Women | Beer | Mama's Boys

The Mama's Boys Manifesto =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- \/\ The Conscience of a Mama's Boy /\/ by +++ netmunky +++ Written on February 22, 2000 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-      Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Student Arrested in Sign Stealing Scandal", "Mama's Boy Arrested after Sign Theft"...      Damn kids. They're all alike. But did you, with your Boones Farm Wine and Bartles and James Winecooler, ever take a look behind the eyes of the Mama's Boy? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him? I am a Mama's Boy, enter my world... Mine is a world that begins with the bar... I'm drunker than most of the other kids, this crap they serve us bores me...      Damn underachiever. They're all alike. I'm in The Library or The B&B. I've listened to bartenderss explain for the fifteenth time how to hold your liquor. I understand it. "No, Mr. Smith, I didn't sip slowly. I slammed the drink..."      Damn kid. Probably puked it up. They're all alike. I made a discovery today. I found a bottle. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it spills, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me... Or feels threatened by me... Or thinks I've had too much to drink... Or doesn't like serving and shouldn't be here...      Damn kid. All he does is drink. They're all alike. And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through the checkout line like a snow cow at a doughnut shop, and a ride is procured, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... Econo is found. "This is it... this is where I belong..." I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...      Damn kid. He's not making friends, he's making drinking buddies. They're all alike... You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at the bar when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to serve found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of beer in the desert. This is our world now... the world of the whiskey and the vodka, the beauty of the bourbon. We make use of a drink already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us alcoholics. We mix drinks and slam shots... and you call us alcoholics. We seek after road signs... and you call us alcoholics. We exist without showering, without studying, without clean boxers... and you call us alcoholics. You mix bad drinks, you have bar fights, you steal, cheat, and don't serve us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the alcoholics. Yes, I am a alcoholic. My alcohol is that of whiskey. My crime is that of judging people by what they slam and drink, not what they look like. My crime is that of drinking you under the table, something that you will never forgive me for. I am a Mama's Boy, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike. +++ netmunky +++