Ladies and gentleman, the moment you've all been waiting for. (Day 73)

I want to let you know, the arc about things I've learned will continue. I should've waited for that, but oh well. It'll continue Tuesday, probably. Guest updates won't be far behind.

I'm updating from Mesa right now. I got really, really....really drunk last night. I went toe to toe with an old foe and this time I came out on top.

Back in October, a little bit before Halloween we had a party, and I took a straight shot of Everclear, and I honestly thought I was going to die. It hurt so fucking much. For the rest of the night I would up feeling like there was acid in my stomach, and it was all I could do to continue drinking. I'm a champion and a professional first, ladies and gentleman. Always professional.

But even the next day it still kinda hurt. When I initially took the shot it went down smooth, but as soon as that Everclear hit my gut, I was like an exhaust pipe on a car, just spewing out noxious fumes.

Every party since then I've always sworn off Everclear. But there it would be. Taunting me. Tempting me. Teasing me.

"Aren't you a fancy girl not dancing with the devil from across the tracks."

Shut up, booze. You hurt me last time.

"It'll be different this time."

But if the cops get called again and they find me crying in the corner...it's my fault for coming back...

"Baby, who loves you the most?"

So I wound up compromising and doing shots mixed with whatever else.

Fast forward in time. Yesterday ruled. Today by proxy will most likely suck, cause...I think anything short of being awarded a ten million dollar, tax free check with a unicorn of my very own...and other...things...that are good, too. And even then, I'm not sure it'd come close.

Losing feels like winning.

So to cap off last night, I wound up in Mesa with Arleen. After discovering CiCi's Pizzas' bread sticks, I'm almost certain God not only exists, but he's also a baker. Arleen and I went to pick up Mike from his girlfriends house, we decided that yes, it was indeed time to drink. Crack a bottle.

"Whats there to drink?" "Everclear, and SoCo"

Hello, old friend.

And there it was. A moment of clarity slowed down to a molasses drip. Just Everclear, and I, the scorned champion.

I mixed my drink, which was strawberry soda and the Everclear. When I thought I was finished, Arleen called me a pussy.

Heres the thing: Everclear, besides being a 90's rock back, is a neutral grain spirit. It literally tastes like nothing. Besides the afterburners, that shit does not taste like anything. It's deceptive, like a pretty girl with nice eyes. Yes, you.

So after I was called a pussy, well...hey...I can't accept that. So I poured a whole lot more into the cup. I'm not sure where it happened, but somewhere along the lines of the night...the Everclear outnumbered the strawberry soda two to one. It was just Everclear with food coloring by the end of it.

But I took it down. I was drunk like I haven't been in a long time.

"DADDY I HOPE YOUR PROUD I SOLD THEM MY SOUL"

Eventually Arleen admitted calling me a pussy was just a joke. However, by then the punchline was that I could barely stand.

Arleen called it a night. Back where we begin, a bottle and I. There could only be one clear winner.

An intense stare down (while Mike put on Mean Girls, because that movie rules) both waiting for each other to make a move...I drew first, slowly.

I'd never read the warning at the bottom of the bottle before. Not this specific one. I want to share this with you. So if you come across Everclear (like in the picture in the link provided) I encourage you to go ahead and verify this. Because this stuff shouldn't be sold to people. It should be used to power cars, because it's 95% Alcohol by Volume/190 proof. Thats almost two hundred.

Everclear Warning:

Caution: Do not apply to open flame. Keep away from fire, heat and open flame. Contents may ignite or explode. Do not consume in excessive quantities. Not intended for consumption unless mixed with non-alcoholic beverages.

Cautions posted on the side of the bottle:

CAUTION!!
EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE
Handle with care.

WARNING!!
OVERCONSUMPTION
MAY ENDANGER YOUR HEALTH.
How dare a red warning label tell me, Aaron Hale, what to do. I think not. In fact, the only thought I'm having besides defiance was "there can be only one."

I do what I want. Go fuck yourself, cautious self-preservation. I've seen Converge live.

So I read the first warning outloud to Mike, who was hitting up World of Warcraft, and putting on Mean Girls, because honestly if you don't like Mean Girls....leave this blog now. I have nothing to say that could ever apply to you. You're one of the soulless plastics.

Mike said, "I don't think you should."

"Meh. Bring it. There can be only one."

And I took a straight shot. A big, straight shot. And I'll be honest...it wasn't exactly the easiest thing ever, but I truly didn't crumble like the last time.

Mike, "Dude, that was way to long."

I took about three big pulls of it in one sitting.

Afterwards, I decided I was feeling adventurous. Round two, bitch. Another straight shot.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was a very big, bad mistake. I'd like to think I'll never know, as warmth cascaded my body, allowing me to know that uh, it's okay Aaron. Father Alcohol has you. Relax, we're going to a wonderful place.

Woke up today feeling like a million bucks.

-Until tomorrow.

I supply my own devine morality. (Day 71)

Today rules.

Have a great weekend.

I really got nothing.





Today rules.




-Until tomorrow.

I woke up last night and my nose was bleeding, I think I’m dying. Oh, Hallelujah! (Day 70)

Day seventy, and going strong.

I feel like I'm trapped on an island at times with all this Day this, and Day that crap. Why don't I even get a damned Wilson of my own? For God sakes, I have the most viewed story on Bitter Press, I at least deserve a desecrated volleyball with a bloody hand print on it. For all inquires on where to send my sports ball/imaginary friend, email me at aaron.halewilliams@gmail.com. I'm serious. Get on it. I'm lonely as shit.

Wow, my mind went to a sad, and dark place just then. But thats okay, these pictures of an adorable fawn will salve my hurt. Go away pain, go away...







It's been dubbed the Jason Deer by Spazzy McCanadianspazz. Apparently, that cute deer baby was a cesarean cute deer baby because the mother was killed. Nothing that adorable should ever feel any sort of hurt in it's life. Why couldn't Jim Belushi suffer this injustice, besides...his...brother...dying. Whatever, he still sucks.

And apparently, breaking news...a nine year old has wrote a best selling book, nine year old...wrote a best selling book called..."How To Talk To Girls". Now what in the figgity, figgity fuck is this sheep shit? I'm 23, have touched a boob, and this little zygote gets more action? I want him to die alone in a gutter, and also wish for him to tutor me. Email me, Alec. Email me.

Stay away Chris Hansen, it's not what you think.

So I decided to start a few days of updates having a little theme. The theme for these next few days, as I might be preoccupied, will be 'Thing I have learned'.

Things I've learned:

-My dad knows every thing. Every thing about important things, like farming and cars.
-I still miss Phil Hartman and Chris Farley.
-Staying pissed, and proud of it. Motto to live by.
-Girls kill me. And I hatelove it.
-I don't ever want to own a bed.
-The prospect of getting paid for writing is more gratifying than not getting paid. Selling out is fun.
-I really don't like NOFX.
-I really don't like Jim Belushi. The wrong brother died.
-I really, really like Green Day. Really.
-I hate goddamned Laura Linney. I didn't know acting could be screaming and crying in every. single. movie.
-I'm glad I was born in Colorado Springs, Colorado and have lived virtually my whole life in Arizona. I wouldn't appreciate having the desire to always want something more if I hadn't, and I truly believe that.
-Gin and Cranberry juice is the greatest drink ever to be concocted. I would fight a war for it.
-Fake Problems are the coolest guys in a band I've ever gotten to know. Tom Gabel is rad as shit, and #2 from Anti Flag is kind of a doucher. Tim McIlrath is the nicest man on earth.
-Christopher Gutierrez might be a cool guy in person, but I really, really got rubbed the wrong way by him. He's the reason why I can't stand 'straight edge' as a declaration, or writers as a whole.
-If you're not driving this, are this man, or take pictures like this and this, you probably shouldn't be conceited.
-Ben Templesmith is amazing. And highly underrated.
-I hate shaving.

Thats all for now. I really should be cleaning, but I have an obligation to all three of you who read this thing. Also, to the kid in Romania, please email me at the email address above about the Menzingers. I didn't mean to act like I was blowing you off, I'm just not sure how you sent it to that email thats no longer active.

-Until tomorrow.

Phoenix in flight, I'm here to break your wings. (Day 69)

God bless the heavier side of music. Lately, I've wanted to punch everyone in the face, and I can live vicariously through drop tuned guitars punching me in the face with hatehappy instead. See, hatehappy means it hates me, and in turn it makes me happy.

I really wish I knew how to address this, or deal with it, but I just don't see anyway possible. Maybe I preemptively cut beef out of my diet, or something, but whatever it is, I kind of would like this to end.

It's okay, someday soon they'll find me in the john at Sears, collapsed in a heap on the floor with my pants half undone, bleeding from the eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Severe hemorrhage, no way anyone could have caught it.

I'm kind of along with Daniel, where I drop is where I should be allowed to rot. It's not like we rush out to pick up dogs or cats from the middle of the intersection. No, no. The coyotes will take care of that, and the birds will get the rest.

Circle of life, friends. Circle of life. I can hear Elton John playing it out, now, while Simba has his way with my carcass. It's in the Lion King DVD, it's under "Simba Sex and Cuisine."

I should be cleaning right now, but to be honest...I just can't find the motivation. It's not like my room is even messy. It's just those hoops we jump through to impress people with exterior things, because the inside is so rotten and bland. "And this is my book collection, oh and could you please ignore the fact that I don't have a soul? Thanks, that'd be great."

I'm trying to figure out where to put my action figures. See, okay...I'm not big into this at all really, but every once in a while I'll pick up a figurine from...say Star Wars, or Batman...or Captain America...etc.

Well, they've never been an issue since, well...girls don't come over very often. Well, thats all coming to a screeching and crashing halt. Heres the thing, she's seen the figurines (we're talking about Velvet), but...she calls them something else entirely different. And every time she calls them this...I just about lose my entire three strands of sanity I have left. Every time she calls them this, I have an identity crisis, and wind up yelling in my head, "I'm an adult! They aren't...that..."

She calls them, "Little plastic men."

And I swear to God, it kills me just a little bit more every time, mostly because I sense she gets a great big kick out of it.

I've also decided I probably shouldn't drink around people anymore. See, the last three times I have, I've wound up singing this bar from the Menzingers song, Victory Gin, (which can be found on the list of tracks they have for your listening pleasure on the link provided.) The lyric goes, "DADDY I HOPE YOUR PROUD, I GAVE THEM MY SOUL" and I think it's self explanatory why I think drinking alone in the dark is the mature and responsible way to go from now on.

-Until tomorrow.

I think I was bored in New Jersey. (Day 68)

For about five years I've had a really crappy knee injury that continuously likes to re-activate itself just for snickers. The other day I got it reevaluated, and it really didn't go well. It turns out that not too long ago, I'd slightly torn my ACL. I would've went to the doctor sooner, but I had a doctors appointment coming up, and I couldn't be sure what the problem was, and quite frankly...I won't go back to the hospital in Casa Grande unless I'm bleeding, or worse.

So earlier this week, Monday, I got a knee brace I've desperately needed for years. It's kind of reassuring to have the brace, and I don't know. I feel like I can do a lot more.

The guy though who I had to see to get it taken care of, etc, he was adamant in showing me how to put it on (because Velcro can be tricky) and, okay, heres the thing:

My brace has steel on each side of my knee, and it has a joint for mobility. The brace goes really high on my thigh to put pressure on my quad as well, and as he was doing one of those tricky straps, his hand grazed the steel joint that was near my inner thigh, looked up at me and begged me to tell him that was my keys.

This guy has been kind of a prick, and I'm kind of a sarcastic and apathetic prick, so I just flashed him a very fem. smile and told him, "Only the keys to my heart."

Who doesn't realize it's the steel from the brace? Like honestly. It's not like my dick got hard from the pressure of a brace, and suddenly grew 8 more inches.

I'm glad I made the rest of that appointment awkward. It was a lot of fun for me. I love fucking with homophobes. It ranks right up there with good old fashioned, consensual, heterosexual American sex, and basketball.

-Until tomorrow.

I want my hands in your hair. (Day 67)

It's going to be a long week, but this Thursday is something I've been looking forward to for quite a while now. My friend (and constant link from this site) Velvet will be coming to Arizona to fuck shit up. Cause thats what she does.

Shes a rock and roll, road tripping reinvented of the camera lens. If you think any differently...well, hey we're all entitled to our own opinions. It just so happens that yours in this instance would be completely, and utterly wrong. She makes Ansel Adams (enjoy the cold dead ground, hack) look like Koko the Gorilla with a disposable camera.

So I'm stoked for that. It's gonna be awesome.

Also looming this weekend is the biggest reminder that I'll die cold, alone and unloved and not be discovered dead in my apartment until four months later, and thats after I've been late with my rent for so long I'm about to be forcibly removed.

It's okay though, the landlord will pick my pocket and sell my shit. So, you know...he's covered.

On a side note; my friend Jon recently lost his grandfather. Condolences, Jon. You've been a tremendous friend, your extremely talented, and you're one of the best human beings I've ever encountered. I hope in this time you feel comforted in knowing how loved you were, and how assured he was that you loved him as well.

Thats all I've got for tonight.

-Until tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure I don't believe in God, but I can pretend for a little while. (Day 66)

I really don't want to be awake right now. All I want to do is listen to None More Black, read, and forget everything I've learned or witnessed for the past thirteen months and just go from there. Well, I wouldn't want to forget American Gods, by Neil Gaiman, but asides from that...I'm more than willing to wipe the slate.

Theres a wanton desire to wind up back in Albany, and I'm not so sure I wouldn't have went back by now if it didn't snow. I hate weather dictating where I'll wind up.

See, at least there I didn't have any obligation to myself except to work, come home, get drunk and watch Scrubs or read comic books. I kind of miss that, as weird as it sounds. There wasn't any question about what was going to happen to me, either. Get up, go to work, come home. Thats it. Drink until you're numb on the weekends, fit food and sleep somewhere in there, and when Monday came back around...time for work again.

I had a few friends, but when it came down to it I wound up spending almost every single day, and almost every night alone. It's not that much different from here, except it was almost like being exiled. I don't know now if that was the worst thing in the world, honestly.

I do more damage than I do good. I'm a slow acting poison, and the antidotes no where to be found on this body.

And I think back to what the High School version of me would have done. I'm pretty sure he would have kicked me in the face, too, because this right here is almost completely unacceptable. My music taste is a lot better and much more refined, but when it's all said and done...I'm pretty sure I would've tasted a size 13 Vans rubber sole.

This doesn't feel like life. Maybe it isn't.

Maybe this is satire.

Theres a doppleganger right now living the high life on the opposite side of the Universe, and I'd like to shake his hand.

-Until tomorrow.