Drinking Leads to Thinking

So, I found it odd after seeing Dave Matthews Band (for the second time, mind you) that I went back to my friend's sister's apartment and drank close to six beers within a half-hour while dissecting Marilyn Manson's Antichrist Superstar album. At the actual event, I probably had two pints of Killian's as well, so these six were not my only helpings of booze that night. I became almost detached from the world--my state of mind was not joyous that night (even though I did enjoy the concert), for I had many things on my mind.

To many, these things may have seemed tiny, infintesmal in comparison to the thoughts of victims of drugs and domestic violence, but with as great a life as I have had, there are many things that sadden, anger, and confuse me all the same.

. . . alas, that is not the point . . .

Something as seemingly violent and iconoclastic as early Manson's efforts does not come to mind when soothing the savage breast (yes, it's breast, or so the original phrase goes). And I'm really not that savage anyway--I went to a DMB concert for fuck's sake--but I feel as if Manson has found the miracle cure to society's problems. Sing about the fake assholes that try to make life bitter for those around them while all the same embettering their own futures. He sings of the fuck-ups in Hollywood, saying that everyone wants to be "Mister Superstar," but nobody wants to be this mystique.

Maybe Marilyn's a weird freak with a skin costume that includes cloven hooves, enlargened breasts, and a cropped crotch region. But if any modern band possesses some true meaning, this is definitely a prime example of such.

So, to continue on about the night, in which I failed to mention that I smoked a full pack of Phillies blunts (that Strawberry flavored bitch stuff), I ended up drinking so much so fast that I almost yarfed and had to down a shot or two of Pepto to suppress my stomach's yearnings.