Alcohol: One Man’s Proud Confession

Written by R.G. Yoho on August 26, 2013

As someone who grew up around cattle pastures, I can tell you that you probably wouldn’t want to consume a cow pile. They smell bad. They don’t seem rather appealing.

But if you applied the same standard to cow piles that you apply to beer, perhaps you might also acquire a taste for them as well.

I just never quite got it.

As someone who has worked a lot of midnight shifts in my life, I can tell you that they make my head and body ache. They make a person miserable, painful, and exhausted, which sounds remarkably similar to the state of drunkenness my drinking friends have often described.

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Therefore, if being drunk makes a person feel as bad or worse than working midnights, I can’t understand the desire to ever do it again.

I work midnights to support my family and continue my writing habit, but I won’t willingly stay up all night just for the fun of feeling bad the next day.

Another thing that leaves me confused about drinking is the incessant need of male drinkers to prove their love of beer to their friends.

I love Coca Cola, not Pepsi.

I will often drink Pepsi, but only if Coke is unavailable.

But as much as I love Coke, I have never felt the desire to consume an entire case of it in one evening.

Beer drinkers do this all the time.

Beer drinkers will sit around and argue about who drank the most beer among them, in order to prove that they love beer more than the next guy.

Maybe I just don’t love Coke as much as I thought.

In addition, I’ve never understood people who travel to a football games and get drunk.

As someone who regularly attends WVU football games in Morgantown, I have seen dozens of these people, the soles of their shoes sticking out from under the stalls, as they knelt and retched over a toilet.

Why would you pay that kind of money, to travel that far, to get that sick, to miss the game, to kneel in urine and vomit, to stick your face in a spot where so many backsides have squatted before you?

Wouldn’t it be more sanitary to just stay at your own home, save your money and time, watch it on your own television, and kneel in front of your own porcelain receptacle, and know that nobody else has defecated there first?

Perhaps that’s an acquired taste as well.

But most of all, maybe I’m just afraid of becoming an alcoholic, something that will never happen if I don’t ever choose to take that first drink.

Image: Temperance Leture; artist: Edward Edmondson, Jr., (1830–1883); Current location: Dayton Art Institute; public domain

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R.G. Yoho is a Western author who has published seven books, including “Death Comes to Redhawk,” along with a non-fiction work entitled “America’s History is His Story.”

 

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