Everything Is Wrong with Me

by Jason Mulgrew

  * This is another story in itself, since the grain alcohol was routinely stolen from a nearby liquor distillery plant. As it was told to me, all one had to do was walk into the compound, go to up a spigot, and pour the alcohol into an empty soda bottle. Though I have heard this from several people, I have no idea how this was possible. I can only assume that in the late ’70s “security” hadn’t really caught on yet.

  * Also, a group of my friends have taken to calling me “HH” (“Hooker Hunter”), which is imminently cooler than “HW” (“Hooker Watcher”). So hooker hunting it is.

  * I don’t know why he did this; one thing my dad and I do not talk about is cars, since he spent his whole life working on them and I still sometimes get the gas and brake pedals confused. So we usually leave that topic alone.

  * Unless I hit a major dry spell. But it’s gotta be major—we’re talking nothing for a solid two–three months. And not counting my bachelor party, of course, should I have one. I mean, duh.