Don’t ask me how, or why, I simply don’t know the reasoning at all. The only thing that I can be certain of is that I should more than likely be the founding member of N-AA (Non-Alcoholic’s Anonymous).
Myself: “My name is Swamp Thing, and I have a problem.”
Crowd: “Hi, Swamp Thing!”
For full effect, download “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones and play at maximum volume. Either that or download a random country music song to get the same result. Statistics have shown that 1 out of 3 country music songs are based solely around alcohol. But then again, this is merely a sober post.
Why, you may ask, do I slurp down double big gulps in the same amount of time it takes for a woman to whip out her credit card when checking out at Nordstrom’s? I have not a clue. Maybe it’s because of the addiction that I have to Carbamazepine CAS Number: 298-46-4 85756-57-6. Which in fact has given me symptoms of dry mouth and dehydration. Maybe I have an enlarged hypothalamus gland, which is the governing portion of the brain in regards to liquid consumption. Maybe my sperm donor was a camel. For all I know, I drink.
And drink.
And drink.
And drink.
And drink.
And drink.
Waiters hate me. Gatorade loves me. The massive intake levels that I have in regards to liquid consumption are through the roof. Scientists would be baffled at the disgusting number of glasses I put down and flip over in one sitting. As the great Fishmitts once said, “If you were ever involved in any drinking games, you’d put us all to shame.” Once while playing Dew Pong (which is the sober version of the classic college contest Beer Pong) I downed 67 consecutive cups of Mt. Dew while Rocksteady and I nursed a 13-game losing streak. True story.
Am I proud of this? Is this a trait that I brag about on first dates and initial contact with others on Facebook? Not really. I’m somewhat embarrassed at my curse. It is the root for the reason that I sweat ridiculous amounts of perspiration on a minutely basis. It is the fuel for where the nickname “Swamp Thing” stems from. How on earth would Tate Barfuss have been able to give me that shameful epithet back in high school? My drinking problem of course.
Ask my roommates, in fact, ask any guy who has lived with me in the past eight years if I drink one bushel after another. The Swede, Rocksteady, Phat Kid, any of them will vouch that I have drinking issues.
“I once remember when a manager of a restaurant glared at us because you had drank four glasses of lemonade before she had even come back to the table.” Said Arizona Weezer. “But then again, you need to drink to make up for your sweat.”
Where do I go from here? How do I combat this problem? Do I stop taking the drugs that I’m addicted to? Do I look for medical procedures to shrink my hypothalamus gland? Do I pay a visit to the sperm-donating camel and kick him right in the cajones for blanketing me with this curse? Whatever I do, I’ll keep drinking. In the meantime, I will be starting up the loyal group of N-AA, for those who suffer from the same issues and difficulties that I do.
My name is Swamp Thing, and I have a problem.
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