>1. Polaroid Evening: Night of debauchery lived vicariously through other peoples' memories of your actions; a blackout period punctuated by several snapshot-like memories, most asinine, some surreal. Morning after tends to lead to discovery of mystery cuts and bruises.
>2. Auto Pilot: Unconscious director of one's actions that allow one to operate semi-civilized and remain outside of buildings that have TV's placed high out of arm's reach, such as hospitals, jails, and mental wards.
>I can't seem to remember if I've created this term or plagiarized it, but after too many of these "Polaroid Evenings" I've switched from whiskey to wine as my alcoholic main course. A wine drunk is a slow mellow ride into the sunset. Whiskey is akin to being blind-sided by a Mack Truck. The problem with whiskey, especially the good stuff, is that by the time you realize you've finished the 1.75 in your freezer, the rational voice that would tell you to stop guzzling the sweet, smokey, rocket-fuel like Gatorade at a track meet has been replaced by a voice that gives you a whole different set of directives. This voice tells you things like the best way to communicate your attraction to a young lady at a bar is to drop your pants, place your genitals into your empty bar barrel, and begin to point from her mouth to the cup in your crotch several times or until the bouncers arrive. This voice also tells you to refer to your arresting officers as "needle-dicked pigs!".
>After a night of wine drinking I've never been told that I was walking through the barrio in flip-flops, boxer-shorts, and a cowboy hat annoucing to passing cars, and everybody in earshot, that James Brown was the baddest Mother Fucker on two legs still sucking air; bourbon on the other hand . . . I've never awoke naked in a trailer, next to a biped vauguely resembling a homo-sapien, following the uncorking of a few bottles of the blood of Christ. Also, following a wine filled night, I've never been led to question if the vague mental pictures of various unspeakable acts and criminal activities were of my doing or some weird cop show I saw on TV.
>My friends have never referred to me as "you rotten, fat, rat, fuckin', opportunistic prick" after an evening of the grape. Well actually just once, but there was an LSD factor involved and a nasty public scene involving various vegetables, raw liver, and duct tape that is a whole different rambling diatribe in itself. While on a drug tangent, I have to say that any narcotics/psychedelics render any of my advice to saner living and the reduction of time in institu- tions null and void. It doesn't matter if you're sipping a fine Merlot, or getting an enema with Old Crow, when you decide to smoke an entire Super-Kool to your head and begin your one-man vehicular crusade against vertical fire hydrants as the focal point of the Man's mega-all-inclusive-conspiracy against your bad self. Most booze is equal in the world of narcotic use. Also, never try to offset your whiskey drinking with cocaine. You will usually run out of blow before whiskey and still have another Polaroid Evening ahead of you. This counts in a different way with speed and acid when combined with heavy boozing. Combining either or both of these with liquor can lead to VCR Evening. A VCR Evening is worse than a Polaroid Evening. In a VCR Evening you get to painfully recant the entire evening's events; including a potential disjointed, internal, third-person narration of the ridiculous carnival of drug inspired events. It usually goes somethine like: "I think I'm about to put one of the half-cooked New York steaks off the grill into my mouth and attempt to feed one of David's vicious Rotweilers. I really shouldn't do that. No. It looks like I'm going to . . . Ouch. That's my lower lip I feel hanging against my chin." Bottom line, it's best to avoid heavy drugs and alcohol as a combination, unless of course you have a world class "auto-pilot".
>I have yet to have a vino packed evening go Sam Peckinpaw, David Lynch, or Quinten Tarentino on me, knock on morning wood. At my worst on wine, my wry, sardonic, singular wit has had me castigated at large by groups of like minded people, who are usually sober. One time my grape inspired comments at a "Gothic" party were not too appreciated. Besides, what's a drunk, straight male supposed to do in a house full of ugly, pissed-off fag-hags dressed in black with atrocious make-up jobs surrounded by attractive, young men in lace dresses with exquisite make-up jobs? These boys were a boob job away from a Danny Bonaduce nightmare. But, you know what Danny, if you've been away from females for a while, such as in the joint, or the Navy ("sixty-men go out - thirty couples come back") then you find out that a mouth is a mouth is a mouth. At least, so I've heard. And, that's the way it's going to remain because I drink wine. You see, had I been drinking whiskey that evening there's no telling what I would have done. Be it punking out a young Goth boy in the rest room or just a little gay-bashing to relieve those homosexual impulses. With wine at my side, I knew when to cut back my drinking and begin assailing the party-goers with loud, rude comments like, "Don't you people have more cerebral ways of getting back at your parents?!" Had I had a fat bottle of Turkey that night, instead of three bottles of vino, I might have acquired a lingerie and Mac make-up habit that could have severely cut into my drinking budget.
>Enough about your ol' Uncle Dick. Let's discuss your needs. You may say, "Holy Fuck!! On three bottles of wine I'd cross dress as a Catholic school girl, go down on a priest, then drive a flaming bus load of screaming nuns into a ravine." I realize that everyone has a different tolerance to alcohol. You be the judge of setting your own limits. Some of you young men out there have a few beers and find yourself on your back in the bushes, vomiting and pissing yourself, screaming out your frat's Greek letters while plotting which of the young Sorority girls you're going to invite on a date and rape later that evening. And, some of you young ladies, I have personally discovered, will put into effect what I like to refer to as the Mary Switch. You go from the Virgin Mary to Mary Magdelane. "We're not going to have sex tonight." An hour and a bottle of wine later turns into, "Put it in my ass now FUCKER!!!" Praise Bob for the grape.
>Basically, gauge yourself accordingly. If a bottle of tequila would lead to an unwanted facial tattoo or a pentagram branded into the back of your hand or neck, try a twelve pack of Mex beer and a couple/three shots of tequila. (Note: Get airplane bottles or a half pint. Full fifths of tequila or mescal seldom stay full when a twelve-pack of beer is present, and usually lead to unwanted trips to Vegas.)
>Ladies, if two four-packs of wine coolers or the equivilent of sweet/frosty bar drinks will put you into "morally" compromising positions; change your ethical code to live a guilt free life and/or cultivate a taste for good dark beer. Most of the lady beer drinkers I know don't have to ask themselves, "Did I blow three guys in a bar bathroom stall last night?" Actually, the ones I know would pipe up, "Hey, I just blew three guys in a bathroom stall!" But I digress.
>My point, which is pointless by now, is to take care of yourself in these pre-Mad Max-Armageddon last days of our collapsing empire. It's a rough world out there. Bullets, disease, and potential marriage are waiting to pounce on you at a moment of weakness. You have to be ever diligent, even when letting it loose. Nights that have huge dark patches of foggy memories have led to far too many marriages and trips to the free clinic for those wonderful "You'll feel a bit of pressure" tests and penicillin shots. I'm not telling you to be some Henry Rollins style freak. That's no fun. Just exersise a little control, or you might wind up in prison, the county ward, or a trailer park on the outskirts of town next to Mr. or Mrs. Right Now.
>The Right Rev. Richard Tater
>aka Uncle Dick
>Well J.C., that's the piece. Part of it has been used in a local rag here in Riverside, Ca., but the majority of it is unpublished. The good Rev. Stang is free to use some or all of it. All that I ask is that I get the proper credit. Thanks.
>Thugs, Drugs, Hugs, and Kisses,
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