Listen up you beautiful bitches you

2/18/08 Today’s Sermon
Very often lately the act of shooting myself in the head seems plausible, probable and desirable, oh fucking well. That’s why I don’t own a gun, nuff said. That Elliot guy has flow I'll give him that but I think I have flow too. Ralph Tiger Jones, another patient I stopped going to see because there was nothing I could do for him nothing until I found his picture on a website devoted to old fighters that had disappeared 99% percent of them drunks like that guy Don from New Orleans, who wears a helmet to hold his brains in now. Punch drunk to begin with once they became alcohol dependent and began occasionally running out of booze and or passing out for too long they went into withdrawal and were highly seizure prone. But I will say this they are generally more colorful in character and demeanor than your average mush mouth alkie and more fun to talk to if you have to unless and until they get mean and piss off the nurses who will then be pissed at you for chatting up this guy who’s about to blow diarrhea out his ass like he’s playing the trombone ( “Saints Come Marching In” anyone?) if you don’t get him out the door and into detox yesterday… I hung old boxing promo pictures of Ralph Tiger Jones by his bed and instantaneously the nursing staff and doctors treating him gave him oodles of respect that is until he died. Definitely it was ten times better than wasting time telling him to go to AA mtgs which he would never do. There was nothing I could do for him counseling wise he was too far gone and those are the breaks if you fuck up your brain bad enough (aka constitutionally incapable as the AA’ers love to say) you wont get sober or clean unless you're institutionalized and even then if you have even a milligram of cunning you can drag your ass showing in a hospital gown self down to the liquor stores that are always a block from any city hospital or SNF like Laguna Honda and get a pint or a high gravity lager or whatever, or have your cousin bring you some crack that you smoke in your room with impunity even though each hit means a session with the nebulizer while your lungs crackle like bacon in a frying pan.
I remember the first seizure factory, alcohol inhaler from the ER that I couldn’t help Glenn something or other. His wife and child had been killed in a car accident, there was no consoling this man, telling him things were going to get better, they weren’t, if he had another child maybe I would have had an in, something to shame him into living for. He hit his head on the concrete one time too many times during a withdrawal seizure and died from the legendary subdural hematoma. Getting clean for your kids is perfectly alright by me, fuck the conventional nebulous wisdom of the "therapeutic community" type of drug treatment that is dying out in SF at least thank god. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t give a rats ass about yourself if you have kids you have a purpose and that purpose is to raise them up right the best that you can whether you're dying to get high every second of every minute of every day, too fucking bad, you fuck up an innocent child after you have been given a chance, a real chance to get clean and stay clean then hell is way too good for you. This is not to say if you're schizophrenic or psychotic for some reason including past drug use that you may very well be incapable of properly raising a child but I have seen people who swore that Jesus Christ was sneaking in to fuck their ear hole with his green glass penis at night who took their meds and sent their phenomenally normal children to college. Sayeth the bingy, amen.