A “quit your job and move to another town” moment

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Most men who work hot and loud jobs drink hard and the ones that don’t

are recovering drunks. I worked at a Steel Mill called Sheffield Steel

around the turn of the century (see what I did there) and we all drank

like a motherfucker. Guys who had been there back in the seventies and

eighties had so many wonderfully fucked up stories to tell me that I

will save for another blog but I had tell most involved hard drinks

and hookers. Even in the 90’s I would find bottles of gin and vodka

I had never heard of…… but I digress. Let me tell of a story I was

there for.

We worked what they called a southern swing at Sheffield. That means a

week of days then a week of afternoons followed by a week of midnights.

When we worked midnights we would go out drinking Friday morning at the

Lumpy Pickle (fuck you it’s not a gay bar!). The cast of drunk consisted

of myself, drinking buddies Gary and Phil, the foreman and mill manager

Michael Frickey and a few other guys. From about seven in the morning

until about 1o am. At that time Michael Frickey suggested that we go

to his house for a case or two of free beers. Who is going to turn down

free beer? So it was about 12 pm in the afternoon and Mrs. Frickey told

us nicely it was time to leave. When the woman of the house tells you

nicely to get the fuck out you get the fuck out. “Bitch you don’t tell

me what to do. My friends can leave when they want to leave. I’m the

man of this fucking house. Her response “THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU WERE

SAYING TWO DAYS AGO WHEN YOU HAD YOUR LEGS IN THE AIR AND I WAS FUCKING

YOU WITH YOUR VIBRATOR.” I was actually speechless at this. The only

thing I could think about was how there would be not way in hell that

I would ever talk to my wife like this if I know she could reveal a secret

like that. “If I was Michael I would quit and fucking move.” Is what Gary

said I we were leaving the house of Captain Vibrator (names evolving as we

drove home).

I had troubles of my own with I got home. I had told the wife that I would be

home a few hours after seven. It was closer to 1 pm when I got home and she was

super pissed. She made me go shopping with her and I didn’t get a chance to go to

sleep until 8 pm.

If you know like I do men gossip as much as women do and by Monday afternoon two

thirds of every one knew Frickey liked his wife to butt fuck him with his own

vibrator. I can honestly tell you that I would have quit the day something that

private got out.

Beers

I like beer. To the rot gut to my standby to the sublime. I don’t start drink beer

until I moved in with my future wife. The first beer I had was a MILLER LITE and I

had to eat sunflower seeds to kill the taste. My taste buds have been refined quite

a bit in twenty years and most like beers may as well be yellow water. As long as there

are new beers made I will try then. This list of beers is by any means complete. My guess

this is a third of the beers I have had.

Most BUDWEISER products: Piss water that gives me a headache.

With MICHELOB being the exception

COORS LITE, MILLER LITE, BUD LITE taste nearly the same

PAULANER SALVATOR: If I believed in a god I would say he made this beer

STELLA ARTOIS: not bad. the after taste is good

STEEL RESERVE: FUCK YOU

HEINEKEN: makes my farts smell like I eat zombie flesh

URBOCK 23: I had this beer in one of those bars that have 99 beers. This beer

was so strong (9.6 % ) I drank two and switch back to regular beer or I would

have run the risk of getting drunk in two hours. awesome.

SOL: not bad

TECATE: my standby Mexican

CORONA: If I need to add lime and salt to drink it why would I by it?

RED STRIPE: FUCK YOU JAMACA. stick to weed and rum

312 URBAN WHEAT: Don’t really know what it means but it is from Chicago and

it’s pretty damn good.

LAND SHARK: ok

LOWENBRAU: bad farts

BECKS: bad farts

ZIMA: I actually liked it

OLD ENGLISH 800: fuck you

RED DOG: ok

MILLER GENUINE DRAFT: I have had worse

TEQUIZA: my main grip is that it was so week

SAM ADAM’S: nothing to write home about

BLUE MOON: very good

ROLLING ROCK: is/was very good

HONEY BROWN: not bad

GEORGE KILLIAN’S IRISH RED: this is the only beer that I

ever liked and it just stop tasting good.

CAMO: FUCK YOU

SAPPORO: 3 out of 5

TSINGTAO: if I wanted a cat to piss in my mouth I would own a cat

GUINNESS: nope!!

On the redline

Granville_CTA_Red_Line

In Chicago St. Pat’s is one of the biggest days for white people to get shit face drunk and

take public transportation as so to avoid arrest. Not that St. Pat day is exclusive for the

whites but let’s be honest when you say everyone is a little bit Irish on that particular

holiday the Irish did not mean the niggers, spics and chinks.

That St. Pat’s day of 94′ was of particular fun for me and Tyrone because of a rather odd

happening on the Chicago elevated trains. I don’t honestly remember why I was

on the west side of the city but as usual my partners in crimes were  my brother

Raymond or my very young uncle Tyrone and this day it was both. We had  gotten off the

number twenty nine bus at state and Chicago. Drunk revealers packed the downtown area. We

went underground to catch the redline. More drunk ass people on the platforms acting out

using the excuse of some saint driving out all of the snakes from Ireland to get wasted

The three of us entered an over crowed rail cart and tried to find some seats to puts our

asses in because the Grandville station was more then a few stops up north to my apartment

and the future wife. Tyrone and I found two seats together while Raymond found a place to rest

that about three  to four in front of us. As usual he had his headphones on to ignore the

people around him. Tyrone and I had a direct line of sight on him but he was oblivious to us.

If you have ever been of a crowded “L” you know that it sways quite a bit when it’s going fast

and you accidentally bump into all around you. That can’t be help and no one really makes a

big deal about it. About three or four stops after we were seated I noticed a odd little white

guy standing over Raymond. This creepy fucker began to purposely thrust his crotch into the

side of my brother’s face. Every time the train rocked in a way that it would naturally push this

pervert to my brother.  He  inch closer and closer to Raymond’s face and shoulder. My first

instinct was to get up and tell  what this fucker was doing. Then I realized that I would be losing

my seat if I did that and my younger brother had always been a bit of a homophobe and that made

this that much funnier. So I did the next best thing and told Tyrone that this guy was trying to put

dick and balls on Raymond’s face and shoulder. When we got off at Grandville we told him what

was going on and he was of course pissed that we didn’t tell. His rage made the situation that much

funnier.