Broken Kick Awesome! **: /////A Confession////

Last night the wife asked me how she would know if she was an alcoholic. She asked this while pouring her “glass” of bedtime Boone’s Farm. I was at a loss, but felt like I should assure her or something. The whole affair reminded me of a similar event from the time of An Doof Ass and Regal Andy.

One Tuesday afternoon A.D.A was freebasing a mixture of what he called “The Rambler,” which was a cocktail of Wal-Mart brand Nyquil, yellow gummy worms, and chalk. While trying to find a vein, he looked up at me with his hollow cheeks, vacant expression and gummy smeared lips and said: Will you keep an eye on my drinking and smoking and slutttery and freebasing? You know, keep me accountable? At the time I said I would. How could I not? He looked so helpless curled up in the fetal position screaming: Mr. Bummbles save me! In fact, I not only said I would be his accountability partner, but that it would be “an honor.”

A couple days later while he was licking the lead paint off the garage, I went up to him and said the totalitarian and other-denying nature of accountability “partnerships” was “too heavy man.” Of course, he didn’t remember anything we had talked about earlier that week. But ever since that day I’ve always felt a bit responsible for him getting Hep C from that syringe he found in Greektown.