Tagged with booze joke

Day 50: Sober New Year’s Eve

Yesterday was Day 50 of my Year Of Living Sober.

All smiles, no booze

It was a Friday. My wife and I (and baby daughter) had a nice surprise when a couple of friends dropped around to see us before the New Year and before our second baby is born (which should be within the next couple of weeks). We had a lovely catch up and, even though it was a very warm summer’s day in Melbourne, not a single boozey drink was downed.

No beers, no cans of Jim Beam and coke (a fav we often share) and no scotch (though I’m the only one who would normally drink scotch anyway). We talked a bit about my experiment of not drinking for a year and my friends asked how my YOLS was going and congratulated me on hitting the 50 day mark.

“Really good I said,” and “thanks!”

It was no big deal really—us all not drinking—because although we’ve had some fun drunkin’ times together, we don’t always drink when we’re out together. Even if we’re out to see a band at a pub, or trying one of their preferred Vegan restaurants, we don’t always get sloshed or even tipsy.

Booze aint what keeps us friends.

But with New Year’s Eve (which my wife and I will both experience cold sober) so close we started reminiscing about celebrations gone by, most of which would have ended up with us all pretty intoxicated. We fondly recalled a few years ago celebrating New Year’s Eve together when our friends were living by the beach. My wife and I agreed that was probably one of our favourite NYE nights ever and I’m pretty sure we all got pretty tanked.

I remember it was a hot night, the water was mild and the sand was squeaky clean and cool. And besides the spectacular sunset I also remember how much I loved that night had little to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the company.

Like yesterday.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 50:

An aggressive drunk walks into a bar and the barman says, “What would you like kind Sir?” and the aggressive drunk says “F*ck off.”

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No booze for me, I’m on a YOLS.

Yesterday was Day 49 of my Year Of Living Sober.

It was a Thursday.

No biggy. Every day is another day: I write, I eat, I exercise and, up until 49 days ago, I drink.

Well, I still drink, just nothing alcoholic. Not for another 316 days. That’s the deal. The deal I dealt myself. Because 49 days ago I committed to ‘A Year of Living Sober’.

In my fantasies of having an acronymical effect on the world, sometimes I imagine, one day, likeminded folk everywhere will politely turn down the offer of an alcoholic beverage with a simple declaration:

“No thanks, I’m taking a Yols.”

or

“No booze for me, I’m on a Yols.”

With the New Year just around the corner I’ve been thinking about how others might be gearing up to make a BIG CHANGE in 2012 with a New Year resolution relating to boozin’ a little (or a lot) less. But because it’s such early days with this blog I’m not expecting many people to commit to cutting back by proclaiming their choice to go 12 months of life hangover-free with any mention of a YOLS—not yet.

But maybe one day it will be cool to say:

“Pass the Champagne. Tomorrow I start my Yols!”

After all it is very easy to text message too.

YOLS.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 49:

Q. How many New Age gurus does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. None. The source of light is within.

It means ‘Year Of Living Sober’!

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Top Ten Booze Jokes

Little Booze Joke 48

A cannibal walks into a bar and the barman says, “Fancy an imported beer?” and the cannibal says, “No thanks. Just give me one of your regulars.”

How you doin?

Yesterday was Day 48 of my Year Of Living Sober.

It was a Wednesday. Like every Wednesday (Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday) for the past 6 or so weeks I wrote my daily YOLS post and, as always (except for today), included at the end a little booze joke.

Everyday I blog about my Year Of Living Sober. I see what evolves, what cravings emerge, what mental hurdle I come across, and I write a bit about my experience with sobriety. When I began this blog I wanted to make sure I didn’t ever take myself too seriously though (enough of those types around isn’t there?) and so I decided to challenge myself further to see if I could come up with an alcohol related joke to sign off each post with.

So far I have. Though I almost gave up around Day 20. Now, I’m glad I didn’t.

Coming up to fifty days without a drop of booze I’ve also written 48 occasionally funny, almost all completely original, gags.

Some are even funny.

Here are my Top 10 Booze Jokes from Year Of Living Sober (so far):

Little Booze Joke Number 1.

Q. How many bi-curious drunks does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. Two. One to change the lightbulb and one to try screwing the other way.

Little Booze Joke Number 2.

Q. What do you call a daiquiri made with precisely two-and-a-half eggs?

A. Eggs-daiquiri.

Little Booze Joke Number 3.

Q. Why does drinking too much alcohol in your teens lead to memory loss?

A. Why does drinking too much alcohol in your teens lead to memory loss?

Little Booze Joke Number 4.

Q: How many binge-drinkers does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Two. One to change the lightbulb and one to spew on your shoes.

Little Booze Joke Number 5.

Q: How many drunks does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Six. One to change the lightbulb and five to check the old lightbulb is really finished.

Little Booze Joke Number 6.

Q: What did the drunk say to the self-righteous teetotaller?

A: Fancy a wine?

Little Booze Joke Number 7.

Q: How many drunk teenagers does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Two. One to change the lightbulb and another to Tweet a picture of the other being electrocuted.

Little Booze Joke Number 8.

Q: Why did the alcohol dependent blogger cross the road?

A: To get to the confessional post.

Little Booze Joke Number 9.

Q: Why did the office worker Christmas drunk cross the road?

A: To get to the photocopier on the other side.

Little Booze Joke Number 10.

Q: Why did the drunk judge cross the road?

A: He’d come to a guil-T.

 

If you are Steve Martin or the producer of 30 Rock please contact me with offers to purchase any of these beauties. If not, simply enjoy.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

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What’s in your Rocket Fuel?

Yesterday was Day 47 of my Year Of Living Sober.

It was a Tuesday.

In the morning my wife, baby girl and I did the normal morning things (feed baby, change baby’s nappy; eat fruit, throw fruit on floor; feed self, splash water on face) and then went for a walk along the river. Later in the day, after I did my daily blog post, we went up to Target at the local shopping centre and it was while looking for newborn baby hats (for our second child due in about a week) when, in a nearby aisle, I spotted this handy two litre margarita pre-mix.

Pre-mix margarita, Post-mix vomit.

This bucket o’ mixer, likely inspired by the buckets o’ booze sold to tourists in Thailand, got me thinking about my younger years when I used to hit the spirits hard. Not when I was in my thirties though—and I went to Phi Phi and was too sick with food poisoning to be tempted by a bucket of indiscriminately chosen spirits topped up with post-mix—I’m talking about way back, back when I was a fresh-faced teen turning to the dark rum side for the first time.

Back then hitting the spirits hard meant doing whatever you could to mask the actual taste. If it wasn’t bucket loads of coke to help wash down the fuel-like taste of cheap scotch it was pints of milk to make the sweet condensed coffee taste of Kahlua more palatable.

And, even though my friends and I had paid a week or two’s worth of paper-delivery wages for the vodka we sometimes drank, the preferred flavours were either lemonade (also good to dilute the sickening saccharine intensity of Midori) or orange juice; it wasn’t ’til I was in my twenties, after I’d seen some cool characters do it in movies, when I started putting my Stolichnaya in the freezer and mixing it with a dash of lime cordial and a squeeze of fresh lemon all over ice.

But before all that there was another kind of mixer: the homemade variety known as ‘rocket fuel’.

I know I’m not alone with the memory of raiding my parents liquor cabinet (however small or disappointingly stocked it may have been) to steal thimble-fulls at a time of whatever was on offer and throw it all in together to make a most intoxicating, most foul tasting clandestine concoction. I’m not sure but maybe this is when I got my taste for Cointreau. I’m lucky I don’t still like to mix that sweet orange liqueur with Old Tawny Port; though perhaps somewhere in this post-modern, post-moderation society such a combo is now trés sophisticate!

But, since I’m giving up drinking for a whole year, and despite whatever imaginative rocket fuel concoction will be getting the kids spastic drunk this New Year’s Eve, I won’t be mixing more than a sugar into my coffee.

Even after my YOLS is up I think those days of pretending I actually like downing beverages like the ‘Big Bucket—Strawberry Flavour’ are well behind me.

You could say the bucket is off my bucket list. For good.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 47:

A Russian walks into a bar and the barman says, “Vodka?” and the Russian says, “Vladamov. Who’d call their son ‘Vodka’?”

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Day 46: New Year’s Resolution is More Cold Turkey

Yesterday was Day 46 of my year of living sober.

It was a Monday. It was also Boxing Day.

Wild Turkey on ice...cube background.

A lot of people probably had some cold turkey on Boxing Day. Personally, I went for the cold turkey 46 days ago.

When I decided to give up drinking alcohol for 365 days straight I did so by committing with a bang. I’d thought about the idea of a Year Of Living Sober (though not necessarily blogging about it) before but never actually attempted one. When I did I went in all or nothing.

I went cold turkey.

I didn’t decide to cut down or even to simply have a week or a month off. No. I knew I wanted more of a change and more of a challenge than I’d had before. So, and continuing with the animal metaphors, I went the whole hog.

But I did give myself a bit of a run-up.

My year off the booze started a day before my ‘official’ starting date of 11/11/2011. It wasn’t that I wanted to extend my YOLS into a leap-YOLS rather that I liked the ring of 11/11/2011 as my marker (even though, since I had an ‘alcohol related’ migraine, I didn’t drink anything alcoholic on the 10th of November).

Another good date to choose to start my YOLS might have been 1/1/2012. New Year’s Day is generally considered the day for making these sort of commitments too. What better day to set yourself a life-changing goal than the first one of a brand new year?

But what if, like me, you couldn’t—or can’t—wait ’til then? Guess you could always give yourself a bit of a run up.

Even if it was just one unofficial day.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 46:

A turkey walks into a bar and the barman says, “The usual? One vodka and cranberry?” and the turkey says, “Not today thanks. I’m off the sauce.”

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Day 45: Sober Christmas with Steve Martin

Yesterday was Day 45 of my year of living sober.

It was a Sunday. It was also Christmas Day.

Thanks Steve Martin and John Irving!

Normally on Christmas Day I would have an excuse to start drinking early. Maybe I’d have some champagne for breakfast or pop my first beer stubbie before the hallowed noon? The rest of the day would be one glass of wine after the next. And, since I’d often receive a bottle of scotch (from either my sister-in-law or my wife—who only ever buys me spirits at Christmas, or occasionally on my birthday) I’d likely finish the day and myself off with a few straight shots on ice (having eaten too much to fit in any bloaty coke).

But this year was different.

In line with my commitment to living a year without alcohol, this year I had some pre-noon non-alcholic ‘champagne’ (with a late breakfast of eggs, pumpkin bread toast, smoked salmon and spinach) and a couple of non-alcoholic ‘beers’ throughout the day. Besides no hangover this morning, not drinking on Chrissy Day had another benefit: I finished reading one of my Christmas presents in, apart from a couple trips to the loo, one sitting.

Not drinking, my mind was sharper and more conducive to absorbing the subtle humour and slow pathos of a magnificent memoir by one of my teenage hero’s.

While my parents-in-law watched Christmas Vacation 17 (or whatever Chevy Chase vehicle it was motoring along in the background) I put my feet up and devoured Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up. As a huge fan of almost all of Martin’s (I really should call him ‘Steve’, such is my affinity and affection) work (Pink Panther et al being the exception) I couldn’t thank my sister-in-law enough for getting me everyone of the titles I’d text messaged her (in response to her  request of my wife for pressie ideas).

Unwrapping 5 Steve Martin books and 1 John Irving memoir (My Movie Business) it was still a surprise though—cause I’d forgotten what I’d asked for. I was so excited I started reading before lunch. By dessert I’d finished Martin’s honest and inspirational account of his rise to fame as a stadium-filling stand-up comedian; the first and only of his kind.

I highlighted a few passages in Born Standing Up, one particularly appropriate to Year Of Living Sober. Martin explained how he used to record his performances on a cheap tape-recorder and listen back to see where he could improve his act. In the following snippet he writes about working on a bit about a smug party guy with a drink in his hand:

When the bit started, the waitresses brought me a glass of wine that I would use as a prop. When that glass was empty, they would bring me another. One night I listened to the tape and could hear myself slurring. I never had a drink before or during a show again.

I don’t think Steve Martin stopped drinking for good but he did learn that, for him at least, there is a time and a place for boozin’ and it’s not on stage, at work, making people laugh.

It reminds me how I used to never drink before going on stage to perform my music but how, when I got more confident and relaxed, I started having the odd beer or glass of wine (or five) while doing my singer-songwriter gigs.

Maybe next time I’m on stage I’ll try doin’ it my old way: sober?

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 45:

Santa walks into a bar and the barman says, “Hey Santa, have I been naughty or nice?” and Santa says, “If it’s okay with you I don’t want to talk about work tonight?”

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Day 44: I Love J.C. and the Hero’s Journey.

Yesterday was Day 44 of my year of living sober.

It was a Saturday—Christmas Eve.

My daughter chooses Joseph Campbell.

On Christmas Eve I took this photo of my daughter, Honey Rose. You can see at the bottom of the frame a copy of one of Joseph Campbell’s books. Honey often takes other books by other authors out of my less and less well-ordered shelf but she seems particularly drawn to Campbell, much in the same way I was some twenty-odd years ago: repeatedly.

The book Honey most often carefully places on the floor, at the feet of my swivel desk chair, is Pathways To Bliss, a gift from my wife for my birthday two years ago. Pathways To Bliss has a few dog ears but is by no means as well read as my copy of Campbell’s perhaps most famous work, The Hero With A Thousand Faces.

But J.C. is not only one of my favourite authors he is also one of my favourite speakers. Thanks to The Power of Myth television interviews he did with Bill Moyers I have been able to enjoy Campbell’s eloquence directly from the comparative mythologists mouth. Well, almost directly.

One famous saying attributed to Campbell is “follow your bliss” and whether we know it or not, Campbell has either directly or indirectly influenced most people alive today; if you’ve ever heard of a movie called Star Wars you have benefited from some of Campbell’s work, lifetime study and investigation into the reoccurring themes expressed across cultures in myth and religion.

Campbell knew better than anyone how the religions and mythologies of diverse people’s all share symbols of sometimes varying appearance but always relatable—often identical—meaning; the names in our stories may change but the path we tread from birth to death is greatly shared.

Campbell focussed a great deal on something he described as ‘the Hero’s Journey’. He was fascinated by the stages any individual encounters when making a major change or encountering an unexpected life-challenge. While I have not yet mapped out what I might expect with the rest of my Year Of Living Sober, I imagine I will be able to identify the stages Campbell first described in his seminal (always wanted to use that word) book, The Hero With a Thousand Faces.

The ‘Hero’s Journey’ of a man choosing not to drink for a year might include these basic stages inspired by Campbell’s analysis:

1) Normal World: In which a man thought nothing of drinking alcohol everyday. Generally not to the point of wild drunkenness but more than he knew was healthy.

2) Departure: After a series of excruciating migraines this man begins thinking it is time to make a change in his drinking habits. After an especially painful post-wedding (not his own, fortunately) bout of heavy drinking,  and the subsequent blinding migraine, he vows to go a full year without drinking alcohol

3) Initiation:  The man’s resolve is tested by everything from seasonal celebrations (Christmas/New Years) to the temptation to mark the birth of his second child with a single glass of Champagne. Other challenges come from within, when the would be hero doubts his own intentions, citing his need to keep a public blog about his endeavour as proof of his own egomania and narcissistic tendency. Searching within for the part of his self which embraces change and fears not judgement from the world, the hero continues on his adventure with the aid of helpful allies (his wife; his parents-in-law; a few understanding friends) and reaches his goal of 365 days without a stiff drink.

4) Return: Having accomplished his goal, the hero learns that it was only part of what the universe had conspired to ‘teach’ him; living now with the realization life can be more than a pint of cold beer with mates, or a bottle of wine alone with a David Lynch DVD, the hero brings a new moderation to his ‘new’ normal life, secure in the knowledge when it comes to booze he can take it or leave it: the important thing is he knows he always has a choice, and one he has the self-discipline to employ.

Campbell broke the hero’s journey down into more stages than these four but hopefully this gives a basic idea of what he was on about.

After Campbell, Christopher Vogler continued helping writers like me (and anyone interested in the art of great storytelling) to understand the nuances of mythic structure, in his book ‘The Writer’s Journey’. If you are lucky enough to get anything by Campbell or a copy of Vogler’s book this Christmas, and you know nothing of either’s work, you are in for a real treat.

And some kind of journey.

Merry Christmas!

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 44:

A one-eyed monster walks into a bar and the barman says, “Eye.”

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Day 43: Christmas Eve Cheers from Sam Malone

Yesterday was Day 43 of my year of living sober.

It was a Friday—Friday 23rd December 2011, to be precise. Which makes today the 24th December—Christmas Eve.

How young does Woody look?

So close to Christmas I’ve been thinking about how millions of people will enjoy a glass of bubbly or some creamy eggnog or something else festive during this holiday season. But since I won’t be joining in I kind of feel a bit…alone.

Even though I know I won’t be alone in choosing sobriety over sloshiness this year, I feel like Sam Malone, Ted Danson’s character in Cheers. I feel like the alcoholic barman who, knowing his weakness and tendency for over-indulgence chooses to serve others alcohol without serving a drop for himself.

Watching Cheers as a youngster I remember admiring Sam a lot—and not only for his good sense of humour, his love of life and his (frustratingly to Shelley Long’s ‘Diane’) great success with woman. No, I also liked Sam because he was like Clint Eastwood: he knew his limitations.

My limitation is self-imposed. But unlike Sam, who swore off the liquor for good (forever), I’ve decided to go just one year without drinking alcohol. So however hot it gets in Melbourne on Chrissy day I won’t be having even a single beer.

In my Year Of Living Sober not even a fantastical transportation down the stairs of that famous Boston fictional bar would be enough to tempt me.*

“Nothing for me Sam,” I’d say. “I’m on a YOLS.”

“Cheers Ben!” Sam would reply. “How ’bout a club soda?”

We just call it ‘soda water’ in Australia but I’d still know what Sam meant and would gratefully accept his suggestive sell.

“Cheers Sam.”

And for everyone who is drinking this year, please have one for me.

Merry Christmas Eve!

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 43:

A flashing pedestrian sign walks into a bar and the barman says, “Keep walking.”

* Back when I was acting the closest I got to a Cheers appearance was when I met Norm (George Wendt) on the set of a London television show (Noel’s House Party Christmas special 1993′ish). Unfortunately for my ego George didn’t watch Neighbours, the Australian soap which had made me briefly famous enough to do pantomime in England, but he did shake my hand. That’s one degree of separation from Sam Malone himself!

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Day 42: Not a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster In Sight

Yesterday was Day 42 of my year of living sober.

A hitchhiker's guide to everything. Really.

It was a Thursday. I spent a good part of Thursday putting books my baby girl removes from my shelf back.

One of the seemingly selected books Honey Rose delights in re-shelving on my study floor is Douglas Adams’ The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and, having made it to the magic Day 42, I decided the universe (or at least Honey Rose) was trying to tell me something.

“Congratulations Daddy. You have made it to the day of the BIG answer.”

Because as anyone who’s read The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy will know: the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything is simply 42.

Now that I’ve gone the magic 42 days without a drink does that mean I suddenly have perfect clarity, understand everything and have no more questions about the meaning of life? Nup. No way. But reaching this milestone did remind me why I chose 42 as my number when I played basketball as a kid.

It was fun. Just like my Year Of Living Sober.

Forty-two also happens to be my age as of writing this. And though I’m not sure whether I read THHGTTG before I started drinking or not I do know that even if some things change over time (like me not drinking for a WHOLE YEAR), some things stay the same.

The answer is still 42.

Now, in dedication to the man who was directly responsible for my parents having to buy four iron-on stiff felt letters (two small ones for the front of my b’ball singlet; two big ones for the back), here is the recipe from THHGTTG (in Chapter Two) for a very stiff drink: the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.

The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.

The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterwards.

The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself.

Take the juice from one bottle of that Ol’ Janx Spirit, it says. Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V – Oh that Santraginean sea water, it says. Oh those Santraginean fish!!!

Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must be properly iced or the benzine is lost). Allow four litres of Fallian marsh gas to bubble through it, in memory of all those happy Hikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Fallia.

Over the back of a silver spoon float a measure of Qualactin Hypermint extract, redolent of all the heady odours of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle sweet and mystic. Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading the fires of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink.

Sprinkle Zamphuor.

Add an olive.

Drink… but… very carefully…

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 42:

An inter-galactic traveller walks into a bar and the barman says, “Sorry, we don’t serve aliens here,” and the inter-galactic traveller says, “O feddled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me as plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.”

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Day 41: Knock Off Danger Time For Boozin’

Yesterday was Day 41 of my year of living sober.

Merry Christmas Tree at Melbourne's Joy FM

It was a Wednesday. Being self-employed/freelance I write pretty much everyday and take each day—and opportunity—as it comes. Yesterday turned out to be one of my busiest days in ages and involved a range of ‘business’ activities from website maintenance and upgrading to a radio interview on Melbourne’s Joy FM.

Doing a transfer from wordpress hosted to self-hosted blogging almost did my head in, but eventually I got there. There’s still a lot to learn but I’ll take each plug-in at a time and try and remain patient with my technological limitations (of which there are many).

Having been an actor in a former life, I still get the odd call from a casting agent seeing if I’d like to come in for a Television commercial audition. With one sixteen-month-old baby girl and another Mitchell offspring due any day now I definitely DID want to come in yesterday for an interview with the lovely casting girls at Chameleon Casting for a potato crisp (we used to call them chips in Oz) commercial which would pay more than I earn by selling approximately 1000 copies of my debut novel (which came out in April in Australia this year).

Then, after driving across town for the audition, I headed into the city to try and find a parking space close to Joy FM headquarters. After doing a few laps of the CBD I opted for a safe all day park (to avoid any damn parking fine) which required me to walk a bit further than I’d planned but gave me peace of mind that apart from a cheap won-ton soup in Little China Town, petrol would be my only expense for the day.

The point of this journal-like entry is by the time I got home I was bushed (as an old fogie might say). Being bushed—both mentally and physically—I would have loved a drink. Jeez, I would have killed for a drink! I really wanted a beer, then another, then some wine.

But I didn’t. Despite my mental craving I wasn’t really tempted to throw in the YOLS towel. I just had to frown and bare it, realizing yesterday that the hours between 5pm and 7pm are turning out to be the ‘danger’ period for me. This was when I used to turn to the bottle to ‘turn-off’ from my day’s work. Now I turn to ice-cream or, as I did last night, some left-over mud cake.

Sure, it’s not ideal to replace booze with sugar but at least I’m trying something different. Even if it is just alternating Peppermint with Rocky Road and throwing in the odd Cheesecake Shop special.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 41:

How many workaholics does it take to change a lightbulb?

One. He can do everything.

PS. Check out Day 10 for a post about fellow workaholics Mark Zuckerberg and Donald Trump

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