After dinner Q&A with the Road Troll

Winter is soon upon us, in its unique Eastern NC kind of way, which means it's going to be fucking damp and vaguely cool until February. In February it will get evil cold for maybe three weeks, and then flop around between extremes of temperature like an epileptic mudskipper.

There's evil blood in the water, and it's always gone by New Years' Day, it's just that surviving December is more of a challenge every year. The Christmas Beast has descended from the hills, reversing peoples' minds, causing their eyes to roll back in their head as they scream shit that sounds something like “S'lhok ta elas gnivigsknaht refta yad eht ta nam a dellik I!”

Disturbing reports on the street of peaceniks roaming around with heavy sports equipment, bashing each other outside of avant-garde art shows. Disturbing reports of cops found weeping by their cars, their uniforms stained and rank. Disturbing reports of anarchy on the highways, middle aged men hanging out of their car windows cackling wildly. Animals of all kinds have been seen leaving town in twos, mating all the way.

Don't worry, though. It's not the end of the world. It's just the end of the year... this is the terrible and evil buildup to my favorite holiday. Every time I survive December I sigh the world's hugest sigh. I drink White Russians in the yard, shooting my revolver with glee at passing trains.

I've lived lots of places, and New Years' is always magic. I don't know what it is, but I feel like the whole planet has been given temporary reprieve. Deity smiling its huge smile, lips and gums and teeth the distance from Beijing to Tuscaloosa. Deity says to its friends, “Well, they've fucked up every other year. Maybe if we give them a blank slate they'll do it right this year.” Glasses come together and clink.

So we get our New Years'. The baseball bats and kitchen knives and golf clubs fall to the ground in a group hug the size of Texas. For one night, all teeth are platinum bling, and something big and carnivorous smiles in the corner.

I love winter, but goddammit it's evil here.

Drunk by noon.

Book One: Typing With My Gloves On.

SO TI was fivce or six yheqare sqago thqat i polayed teisw funny oiuettloe gqame with my friend Jadve;l hE ASDKED ME IF IOE HQAEGVER TUPED WITH GOLOVES ONL I havnt so we trieed it qansd it waq hiolasirouyl. E WERE TAQLKED IONO aim.L THOIS WQAW BNACK WJHEN AOL INSTQAND MESSENGER WAS TYHE BIG HIWST. Evertyong we h0p waqs everuyo0ne waqs on tjhaty wshit. Nowqadays its all myspace and gfabevcbook., ANYWAYK, WRE WERE YHONG AND IRT WAS REALLY FUNBy.

Book Two: Fire and Brimstone.

So I tried a new thing and, no, it wasn't typing with my gloves on. I hope you enjoyed that. It came across as a bit idiotic and totally illegible. Really, try it sometime. I want some of you to leave comments to my blog, but only if you type with winter gloves on. That shit is hard.
So it's the last ECU home game and I did a thing I've never done, I went tailgating. It's 1:20 pm and I can't actually feel my face. I got drunk in a parking lot while frat types threw footballs at me... eating hamburgers and throwing shit into the road. I know this is the Greenville experience, but it's so often that I'm hiding in a book or watching some bizarre old sci-fi film instead of diving headfirst into the People.
Really, I don't know how the fundamentalists do it. They listen to crappy music, they don't drink, the don't smoke, they don't even stay up late. Really, some of the coolest shit in the world happens at 2:43am.
If I'm to believe that we're punished for drinking alcohol, then doesn't that cover drinking at 10:00am? Really, I'm fucked if this is the case. There is a simple, yet pure, glory to staggering down the street in the blaring sunlight. You make your own music at that point, you get songs stuck in your head you haven't heard since 1995, you make illogically beautiful analogies.
I don't know where I'm going with this. Cheers.