exiting the tunnel on my

drive home from work one day

when I noticed a bus with

the name Cougar Lines

printed on the side

my middle school mind

giggled from within

I looked over and noticed

nothing but geriatric women

I was disgusted

I grimaced and turned away

but quickly realized

that since I am now in my forties

those same decrepit woman

would in fact be my cougars

the joke just didn’t seem 

that funny anymore

Kyle’s Dilemma

an insatiable desire

for animalistic urges

overtakes my being

tendencies toward a

tempestuous scenario

turbulent and tumultuous innards

garner a blackening anguish 

from within

an upheaval of frigid soul

or lack thereof

a careless catastrophe

caused by the need for change

blank stares toward a world

I’ve never known

or choose not to

midnight embraces

do nothing to heal the hurt

deadening from distillation

a chemical induced dulling

providing only a smidgen of relief

a smattering of significance

is sprinkled throughout

I’m just worried

that it will never be enough

(Updated and edited)

as I begin to write this

I’m down to about an inch

of an Olivia Series V cigar

I can’t recall

in my adulthood 

a time that I wasn’t

addicted to nicotine

at an early age

my mom preached

“don’t smoke”

but still sent me

to the corner store

to buy her Kools

I would also buy cigarettes

from the dollar bin by the register

and smoke them with my friends

I am not even sure if I inhaled

or smoked them properly

one time at my grandmother’s beach house

my mom found a pack of ‘Now’ cigarettes

that I purchased from the dollar bin

she gave me the same old

‘don’t smoke’ routine

while her and my dad

were blazing multiple packs daily

at the same beach house

lighting fireworks with my mom’s cigarette

she caught me attempting to take a puff 

she came unglued and said

“if I see you do that again

I’m going to make you eat one”

my young smart ass self told her

“I’ll eat one now”

and did

I puked my fucking guts out

more ‘don’t smoke’ lectures 

that maybe worked for a few years

then I found weed

the after joint or bowl cigarette

was a religion unto itself

that continued for years

with mild attempts to quit

when my mom’s blood pressure

skyrocketed one night

she lost consciousness

and never regained it

at the hospital waiting on

a miracle with my dad I said

“I’m about to smoke a cigarette”

he claimed to have no clue that I smoked

I continued smoking cigarettes

(only this time not hiding it)

with a few more attempts to quit

I started smoking cigars

but spent more on premium sticks

than I did on my packs

so I switched to cheaper sticks

due to my palette being 

accustomed to top-shelf sticks

I eventually went back to the cigs

when my dad died

I started smoking a pipe regularly

it was cheaper

had less chemicals

and the taste and smell were exceptional

but I was still inhaling smoke

then I learned of vaping

initially it was the delivery system

that looked like a cigarette

but soon graduated to massive

box looking contraptions

that could produce an ungodly

amount of vapor clouds

horror stories and reports

on the dangers led me to quit

but I replaced the habit

with dipping snuff

in the past I would take a

dip with someone who had a can

but now I was doing it daily

I knew I didn’t want that to

become a hardcore habit

that’s when my research

led me to Swedish snus

(steam-pasteurized tobacco you can swallow)

the Swedes method is presumably

safer than the fire-cured

American counterpart

I’ve also become reacquainted

with pipe tobacco and

have taken to the hobby

in a big way

buying pipes and collecting 

different tobaccos

so here I am

lipping snus and

smoking pipes daily

enjoying approximately

two cigars a week

having the occasional dip

and after I brush my teeth at night

popping lozenges and

nicotine pouches before slumber

still a goddamned slave

to demon nicotine

I should have listened to mom

the moon slowly ascends

bright like the eyes of a child

round as a witches pot

reaching down with alien hands

toying with the ocean

showering light on killers and saints

making animals sing out of tune

memories made under its illumination

as the world 

sleeps

fucks

and

dies

look at you 

with your clean clothes 

and fancy job

I’d bet your hands 

are that of a princess

while my hands are 

scarred

scabbed

callused

you drive a car 

much smarter than you

your meals are 

elegant and costly

you condescend and patronize 

all you deem lesser or beneath 

the wife

basically a stranger 

spends money well

fucks young bulls

the mistress

wears shiny dresses 

high heels

no panties

your cock 

no comparison

falls short to the size 

of your bank account and ego

the whiskey you drink

and cigars you smoke 

are rare and exquisite

that is the only aspect I envy

ol’ bitch hands

(Originally published by Horror Sleaze Trash)

I once thought I was in love with a whore

she was married and fed me a buffet of lies

tales of a separation and divorce

I was a slave to the cunt

a slave to that cunt

many times stuck by the phone

waiting on her call

only to be let down

defeated

demasculinized

a beefcake turned into a cupcake

without a ringing call

this time was to be different

we set up a meeting at the Taylor Motel

a lowlife

low down motel

low on the totem pole of said establishments

I had a few pre-rolls of weed ready

and picked up a twelve pack of

some kind of beer

she said she’d call at ten

I got to the Taylor at nine

ready to get the fuckfest started

I got the key

parked

and headed toward the room

just before I reached the door

an old

white

wrinkled crackhead

with glasses and no bra 

asked if I needed help with the beer

I politely told her no

that I was waiting on someone

as I entered into the disheveled fuck shack

I cracked open a few cans in preparation 

and waited

and waited

and waited

that fucking bitch

that fucking bitch did it again

and that’s when I regretted

not sharing my beer

with the braless 

four-eyed

crackwhore

Charlotte grew up a fairly typical American girl.  She did very well in school, was in every major club, and was runner-up prom queen her senior year.  However, she was always drawn to the party lifestyle and guys that were the ‘bad boy’ type.  When Charlotte was 19, she got pregnant from a one night stand and had a little baby girl.  She absolutely adored her daughter, and would do anything to keep her safe and taken care of. 

Charlotte met Dylan on a dating app and she was immediately smittened when she laid eyes on his profile pic.  Dylan had dark hair, a short beard, plenty of tattoos, and was sitting on his motorcycle smoking a cigarette.  She messaged him and they set up a meeting at a local bar that same night.  Charlotte’s mother watched her daughter while she went out.  Her mother thought it was healthy that Charlotte was getting out and meeting people since having the baby. 

Charlotte and Dylan had been spending almost every moment with each other for about two months.  Dylan would stay the night at her apartment most nights unless he had an overnight run to make.  He sold crystal meth for a local biker gang known as the Vile Brigade.  On occasion, he would have to drive south and meet members of the Mexican cartel to make the pick up.  Charlotte knew from their initial meeting that Dylan sold drugs, and that added to his mystique and her fascination with him.  The first night they were together, they smoked meth and had every kind of hedonistic sex imaginable.  She was hooked on both Dylan and the drug. 

There wasn’t a day that went by that Charlotte didn’t smoke or snort meth.  Surprisingly, she managed to keep her addiction under control, attend work, and be a good mother.  That is, until Dylan showed up with a rig and injected the poison into her veins for the first time.  This took Charlotte on a downward spiral into the depths of the worst kind of hell imaginable. 

On nights when Dylan wasn’t around, he would tell a few biker buds to take a little dope over to Charlotte’s place and have some fun with her.  The first few times Charlotte felt dirty and used, but soon the stronghold of the drug made it feel like the norm, and she somehow justified it.  While the gang of bikers each had their way with her, all she could think about was getting that next fix and her precious little girl.  Charlotte laid on her bed spread eagle, being used by a menagerie of men, and thought about her sweet, innocent daughter. 

Dylan was withdrawing more and more as Charlotte was steadily wasting away.  The once voluptuous, pretty girl, who was always smiling, was now turning into a real life zombie.  Her teeth were discolored with rot beginning to set in.  The retail store where she worked let her go, due to her new, scrawny, unkempt look.  She was either on multiple day benders or sleeping a few days in a row.  The sound of a hungry kid was what woke her most of the time.  Charlotte absolutely hated herself for what she had become, but the draw of the drug was immeasurable.  She couldn’t fathom just how low she had sunk. 

As Charlotte laid in the bed, she took a massive hit from her glass pipe.  She slowly exhaled a plume of off-white smoke, watching it swirl and dance before her.  Charlotte placed the pipe on her chest, cradled between two rib bones where her breast used to be, and thought about her daughter.  She pondered her birth, what she would be like when she got older, who she would marry, and what she was doing at that very moment. 

Charlotte wondered if she could have gotten even more money from those men for her.

life is like floating 

on the open sea

at some point you may

have been on a vessel

or perhaps you are still aboard

however, at some point we all

find ourselves treading

water in the deep blackness

searching for a life preserver

for a sliver of relief

or perhaps a dingy

to take you back

to safety for a short time

but eventually

we are all back in the void

searching for our savior

a temporary reprieve

be it God

drugs

the bottle

sex

a book

shopping

music

a movie

dancing

eating

anything to take

your mind off of

the tidal wave 

barreling forth

that will engulf and

take you under

at any moment

http://ryethewhiskeyreview.blogspot.com/2020/08/about-drink-on-sunday-night-by-anthony.html

sitting out back on the patio

trying to enjoy my drink and cigar

I’m dripping sweat because 

it’s August in the southeast U.S.

the flies are swarming

making it impossible to relax

I go inside and ask my wife

where the fly swatter is

I take it outside and begin

mass murdering the little bastards

but as soon as I kill three

four more are on me

hovering my drink and

crashing into my head

the cigar smoke does 

nothing to calm them

then I start saying the word

‘fly swatter’ out loud

it begins to sound absurd

like it’s not even a word

I recall as a youth when I

pronounced it ‘flyswuter’

I then think to myself,

we have some real

ballsy motherfuckers here

I’m holding the goddamn killing

instrument in my hand

and they continue to swarm me

landing on my face and arms

driving me absolutely mad

I look at the swatter

it’s seen better days

the plastic is starting to 

come apart from the metal

you can’t expect to win a war

with a broken weapon

this battle is theirs

I retreat back inside

Anthony Dirk Ray

Anthony Dirk Ray