Blame the WIne: An Ode to Unconventional Intentional Bullshit

Being that this is my first post in quite some time, I will begin this little online duet with myself with a passage written a lifetime or so ago. In an attempt to add a bit of color to one’s life, in the same way some smut from south jersey might purchase a hot pink floor mat for their bathroom…here it is: an ode of sorts to one of my two most cherished beverages. Short and sweet, but full of promises and truths, like a glass of the beverage itself. 

Too often do we forget life’s little pleasantries. Wine of course not being anything little, but perhaps overlooked. And being that I am in fact accompanied by a glass of wine, staring at one screen being this one, and the other being the open laptop in which most if not all of my literary conception takes place…I might as well write a few words about my deep and unscrupulous, and perhaps biblical love affair I’ve been having with….wine… 

I’ve just caught myself in a bit of a snafu…having started a conversation with a woman with a line exactly as follows after her wondering why we haven’t talked in an indiscernible length of time: “I’d say let’s be butt buddies, but I’m a virgin and afraid to lose it to a woman.” 

Of course I’m not a virgin, at least to some things valued as centerfolds in outlandish cultures half-across the world, like needle-dicking your neighbor’s mother with a sheep-sheer, however, I find that, metaphorically perhaps, if the wine were any thicker, I’d have more shart-related bragging rights than a camel with down-syndrome. Wine truly is the juice of the Gods, and I implore everyone to acquire a hobby in which wine is a prerequisite.

And while the aforementioned is one of the few negative obscurities invoked by the juice of the Gods, it is not nearly enough to cancel out the infinitely positive POSITIVE aspects. …..

Not only does wine awaken the urge to purge a vaginal interchange with one’s own testosterone-cursed trajectory, but it also gives birth to a new meaning to the word: “inspiration”. All out war in the bedroom may be shortsighted and splintered if not for the promise of queef-blasted defiance, and in the respect of Judas…betray ALL expectations. Pour a glass. Forget the blank page. Summon the opposite sex. And make her one hell of a steak dinner w/ a pasta side dish. Then look them deep in their eyes, and don’t say a word….(unless they’re the insecure type and have no idea why the hearth is ablaze with romance-soaked flames of euphoria, in which case, get the fuck out of there before you find yourself stuck with a Stage-Potato Stalker)….don’t say a word until your lips come staggeringly desperate for proximital enclosure…and THEN….pour another glass. You need to make the night last…not buckle and crumble with one single fucking kiss. 

Wine can do many things whiskey cannot…for instance…THE ABOVE. At least for me. Whiskey is good for writing. Wine is good for thinking about writing and then turning to fucking the first name in your contacts list in your cell. It’s clockwork. Genius clockwork. 

They say life isn’t fair…I say it IS fair. It’s always fair. You get what you deserve…and if you fail to employ genuine romance…you GET WHAT YOU DESERVE. 

Wine and dine someone today. Tonight. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night. Now. Just do it with honesty. Wine never lies, and neither should you.

About Dave Matthes

Writer and author of poetry and prose. Self-published author of eighteen books, with poetry published by Paper and Ink Zine, Analog Submission Press, and Hickathrift Press.
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