Dipso

DIPSO

Sean Drugan

DIPSO

Copyright © 2021 by Sean Drugan

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

CONTENTS

DIPSO

Fuck chapters

Fuck chapters

Fuck order, punctuation and especially you.

I love everything, except people.

This is dedicated to everyone who has looked at happiness and saw it like the fucking miserable cunt it always turns out to be.

This book is about being told, "I hope you find what you’re looking for, nobody is ever going to be perfect for you’’. Fucking bitch said to me, she is good looking, 5’4, dark curly brown hair and beautiful Baltic features and yet, I couldn’t give a fuck about seeing her naked; people like that, who are just too attractive, usually are boring as fuck and have nothing about them; give me a plump plum full of juice any day of the week.

The sad fucks in their forties standing and blocking my path to the bar are the worse kind of cunts in the world, all obsessed with all the lies about their supposed latest conquests and yet, you can see in their wrinkled and disillusioned eyes that the last time they got some was some time ago, some distant memory to them. If you looked closely enough and, do not fear your own sexuality you can see their big balls protruding out from their too tight, less impressive trousers or jeans.

I could smell her cheap and overpowering perfume from behind me as her garlic breath infringed on my being; my only crime was being in front of her at the bar. As I got my twelfth vodka, I turned around and saw her, 5’9 and a bit plump with long brown hair and big red lips, love at first sight: isn’t it always? My infatuations have time limits, until they want to know the real me and fuck them, that’s a displeasure they are not welcome to. I passed by her, and she looked me dead in the eyes, I returned a quick glance and a crooked half smile and walked towards the wall opposite the bar as this where I usually leaned. I don’t fear the walk home alone, I never do.

Later, I would learn her name, Chelle. I never bothered to ask her whether it was short for something else and four months wasn’t enough time to know these things. She went back to a chair with her fat friend Sam sitting on a small three-legged stool, the stool on the stool I thought, I sniggered slightly, Chelle was looking over and this is me at my fucking worse, I can’t make the first move, they must always as I can’t be bothered, or I can’t full stop, either way this has probably lost me happiness. Chelle drank two more drinks, and I drank six more and had three pisses in that time, I am not sure she had any; I often wonder do women have two bladders.

She waddled over You fancy me?

I reply ‘no’. She waddles off.

An hour or so later, she waddles back over, Why not?

‘I do now, you have grown better looking in the last hour’ I say,

Fuck you, and she laughs and waddles off.

I count the tiles on the ceiling, and as I reach three hundred and fifty-nine, Chelle waddles over and plants one on my lips. You live near here sailor, she asks.

‘I am not a sailor’, I reply.

‘Want to take me home’ she asks hopefully. Want to go to Skip Joys and drink some more?’ I ask hopefully.

OK, and we walk along the cold streets of puke, rejection and pure disease till a small dank and gritty sign signals we have reached Skip joys.

Inside, is what I imagine any place looks like with the pure existence of every fucking lowlife you can imagine, the only worse smell than in here is that of fresh morning air. So, we sit, and I am okay. Once introductions are out of the way in fact, I am brilliant, I can create conversations from thin air, and if any of it is true well that’s just even better, I ask her when the last time was she fucked.

Last week, we broke up yesterday,

‘Why?’

He wouldn’t Hoover she replied.

‘That’s fucking stupid,’ I said ‘just wasn’t meant to be’ she replied.

She slobbered, and then we locked mouths. There was some dancing, she told a kid of about twenty eight to shut the fuck up, and he punched me in the jaw. It hurt, but I didn’t really understand, and we went home.

She entered my flat, and we sat on my couch and opened a bottle of wine, she asked me to put on porn, and I did what I was told, some porn star was sucking a big juicy cock, and she kept saying, Wait for the good part when he comes on her face. I knew then that this would end in disappointment for both of us; drink does that to you, sometimes, mostly more and more where I was concerned. I bet she has gotten horny the last few days after our goodbye emails, she is pregnant and engaged but still, not Chelle, she gets horny having a shit.

Chelle has been staying in my flat a lot the last few weeks, she walks around in yesterday’s knickers eating my Weetabix and watching shit on her phone. She doesn’t attempt hoovering either, ironic really.

I was outside having a smoke and Dots passed by;

Hey Jack

‘Hi Dots’, I replied.

She was 5’6 with blond hair and a curvaceous body, but I just looked at the contents of her shopping bags, clear white bags and something to do with recycling written in green across the front of them, her time of the month, toilet roll. Whenever I see a girl carrying toilet roll, it just makes me see them more as humans and having the same piggish ways as men, grunting and farting while reading football or beauty blogs. I wonder, does she even wash her hands.

Going down to Gilbert's tonight? she asked.

Gilbert's, the pub down the road which when you entered, you entered what you think is a pissing contest as that is all you can smell, that and body odour. It was okay, it had cheap booze and lots of fights and fucking, no one cared much for gender in there.

‘Might do’, I replied.

How’s Flo? she asked, and I laughed thinking about the contents of her bag.

‘Pregnant and engaged’ I said.

Congratulations, wow.

‘Not mine and not me’, I replied.

Right, too bad, she said.

Fuck her I wanted to say, but instead, I said, ‘might see you in Gilbert's later’.

And with that, she walked on by. Fuck I feel awful.

At this stage, to make sense of the lifestyle you are about to witness, I should point out that I won the lottery six years ago, nearly six million euro, but I didn’t tell anyone. I never do the lottery; I finished work around six, a fucking degenerate job as a kitchen porter and I was walking to my girlfriend’s flat on Dorset Street when I had this urge to buy a naggin of vodka and drink it before I go see her. I entered this small Spar shop with a half blind old man behind the counter.

‘A naggin of vodka’ I said,

Got identification? he asked,

‘No’.

Wouldn’t be able to see it properly anyway he said.

I handed him nine quid, and out of nowhere, I said, ‘a one-line quick pick plus’.

Grand, he said.

When I got to Sarah’s place, she was in her stupid fucking onesie, and this meant no fucking. She liked that skinny stupid cunt from the Late Late Show and watched it religiously; I was thankful I was half locked. I checked my phone, no messages, that fucking dumb cow I met in Dicey’s didn’t reply to my last text. I knew she had been online, but she didn’t even bother to check it, fuck her I thought. For some reason I opened the lotto website to check the winning numbers, they came up, and my first thought was, I didn’t even need to purchase the plus option, fuck that. Fuck Sarah and fuck that onesie and especially fuck that skinny cunt, I never saw her again after that night.

I will drink until I die, but I am not a normal drunk, I am a rational one. I bought a flat down the soulless cesspit that is the IFC. I paid 350,000 euro for a three-bedroom apartment five and half years ago. It is worth 530,000 now. I was told this by the neighbour, 5’7 Sally, who is married to the thickest cunt bag you will ever meet, called Simon. I sometimes think they only got married so they could put SS on their clothes, which they do. Anyway, who gives a fuck what things are worth? I have around 5,000,000euros left at this stage, and this must last me a lifetime, whatever that may be. I don’t intend to work or engage in anything ever again apart from fucking, drinking and occasionally fighting. I am no fighter, but a man must defend himself sometimes.

Chelle is watching some shit on TV. I walked over to the fridge and took out a banana.

Are you going out? she asked.

‘No’.

Want to fuck?

‘I will, after I eat my banana’, I replied.

"Okay, she said.

I fell asleep in my recliner thinking of Flo, wondering if she is happy.

My life is a book without words. Just pages and each one turning and telling a story of my days on this soiled fucking planet of ours. I want my book to experience everything it can within a five mile radius of here. I have no interest in seeing outside, regardless of what exotic lands lay elsewhere. Here, I can see all life has to offer within a few miles. All the suffering of people working, being drunk, being sick, being mentally sick, seeing weird shit and doing weird shit. It’s all here, and I am here to sample it all. I love life even if I hate its inhabitants. Maybe I just don’t understand life, or at the very least, understand people. It’s no cocoon I’m living in, if that’s what you think, I see the used needles just like anyone else, I piss down lanes just like anyone else, and I fuck, shit and piss just like everyone else. It’s God’s image so, blame him.

I run a bath and hope Chelle gets the hint. It’s too small to fuck in the bath so, I really hope she gets the hint. She doesn’t. It’s beginning to smell like Gilbert's in here, I open a window and seagulls are heard, and so the window is shut, fuck the seagulls. They are miserable bastards. John knocks on the door; I have known John since we both appeared in court for public disorder when we were sixteen. John became gay in prison or, so he says. We might have given each other blow jobs when drunk one night, but I don’t like to think about it. John said I took his virginity the next night. I told him I didn’t think I did, and he said okay. I don’t mind him coming over. We watch Naked and Afraid, a show where both genders are dropped in some backward mountain or terrain, and they get naked and must fend for themselves for twenty one days with only one object each, they blur out the tits but not the fella’s chest, and they blur out the cocks and the pussies. Why? We all have them. Why can’t we be trusted to see them on television? Are we going to start fucking TV sets out of lack of control? It’s fucking dumb. I eat another banana; it’s good for lining the stomach, I read somewhere. John looks at me eating the banana, so I eat it slowly, it tastes good, and I like bananas a lot.

We are going out, John says.

Where? Chelle asks.

Gilbert's John replies.

I’ll put on jeans, she says

Sound

Fuck you John, I want to say, but we wait on pissy knickers and start the walk down the road. He really is a dumb cunt.

What can I get you Jack? the country lad Nick says to me from behind the shitty bar.

‘A Long Island iced tea, a Whiskey sour and a Vodka and tonic’ I say.

He comes back with two pints of lager and a vodka and tonic.

Want some lime? he asks.

‘Sure’.

After pouring some lime into my glass, I feel the need to go wash my hands. As I am walking back from the toilets, I see John and Chelle talking closely, and as I get closer, John sees me, and they stop and smile. My first thought was that they were talking about me and my second thought was they wouldn’t be boring enough to do that. I sat down, and there was silence. I liked silence and especially in loud places. Some music came on and some fat men and women in the left corner, under the fake deer head, started to dance, and it looked funny, all those layers shaking like fat albino whales. After eight drinks, the conversation usually gets better, and Chelle was telling John she might get back with the ex. Turns out he bought himself a Hoover and took a picture of the nozzle with his cock in it and sent a picture to Chelle with the words ‘Will never replace you’. Chelle thought it to be the most romantic thing ever. Maybe there was hope for her. Hi Jack I turned, and Dots was standing behind me.

‘Hi Dots’, I replied.

I invited her to sit down, and as I looked at her, I wondered how many times she had shit today. She really should invest in some non-clear bags, fuck recycling, this is what it’s done to the world, brought shit into the human psyche. I introduced her to Chelle as she already knew John. Having a good night love? John asked.

Just glad to be out John, it gets lonely indoors all alone she replied.

There’s always an app for loneliness love, John said and laughed. John, when I was drunk and asleep signed me up for a gay dating site, and I went on two dates. I was confused. I am not confused anymore; he did me a favour really. Although, at that time, I thought it was quite mean spirited. Fuck him.

Dots started to talk about drugs. John does anything, and everything and that includes drugs too. Chelle is predictable in her own Irish way; she does not like drugs when sober but when drunk, like John, will do anything and everything, even drugs. My drug is a blue inhaler. If I am feeling like dropping dead or even asleep, I will inhale from the little blue plastic asthma inhaler, and I feel okay again. I do not have asthma. It just works. I did some drugs once, and they made me extremely happy in a very pessimistic way, and I did not appreciate it, life is pain, and I like the feel of life.

I have some nice Es Dots said.

Let’s go home, said John.

We went back to my flat. Chelle, John and Dot took their pills. I opened a bottle of whiskey and made whiskey sours for myself. They drank only beer. Chelle got drunk an hour later and took a pill. This is fun, I thought. It is a strange thing to see three adults high on drugs. It starts small, little hand holding, loving gestures, hugs, kissing because that shows love, apparently. Nobody came near me. Maybe they sensed the whiskey was giving me unhinged thoughts. They put on terrible dance music. I hate dance music. Why can’t people dance to Leonard Cohen I mused to myself. Watching the three uneducated dancers dance is like watching three orangutans having an erotic episode while also simultaneously having an epileptic fit. It should be funny, but I felt sad watching them, or maybe it was the music which was too loud I thought.

Come dance, Dots said.

‘I am okay’, I replied.

I always think when I look at you that you know something about me that I don’t, she said.

‘I don’t’.

Tell me something you know about me.

‘You shit a lot’, I said.

What the fuck? she laughed.

‘You should get bags that are not see through.’

I have IBS you fuck, She said. I just stared at her bum. Chelle came over and attempted and failed to dance sexily around my chair. I needed a piss. When I came back, Chelle and Dots were dancing ugly sexy. They were ugly sexy, but not sexy. They started kissing, and John started to rub his cock through his jeans, and I closed my eyes and thought about Flo as a mother. Flo will make a good mother; she had plenty of practice with me. It's difficult being an orphan, I thought.

After I collected the lotto cheque, I went and lodged it into the bank and withdrew two hundred euro. I got on a bus into town and found Cleary’s department store. When I was fifteen I would go into Cleary’s and hang just opposite the lingerie section and watch women pick up and look at the lingerie and would keep that image with me till I got home, then, I went straight to my bedroom and masturbated furiously, quickly and within two minutes my cum would be on my stomach and I would feel terrible. Not this day. This day, I went in and bought my parents a toaster, an electric kettle and a waffle maker. I went home on the bus and walked the short walk from the bus stop to my house. I went in through the dreary door and into the greasy kitchen that smelled of ash and beer. I put the stuff down on the table and said to my mam and dad;

‘Here I got this for you.’

My father punched me in the face, and my mother hit me with a brush, the wooden part, not the soft sweeping part. They informed me that I was damaged and would need to find my own way in life. They said they had given me everything and had got nothing in return, only some stolen electrical items. I tried to hug them goodbye for some reason, and they reclined. I left. I see my mother sometimes getting her hair cut in town. She looks well. I don’t miss them. I never wanted that house anyway. It was always cold.

I awoke, and Dots was rubbing her bare bum on my face, I slapped it away, and she fell to the ground laughing. Chelle was topless and in her knickers, and John was naked and half erect. I felt sick, went to the bathroom and vomited. I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror. Forty-two and I look fucked. I am good looking but rough. Women find that appealing about me.

Are you shitting in there? Dot’s asks while laughing outside the toilet. I open the door, and she has a beer in her hand and hands it to me.

Come on, keep me company while I pee I sit on the side of the bath and take a gulp of beer, it tastes good.

I might fart, sorry, Dots says.

‘I don’t care’. I say. She does. It’s awful. I ask her about IBS, and she doesn’t answer.

Do you like Chelle?

‘She is okay’, I say.

Can I come over sometime when she is not here? She asks.

‘Sure.’ She attempts to wipe her pussy with a slight of tissue and misses and instead wipes it with her bare hand. She doesn’t wash her hands. I don’t care.

I go to bed. I dream about being a father and Flo is breastfeeding in St Stephens Green, and some old man sneers at her, I get up and start chasing him, and he runs off. I throw a half bottle of beer at him, it misses. I go back and sit beside Flo, and she kisses me on the cheek.

I feel good today so far. I walk into the living room, and it smells awful. John is lying on the floor with his cock in his hand snoring. Chelle is on the couch, and a bottle of beer is inside her knickers. I go over and remove the beer from her knickers and drink it down. It’s warm and satisfies my thirst. I look for Dots, but she is nowhere to be found. I guess she went home. I find my smokes and go outside, and light one and the first drag feels good, I cough. Some girl going to work gives me a bad look and walks by quickly. I look down, and I’ve just my boxers on. If I was on the beach it would be acceptable, so, why not here? People are dumb, I think.

I go back inside and find some trousers and put them on and find my jacket, its leather, black and has a heart engraved into the front of it. I decide I want to get out of here, so, I decide I will do my favourite thing in the world. Ride the Luas red line from start to finish, twelve times. The rush hour is over as I get on the Luas. There are plenty of seats, and I choose one besides a girl who looks as rough as I do. After two stops, she says, why are you sitting beside me when there are loads of seats everywhere?

I said that I felt you’d like the company, but I can move if you want.

You sound posh, she says.

‘I suppose I do’.

I don’t, don’t I not, she says. It took me a while to figure that out, and when I did, I said that I didn’t notice either way.

Want to go for a walk through town? she asks.

‘Okay’, I reply.

Her name was Tanya, she was 5’8 and twenty seven years old. We got off at Abbey Street and crossed the street to the boardwalk that ran along the Liffey. Tanya told me she did heroin but was trying to get clean, she was starting a week from now. She said she was continuously raped from six years old to twelve years old and then she left home, she said everyone has let her down through her life. I agreed. We walk along the boardwalk, and she seemed to know lots of people along the way, they seemed nice. We stopped and sat opposite the view of Christ church. We held hands but not in a sexual way, more just in a friendship way, I liked it, I liked Tanya, I thought I won’t let her down. She smoked some crack, and I drank some whiskey, and she told me she wanted to become an actor. We then walked to Summer Hill, and I collected my disability benefit from the social welfare; I gave it to Tanya. I gave her my phone number and told her to keep in touch. I never did hear from her again. I hope she is dead; it seemed the better option for her. People will always let her down I thought. Better she goes out high. It has been twelve hours. When I walk through the door of my apartment, I am met with silence and the smell. It seems about right. I take off my coat and throw it on the floor. I lie down on the couch, and it smells of Chelle. I won’t miss that smell I think, and I close my eyes.

I awake in a bed, and the first thing that hits me is the wetness and the rubber. I try to move my hand to use my finger to scratch my nose, but they are bound each side of the bed by leather straps. I don’t put up a fight and instead just lie there and think of a house I often see. This house is in the mountains, and it has a fire that burns hot. A woman is playing with a child in the corner and music comes from an old-fashioned stereo. Apart from this, there is no noise, and it's beautiful. The woman is smiling at me, but I can’t see her face, but I feel loved. The child is singing something, something innocent. I look out the window, and all I see is trees and greenery and a wild stag that looks in at me. The wild stag wants me to follow it. I close the curtains and when I turn around the house is in darkness and is silent, the silence is awful.

I was awoken by a knock on the door. My eyes feel glued together, my mouth feels like cotton and my head feels like it doesn’t exist anymore; it’s hollow and out of reach. Apart from these things, I feel okay. I open the door and Dots is standing there.

Need help cleaning? she says.

‘I don’t know’, I say, and she laughs and walks past me.

It smells awful in here, where’s John and Chelle?

‘Gone’

I sit on my chair and watch as Dots starts to pick up all the rubbish and discards it into a black bin bag. I wondered where she got those things.

Do you want to eat something? she asks.

‘Okay’

Do you have any money?

‘I do.’

Want to go get something while I fix this place up?

‘Okay’, I said.

I get my jacket and put my shoes on and close the door behind me. It is Monday night, and there is coldness in the air and quietness in the street; opposite me is some sort of small complex that has what looks like dancing and yoga classes going on through the big open windows. There are lots of fat people bending themselves into self-improvement and lots of fat people dancing the calories off. I wonder if Dots eats Big Macs. I decide I will go for a quick drink. Not to Gilbert's, I want to go somewhere where no one knows me, and no one will talk to me. I see a classy looking bar in a hotel on the quays and walk through the large marble reception thinking, why don’t they stop me? Through the bar, there are lots of big TVs and couches around them, and I go to the bar and sit on a large stool and order a whiskey and pint of lager. I pay with my card. I never keep cash on me as I would only lose it. Someone told me once that taxis now accept cards, but I prefer to walk home from wherever I am at. Walking home can be a film of sorts; so many plots and so much imagery. It can