Drunk Poem

This poem is gonna be—oh, wait, I can’t say ‘gonna’ in a poem.  No slang contractions.  That’s not allowed.  Okay.  This poem is going to be about what it’s like—oh, wait, that’s another…but it’s not a slang contraction, so it’s okay, right?  Okay.  This poem is going to be about what it’s like when you spend all your time alone and you…  Wait.  I think I forgot the poem.  I lost it.  Yeah, I did—wait.  …  No, yeah it’s gone.




Really all I wanted to say was that my poetry book just got published.  It's only $3.99 and it's in print!  That's cool, huh?  I think you will like it if you don't like the above paragraph.  I think you will also like it if you do like the above paragraph.

That is all.

There are links to buy on my other blog.  Not puttin' 'em here.  Too lazy.  Long day at work and on my 3rd glass of wine right now before me and the gang go see Prometheus tonight (woo hoo!) so there you have it.


Guys, guys, guys, FYI: I am using the term 'gang' loosely and I'm in no way implying that we carry guns and knives or any weapons really besides our rapier wits;)


Although, some of us (not me) have inherited or simply been gifted various weapons like and including guns and knives.  My fiance has what can only be described as a short sword, which was given to him by his dad for like no reason.  There wasn't a holiday.  Apparently they were just having a sale on swords.  I dunno--this is Texas, what do you want?


Our friend Corey, my fiance's business partner, has about 10,000,000 guns he got from his dad.  And he doesn't even hunt.  At least not very much.  Or at all anymore.  There was a girl I went to school with at UNT--we swam together; I'm an awesome swimmer, don't even care that I'm bragging; it's the truth--and she was this tiny little bubbly blonde girl and she revealed to us (us being her fellow swimmers...swim-mates?) one day that she has no less than 3 handguns.  Whoa.  Hardcore blonde.


What am I talking about?


I also want to clarify that when I say Corey has 10,000,000 guns that I don't actually mean that exact number.  Obviously.  It's probably closer to like 8,000,000.


I have to stop this post now.  Or else you will all think I'm crazy.


But just remember, whenever you think about Erin Irvin as a "crazy" that really she is a "drunk".  Oh, wait.  That's wrong.  I'm not a drunk.  I am just drunk right now.  A little bit.  Not totally gone or else how would I be able to type?  So there!!  I mean, if you think this post is crazy, just scratch that word out in your head with a brain-pencil and replace it with 'drunk' just for this one post.  I rarely drink.  I haven't had any wine in too long to remember because I'm drunk right now.  But it's been a long time.  And it's merlot.  And I can't remember the last time I had merlot because it's been "all Cab all the time" for the past 6 months.


I gotta go, you guys.  Stop distracting me and trying to make me stay here on the internet.  I have to go be with the 3-D people in the other room now or else they will think I am antisocial, which I am not.


I'm not.




Oh, yeah.  PS. My poetry book is called Scrawlings.  There's a tab for it on my other blog.