My grandfather on my father's side is an old Irish drunk. I'm talking one of the biggest drunks out there. On an average day, which is everyday of the week and weekend, you could always find Papa Joe sitting on a bar stool drinking his whiskey and water at the Paul Malia Post, or often known as the Bunker or if you live in Maine \"The Bunka\". Since the Bunker was a legion club it wasn't like many bars around Maine. They start serving at 6 am and stop at 1 am. You could also smoke inside the bar, so walking in there was sure to blacken your lungs. Being the loyal Paul Malia Post member my grandfather is, he would spend his whole day and night in that bar. In the mornings when he would wake, whether it being 6 am or 9 am, that man was sure to get showered and dressed to make his way into the Bunker. After hours of drinking Papa Joe would make his first trip back home, often bringing back an Amato’s pizza or italian sandwich. He used to get the McDonalds dollar menu fry, chicken nuggets with hot mustard, and cheeseburger, but the McDonalds in his driving range ended up shutting down which i think caused him some depression. After he ate and dropped most of his food all over his face and clothes he would retire into the living room chair where he'd sit by himself and re-talk his conversations he had earlier at the bar until he passed out. Once he becomes conscious again Papa Joe will head for the Bunker for the second round, often repeating the pattern and getting in a third round. This cycle repeats every day non-stop, except for Lent when he gives up drinking for the whole 40 days and 40 nights. Now usually families would be happy for the alcoholic to stop drinking, but after a week of my grandfather being sober we all are praying to God asking him to make our grandfather drink. As drunk as Joe would get he would still drive thinking he was okay, which he was completely not okay, he wasn't even good at driving when he was sober. One day my aunt was screaming at him telling him that he shouldn’t drive and that he’s going to end up killing someone someday. He wasn't convinced because after passing out and awakening again he goes for his second round and once again drives home, only this time my aunt and sister were outside to witness his drunk driving skills. As Kristen and Auntie were walking on the promenade enjoying the beautiful ocean water view and fresh air, there meditating thoughts were interrupted by screamingly loud Big Band music coming from a car many feet away about to turn onto the street in which they walked on. Of course it was Papa Joe absolutely hammered out of his mind blasting the music as loud as it can go making his way down the street. He was driving perfectly straight and anyone who would be judging would say that this non swerving car was not being driven by a complete drunk. Well, Papa Joe almost pulled it off, he was driving completely straight and going the 25 mile an hour speed limit, the only problem was, he was on the wrong side of the road. Thank God that Moody street was only a few feet away and no one was hurt. After parking the car sideways onto the sidewalk, Joe staggered into the house. Not only is my grandfather losing his skills at driving but he is also losing his mind. At first my sister and i thought it was just because of the alcohol but after a few incidents we came to the conclusion that maybe he is going senile. One afternoon as my father and i sat at the kitchen table eating the buffalo wings we had just ordered, we heard the drunken slurs and stumbling feet making their way slowly up the stairs. In walks Papa. As he stands in the doorway reeking of stale booze my father asks \"Dad are you hungry?, Do you want some buffalo wings?\" \"HHHEEEEHH??\" my grandfather says with a little fright in his voice. \"SOME B U F FA LO W I N G S\" my father repeated as if he were talking to someone who didn't speak English very well. \"WWWHHHATT?! Fucking BUFFALO? No i don’t want any buffalo! \" My grandfather yells in a slur. I sat there and laughed as my father tried so hard to explain that it wasn't buffalo but chicken, and that it’s just called \"buffalo wings\". My grandfather would have none of it. \"No i don't know what you’re trying to feed me, but I’m not having any fucking buffalo.\" Joe says as he makes his way into his chair. I sat there and laughed thinking of how my drunken grandfather and Jessica Simpson had something in common, or should i say, has the same common sense. There are hundreds of incidents like the buffalo wings, such as the time he was at a wedding and thought the bowl of butter was a bowl of vanilla ice cream, or he thought my cousin said she was going hungry and brought over bags of groceries, when really my cousin was telling him how she was going to visit her grandmother in HUNGARY. The one incident that turned heads and was really the giveaway in which the whole family realized he is going senile was at my aunts wedding. Everyone who was involved in the wedding was upstairs at Papas house getting ready for the long awaited wedding of my aunt Ann. It was an exciting day for everyone. Ann was in her wedding gown and everyone was admiring her pleasant smile. My cousin Matt who was in the marines came up from North Carolina for the wedding. As he was helping my grandfather into his \"penguin suit\" that he couldn’t wait to get out of, Joe turns around and says in an angry annoyed voice \"Now why the hell do i need to get all dressed up for this fucking wedding? Who's gettin' married?\" I think time stopped when he finished this phrase. Everyone turned their heads and for once, which was quite unbelievable everyone was speechless. No one knew what to say. Of course Auntie Lisa breaks the silence and says \"Your daughter Annie, you fucking boob.\" Joe didn’t say a word and later walked his daughter down the aisle to give her away while tripping over Ann's gown and almost taking a digger into the church pew.
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Short Story / Non-Fiction
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