Pears! Apples!

TODAY’S DRINKING STORY

Here we see Molly Gaudry bringing loved ones together despite some questionable judgement.

This is my favorite, and maybe saddest, drinking story.

I was nineteen years old and on winter break from college. I wasn’t really on great terms with my parents, and I was drinking a lot back then.

So there I was in Ohio, freezing cold and wishing I was back at school with all my friends in southern California. To pass the days, I visited my grandfather in the nursing home. He was there to recover from a brief illness—it was cheaper by the day to recover in a nursing home than in a hospital—and everyone expected him to be well enough to return home very soon.

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Wensink Day at The Fanzine.

The Fanzine, one of the sharpest literary sites on the block, dedicated an entire day to all things Wentastic.

First, Michael Louie reviewed Broken Piano for President, comparing it to Nick Cave’s Bunny Munro, but not Cave’s facial hair finesse.

Second, Patrick penned an essay, begging ITT Tech to purchase his papers.

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105,000 Episodes of Alf Can’t be Wrong

 Today’s Drinking Story:

Here we see an underage Patrick Wensink get his love life saved by a bouncer with a passion for Photoshop.

The shortest marriage in history lasted little more than thirty minutes. According to Europe News, a Turkish man and a Greek woman couldn’t last longer than an episode of Alf before they got in touch with their lawyers. In their defense, those two nations hate each other like Chipotle hates Qdoba. My radar tells me liquor and double-dares had more than a little to do with those nuptials.

By comparison, I have been married for almost six years. But if not for booze, the two of us wouldn’t have lasted beyond Alf’s first commercial break.

More directly, my wife, Leah, and I owe it all to bad fake IDs.

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The Author Who Gets Free Drinks: a (Hopefully) True Story

Today’s Drinking Story:

Here we see Caleb J Ross discover the holy trinity: Tom Waits, Free Drinks and…Southwest Airlines Magazine?

This is the already true part: in June of 2008 I stood on a beach in San Diego
wearing a full suit, paying more attention to my watch than to the ocean in front of me.
For a boy from Kansas City, where the largest body of water might be a wort vessel at the Boulevard Brewery, this transposed priority says a lot. I had a flight, and as always, the airline schedule superseded any perceived relaxation. And it’s especially hard to relax
when, with my suit beachwear I looked the part of a misplaced predator. Bikinied
women covered themselves as I strolled the boardwalk.

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Penthouse Not-So-Suite

Today’s Drinking Story:

Here we see Nick Antosca learning a thing or two about the fairer sex with the help of bourbon or tequila, but probably not wine.

This is a true story of something that happened to me when I was drunk. It was probably 2008. I didn’t drink from the time I was 18 until I was 25 (in early 2008). Then when I did drink, I got drunk easily. I lived in New York, and one night I was out with some friends at a bar. I don’t remember what bar, but it was in Manhattan, East Village or LES. I’m almost certain I was drinking hard liquor, probably tequila or bourbon. I almost never drink beer because I hate the taste, and I don’t really drink wine at bars because it makes me feel silly.

I wasn’t having a very good time; I don’t usually at bars. I was bored. I started talking to a woman wearing something white. I think there are angel wings on it–I remember something like that. Maybe it was just an angel-wing pattern on her clothes. I also remember that there was lace involved. She was tall and curvaceous with a tiny waist and dark hair and a femme fatale voice. She looked Peruvian. For some reason I keep thinking her name was Angela (not for some reason; because of the angel wings) but I remember that it was actually Nicole. We exchanged numbers and then my friends and I left and went to another bar, where some other friends were.

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Smalldoggies.

Essay up in Smalldoggies about Broken Piano’s transition from novel to book-on-tape.

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Orange Alert Loves Broken Piano.

One of the best literary podcasts going, What to Wear During an Orange Alert, featured Broken Piano for President and its cassette in its latest edition.

There’s also a performance by the awesome Amelia Gray, and music from Yuck and Aesop Rock.

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The Pine Box Rocks

Today’s Drinking Story:

Here we see Nik Korpon hanging out with Hollywood’s sleaziest movie-maker in Baltimore’s sleaziest bar.

The Pine Box isn’t the kind of bar you take a first date to. Or a second date. Or anyone who has anything of value in their pockets.

For the record, the bar isn’t actually called The Pine Box, but I’ve changed the name for
two reasons. First: This is not a flattering story. Though I’ve heard the bar had been lost in a card game and resold since I last visited, I’m not flush enough with cash to handle a libel charge.

Second: The Pine Box shows up in many my stories, but it’s based on this bar.

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Clown Sex

Today’s Drinking Story:
Here we see Jonathan Selwood wake up from a one-night stand in the middle of a three ring circus. 

I jolt awake to find myself brutally hungover and completely surrounded by clowns.  Clown wallpaper, a clown headboard, and an entire bookshelf dedicated to porcelain clown figurines.  My horror is only slightly reduced when I recall that Campbell (at least I think that’s her name) mentioned something about training to be a trapeze artist.  I turn my head to find her naked and asleep beside me cuddling a stuffed giraffe (at least it’s not a clown).

 

Over in the kitchen, I can see that her pet Rottweiler has somehow managed to rip the crisper out of the refrigerator and is eating what looks like raw bacon.

 

Do dogs get trichinosis?

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RIP: Harry Crews.

I was heartbroken to hear Harry Crews passed away.

Crews has been one of my favorite writers for years. I’ve been on a quest the last few years to hunt down his out of print 70s novels, in fact.

Without Crews’ lean, cockeyed prose, Broken Piano for President would not be the book it is. Many times, while writing it, I’d look at a portion and realize it would probably make Harry Crews nauseous. I would rewrite until I felt it was as tough and as funny as his work. (Which is impossible, his stuff wipes its boots on my best output, but still.)

Here’s one of my favorite audio interviews.

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