Talking To Beer

This is a story from the days when fags were queers.

It was summer. My foreman was drunk. He had his aviator shades on. He was always drunk.

I was drunk. I was wearing my punk rock shades. I was leaning on my pike pole watching the river roll by. I was always drunk and stoned too. I was trying not to think about vomiting in the river.

My foreman was in a talking to Beer mood. I cannot explain it. Sometimes people just have to talk to me. That's what happens when you do not tell enough people to, "Fuck off."

"Could you imagine what it would be like for your son to be a cocksucker? Your flesh and motherfucking blood. A fucking cocksucker. You take your kid to hockey practice, to the boxing club, you watch Clint Eastwood movies with him, you buy him beer when he is too young to buy his own...you even buy him condoms when you think he might knock up the girl next door. Next thing you know he is sucking cocks. Swallowing probably. A motherfucking cum swallowing cocksucker."

"You're not talking about your boy are you?"

"My neighbour's boy. Everybody thought he had a chance to make the Canucks he was such a fighter. He could skate circles around the other boys like he was a figure skater for fuck's sake. Now all he wants to do is be a cocksucker. Fuck me. Now I don't even like to work out in the garden when I know the boy is home in case he's looking at me bending over and shit."