time.  (sidenote:  La Crescent is the worst place to try and pull a girl, everyone knows this, and you, and its kind of a game.  Wait…  No, its a joke.  Its actually a funny joke.  Its funny cause I tried to not try.)  I talked about movies, locations, likes, dislikes, and I don’t know, interesting shit to people I didn’t know, but I knew they lived in La Crescent, or in the area…  Like ask a person something about themselves, they will be interested in you for this, people love talking about themselves.  Everyone loves talking about themselves.  Ask any question about a person’s life and they will love you, but everyone does this nowadays, so ask everyone.  They will also talk your ear off for an hour or two about the most boringest shit.  I mean probably it will work, but you will pay.  This conversation was a pile of dogshit.

After the dogshit stopped piling out of my mouth, and my ears were piled to the brim with dogshit I took a shower and put on some fresh gear.  Upon doing this I thought my favorite pants were lost and I almost started crying.  I cried to my Mom and she laughed at me, and told me to grow up with her eyes.  I marched outside and got into my car and drove over to a friend’s house, because I was pissed about my fucking khakis.  I missed about a million phone calls and everyone, at this point, thought I moved back to La Crescent from Minneapolis.  I had to explain this one to everyone which was ridiculous.

That night I went out, got left at the bar on account of illness, and wondered back to watch lovers make pancakes.  I had a missed call from an unknown number.  I called it back.  My friend Jane had had something horrible happen to her.  She said she was rough.  I went to hear aid.  Gun to her head and stitches, at the moment.  I stood in silence as the dog searched the ground around me for a spot to relieve itself.  I held her, I couldn’t believe it.  I thought I had it bad, others thought they had it bad.  So when you think you have it bad, you don’t.  Don’t bitch for one second.  I had raggin’ my ear all night before this only to find that there was something really wrong with a real person.  Not something imaginary.

Boom!  I was put in the situation.  I drove there and found this.  Black eye, I still loved her, she knows, shacking.  Stitches, she is getting better.  We watched horrible movies, laughed, and cried.  I passed out on a couch with my feet in the air, because it was too small even for short-person me.  She passed out on the couch next to me.  I pulled my couch closer to her’s before I finally went to bed.  I covered her with a blanket, I kissed her head and told her I loved her.  I had never seen something so fragile mistreated so maliciously.  One eye swollen shut and strangulation marks about her neck, her fair skin showed the contrast of hatred and beauty.  I love her and I hope she is safe.

We woke up and had breakfast at Marge’s in North.  Her two sisters were there with some other young adults.  Everyone asked what happened, I told them we got into a fight as a joke.  I told them we worked things out-The other reason is in jail awaiting prison, and hopefully death.  Some pity laughs and obviating conversations from the crowds.

Other people asked if it was me, Terry, the writer?  I had to tell them it was.  I signed a few autographs for some kids and a few mom’s breasts.  We got doggy boxes and left.

The rest of the day I drove my car around drunk.  I won a six-pack at the bar because I have the ability to know probability and apply it correctly to a dice game.  I gave my chips to Jane and she sat at the bar for the rest of the day.  I drove home after 10 shots and 5 beers.  I imagined telling the police officer that I was handcuffed to the steering wheel and I had no other option, but I had no handcuffs and I really didn’t forsee myself talking to a cop.

I got home and everyone had left.  I was abandoned again, so I thought of some new jokes to write, or some lies to tell, so whoever reads my blog can ask me if I really did that?  Yes, I did.  I drove back to the bar and found her sick and tired.  I took her to her sisters and told her I loved her again and drove to my Mothers.

I became fervidly passionate about Nascar for the first time in my life and then I did homework.  I called her again and discussed how to focus and not drink so much, which I had very little knowledge on.

All in all this weekend was pretty decent, extremely random, and very insightful.  If anyone tells you they have a problem and its extremely petty, please slap them in the face for me and tell them to grow up. Get over it because death and physical violence are harder to get over.

I had fun, but my ambitions to write 100 Days of Drinking was squashed.  Enjoy the week and watch out for the sun.  It is up there, sometimes its just behind a bunch of clouds.

P.S.  Asshole at The Bodega in downtown La Crosse,

Don’t fucking rip my flyers down either, I am trying to get hits, okay?




About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks:
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One Response to You Wouldn’t Dare!

  1. motion0aware says:

    That was pretty mean, but definitely honest. Just ignore me the next time I am hurt. Well, maybe next time will be the last. That’s ok then; say a nice eulogy. Better to listen to a hurt mind than a tombstone perhaps. Next time I’ll make sure to have more visible injuries. I’ll ask the man: “can you make sure I get more than just brain damage and loose teeth?”

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