Hi. My name is Alan. And I'm an Alcoholic.
"Hi Alan" [chorus]
It all started back in '95. My friends, well, we were still friends then, and I had reached that point in the night where buying forties appears to be a logical course of action.
The 4 of us are stumbling down the street, sipping out of paper bags, talking shit and not making any kind of sense.
A homeless woman was sleeping in the next doorway. One of my friends tripped over her foot. She wakes up startled, quite reasonably so. Had we not had the false bravado of liquor, it would have been a 'sorry' or 'excuse me' and over. But no, I wouldn't be here if it were that simple.
Fuck, who am I kidding. I was living a life where I was drinking on the street out past midnight. I'd probably still be here. Different circumstances though.
If you don't mind I'll skip what we said. What I said. It's a burden of shame for me. In all the foulness we threw this woman's way for no particular reason, something must have touched a nerve. And of course, it was me who took it over the line, took it too far.
I can't remember what she said, and I dare not try to recreate the incantation for fear of evoking it. I didn't even realize it then. That bit of the night was rather blurry in the moment.
I woke the next morning with the sort of hangover that makes you swear of the sauce for good, but only leaves you back on later that evening. I had to piss like a racehorse. I hit the head, and my god 3 minutes later I finally stopped pissing.
The bathroom started to focus as I started waking up properly. For some fool reason I'm still holding that damned 40. Drunk half asleep me must have been going for the hair of the dog. Didn't even cross my mind that it was full.
I go to set it down, but I can't unclasp my fingers. No tape, no glue. I call my friends, none of them answer, still drunkenly asleep.
I unscrew the cap, and start pouring it down the drain. And it pours and pours. And 5 minutes later it's still pouring. Setting it back upright the accursed thing is as full as ever.
I swing the bottle against the wall and it just clangs off, echoing about the bathroom and sending a shockwave up my arm. Not a scratch on it.
Adrenaline'll sober you up right quick. I knew something was massively wrong. I head to the hospital, and the next 10 years of my life go by in a blink.
Incredulous ER nurse, flabbergasted doctor, committee of doctors, academic paper, glass blowing expert, representative from the brewery, psychologists, psychiatrists, PR representative from the brewery, parties, girls, commercials, talk shows, the full 15 minutes of fame, scientific testing, rejection from the FDA as an 'unhygienic, undocumented, and untestable source', government suits I ain't allowed to talk about, soothsayers, hypnotists, mystics, yogis, dwindling cash, unemployability, charlatan preachers, snake oil salesmen, jesus did you know there are still carnival freak shows?
All the while, every day and night I'm sucking on this damned bottle. Like a fucking tit. Got scurvy once cause I didn't eat nothing 'cept this drink.
I can't work. I can't stop. I can't get better cause I can't get rid of this fucking thing.
I just want to let go of the bottle...
..thank you for letting me share.
"Thank you for sharing" [chorus]