Day 8. Daddy drove drunk and tried to escape the police

When you are long time without liquor (a week of dry cake behind), you have to face a variety of things in the clearest way. Today it was my dentist. Well, I’ve never lied drunk on her dental chair, but the two previous root treatments I trembled through in a good hungover. Of course, when I knew that I was going there the next day, I did not sink a bottle of 38 volts liquor Rapids Ear to my gills, but a bottle of Finnish Lion with only 32 volts.

Usually I drink – I used to drink – at least a couple of sparkling apple wines in the evening, but in the last few months when I tried to keep the blood glucose levels down, I tossed of mostly clear liquors. My dentist has repeatedly wondered how in the hell my teeth are crashing in my mouth, but I have not been able to tell her that every night I burst alcoholic sugar soup in my cheeks for hours and then I pass out on the couch without washing my teeth.

I guess I should not publicly admit this, but I’ve driven car hundreds of times in cannon-like hangover. Unsure about my condition I’ve been driving like a snail to the dentist but also to the Arse-market to buy ciggys and even to Melt Town’s sports center to play badminton.

The ”funny” thing happened ten years ago when I was taking Sandra to the daycare center. At the crossroads I saw a police crackdown on the right. I turned to the left, because I wanted to avoid the breath test. I made a forty kilometers run via Melt Towns Motorway and Helsinki back to the day-care center. Thank dog, the cops were gone! I’ve always tried to be honest with my child, so when Sandra asked why we are driving in the wrong direction, I said that dad does not want to face those blues shit caps, because dad might still have a bit of bad beer in the blood. My daughter understood the explanation and survived from that incident without trauma. So I thought until the next day, when I heard Sandra talking about our episode to my mother. This was her version of it: ”Grandma! I was late from my play school yesterday morning, because daddy drove the car drunk and tried to escape the police.”

I really don’t try to show of with my ”funny” booze achievements, but just show how idiotic an alcohol-dependent person can be. When sober, I would never even thought about driving drunk.

Sanna Ukkola, a journalist, wrote today on General Radio’s website about 11-year-old Matleena, who was killed by drunken driver a couple of years ago in Lappland Bay. The District Court gave that woman a two-year and seven-month sentence, which was reduced five months by Court of Appeal. At this moment, that cunt has already returned to freedom.

The right judgment for a child-killer drunk driver would be a death penalty, that the parents of the child could execute in their own way. I’m not kidding, although I know that one day the person kneeling down before the guillotine could be a certain stand-up comedian called Risto Koo Laky. Alcohol makes us so fucking dumb.

DAY 7. Door to hell

Day seven defeated. Strange how easy my life here under the Saints halo has been, when I’ve been tinkering with something all the time. I continued my office cleaning. Tomorrow I will be on the point where I can see the whole floor and vacuum it first time for three years. The flower pot mold on the laminatee that came down last year’s spring will soon be snow of the last summer, if such a brilliant language image is allowed.

Surprisingly, it has been simple to stay out of the wine barrel, but there has been some trials too. When I bought some candy from Arse-market, I realized that I did a horrible mistake: I bought liqueur confections! I have not eaten those for years, but today my subconscious mind made a trick. At first I was like fuck, of course I can eat liqueur candies while liquor strike – but then I googled about it. There was a warning that the indulge could start from a small mistake: a liqueur fondant, a sip of sacramental wine or even from using hand disinfectant.

One of those Google-fundamentalists was afraid of moments when he fills his cars ”pee boy” with a pound of ethanol. He wondered that what if, just when the fluid container is only a half a second away from his face, he will be striked by a sudden mental disorder, and he must knock down all the liquids to his jaw.

It is these kinds of stories that are puzzling me in my temperance. I want to be a free and wild artist now and forever, not a nasty, distressed ex-drunkard who stares at an liqueur confections bag and wonders whether the mouth of the bag is a door to hell.

I did not open that door, however. Not yet.

DAY 6. I almost killed my guinea pig

I was awake the whole last night. In my office upstairs I filed press cuttings of my career, arranged shelves and removed my ”agile ponyniquation” writings from Facebook, which I had written last week drunk as persimmon. I also put my life in an external order. I was clear and for once I had extra time! In addition, my nerves insisted on any activity.

I fell asleep at seven o’clock in the morning and woke up at three in the afternoon. I did not have a ”cannon head”, I mean hangover! Yet my first thought was: ”What the fuck did I write to internet at night? Run and destroy it all!”

All weird things happen at nights, when I drink. I still do not know where I lost the all the Chinese cabbage from my refrigerator last week. I probably did eat it with ketchup. God knows how many times I’ve been totally smashed and devoured Sandras Jelly Beans and Fairys protein quarks, waking in the morning when chicks’ rage.

Once in the condition ”zigzag roof” I watched the movie ”The Wall”, where Bob Geldof cuts his chesthair and eyebrows to hell with a razor blade. How to be, I also became inspired to cut all of my hair off: head, beard, eyebrows, pubic. My head and beard grew hair soon back. But I’ll never have a furry thing above my eyes again not to mention my ”angel eater”.

In one of the autumn nights I once released our guinea pig to freedom, because I got enough of it’s eternal whine. In the morning I woke up to Fairy’s scream and Sandra’s tears. Fortunately, the ”runaway” was found solidified by the forest border and I managed to revive her in the sauna’s heat.

I got so much power from those memories, that I can easily continue my fucking long odyssey towards the absolute zero per mill of my drunkards life.

Day 5. Best explanation ever

Finnish national artists, painter Akseli Gallen-Kallela and composers Oskar Merikanto, Robert Kajanus and Jean Sibelius, hang out in the hotel Kämp drunk as skunks in the Gallen-Kallela’s famous painting ”Probleemi” from 1894. This is how the situation may seem to be in the eye of an ordinary fucker, but art historian Salme Sarajas-Korte says there is no liquor party going on in the painting, but a pictorial representation of the symbols and mysteries that the artists often discussed until dawn.

”The painting is all about the transition of human life in it’s millennial development from the decadence period to the new flourishing renaissance.”

LOL. Reps. Muah. Why didn’t I ever find such a brilliant explanation for my wife Fairy, when I faltered home from Corsica’s night Club ”Top Hat” in the early hours of morning?