Welcome to Stockdale!

(Part 1. Life through the eyes of Ripley Canton)

I woke up on the front porch. Laying next to the swing. I guess I rolled out of it at some point last night. Or maybe I never even quite made it there. The cracks in the wood left imprints all over my face. How long had I been out? The sky was turning blue and the sun was beginning to wake up to piss me off. I looked at my watch. Six fucking A.M.. Last thing I remember is watching the 11 o'clock news, then going outside to smoke a cig..

Holy shit I'm so thirsty right now. And by the look of all these empty bottles and cans, I was last night too. Got a cigarette butt stuck to my arm.. God that's fuckin sick. Speaking of cigarette.. Pat myself down and find my pack. While the other hand reaches to grab what's left of this 7 hour old stale warm beer.

Reaching down the front of my jeans searching for my Camels, while I tilt this bottle back to fill the dried ditches in my tongue with something wet. Wait a second. Fuck. I just found my cigarettes. They're all in this beer I just poured in my mouth. Good thing this is my porch, cause I'm throwing up on it.

After I decorated the prickly bushes with whatever was left in my stomach from last night (looks like a swallowed a Slim Jim whole with a YooHoo), I wipe the corners, swallow, spit, and push myself inside. Holy shit! Why is the T.V. up so fucking loud? I fucking hate that thing, especially right now. Who ever invented commercials doesn't have a drinking problem, I can tell you that. It feels like there's a cat perched inside my skull. Doing all those things I hate cats for. Scraping its sandpaper tongue right down the center crease of my left and right brain. And it's making a noise like someone dragging forks across a ceramic plate. It's tail extends out my ear, wrapping itself around my neck making me sweat. While its claws push in and out of the back of my eye balls with every heartbeat... This is why I'm a dog person.

What the hell day is it? Why am I even asking that? I know what day it is. A work day. I do the same thing every night. Get off work, get drunk, pass out, wake up, sweat it out. Sometimes it's nice not giving a shit about your job. I work just enough to keep my lights and my buzz on. I figure if I wake up still drunk that don't count as drinking before work. And I've been known to drink half a bottle of mouthwash too. Freshens my breath and puts a pep in my step.

So I throw on a clean work shirt. And by clean I mean the one I have on already. And by work shirt, I mean the one I wore to work yesterday. It ain't shit though. I work at a mattress store called King's Sleep Mattress. You might have seen the commercial. Got that Mexican man wearing a cape with his arms in the air. Pushing the slogan out his teeth with a Mexican accent, "Leep lie uh King! At duh King Leaps Matt-trruss!"