I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Mike and Lenny for helping me deal with my minor hangover on New Year's day. I am such a lightweight these days... I used to be a real fucking pro. The number one champion drinker of all time! Now if I have more than a couple of beers I feel it the next day. Whatever happened to Corky?
I was living in DC when I achieved my status as number one drinker of all time. Every Sunday a mandatory case of beer to coincide with 12 hours of football. Happy hour at the bar 3 to 5 times a week starting at 3:30 and lasting some nights till 11 or 12. Yeah, I was a real drunk back in the day. When I couldn't come up with the money for a case of beer on Sundays I would gather up all my loose change, and by a cheap jug of whine for like 7 bucks. Good stuff.
At that time I rented a room from the former number one drinker of all time, Manny. Unfortunately the bottle got the better of Manny. By the time I had met him he was a former shell of his ignorant, racist, barnswallow (red neck) alcoholic self. Manny's brain worked on a loop (wet brain?). You knew exactly what Manny was going to say every time you spent more than 5 minuets with him. It was always fun beating him to his own stories. I lived with two other fucks in that house named Greg ( stuttering coke head) and Don (alcoholic with diabetes) who's brain also worked on a loop but was not as entertaining as Manny.
Between the four of us there was at least 4 cartons of cigarettes being smoked a week in that house and that is a very generous figure. I spent many hours on the porch of Manny's house drinking with these fellas and learning the history of the three streets that connect to Manny's street. A neighbour who was a degenerate gambler and drunk lived around the corner named Rick, but I really liked Rick, and have written about him before.
A couple of years later after I had moved to Kentucky and retired as number one world champion drinker of all time, I learned that Manny had died in his sleep... He was found by my former employer's son. The kid was poking Manny with a stick and yelling at him to get up. He didn't.
My entire experience at that house had nothing to do with me retiring as the all time greatest. Should it have been an eye opener? Probably. Was it? No. It took a lot of training to become the greatest of all time and I'm just too tired, and probably too old to start all that rubbish again. I think my wife and my parents like me better the way I am now, but every once in a while I make a public appearance as Corky, number one all world grand champion, for old time's sake.
I was living in DC when I achieved my status as number one drinker of all time. Every Sunday a mandatory case of beer to coincide with 12 hours of football. Happy hour at the bar 3 to 5 times a week starting at 3:30 and lasting some nights till 11 or 12. Yeah, I was a real drunk back in the day. When I couldn't come up with the money for a case of beer on Sundays I would gather up all my loose change, and by a cheap jug of whine for like 7 bucks. Good stuff.
At that time I rented a room from the former number one drinker of all time, Manny. Unfortunately the bottle got the better of Manny. By the time I had met him he was a former shell of his ignorant, racist, barnswallow (red neck) alcoholic self. Manny's brain worked on a loop (wet brain?). You knew exactly what Manny was going to say every time you spent more than 5 minuets with him. It was always fun beating him to his own stories. I lived with two other fucks in that house named Greg ( stuttering coke head) and Don (alcoholic with diabetes) who's brain also worked on a loop but was not as entertaining as Manny.
Between the four of us there was at least 4 cartons of cigarettes being smoked a week in that house and that is a very generous figure. I spent many hours on the porch of Manny's house drinking with these fellas and learning the history of the three streets that connect to Manny's street. A neighbour who was a degenerate gambler and drunk lived around the corner named Rick, but I really liked Rick, and have written about him before.
A couple of years later after I had moved to Kentucky and retired as number one world champion drinker of all time, I learned that Manny had died in his sleep... He was found by my former employer's son. The kid was poking Manny with a stick and yelling at him to get up. He didn't.
My entire experience at that house had nothing to do with me retiring as the all time greatest. Should it have been an eye opener? Probably. Was it? No. It took a lot of training to become the greatest of all time and I'm just too tired, and probably too old to start all that rubbish again. I think my wife and my parents like me better the way I am now, but every once in a while I make a public appearance as Corky, number one all world grand champion, for old time's sake.
