Ole Iron Liver: Advice you should live by until the alcohol poisoning kills you
I’ve put off this post long enough. The world needs to know the tale of Iron Liver Karl, who has enriched the lives of my brother and myself for years. Our conversations are ever so colorful thanks to the incoherent ramblings of this severe moral-lacking alcoholic.
Let me point out some facts about this gentleman before I share with you some of the golden advice he’s allotted my brother.
My brother met him many years ago in the glamorous world of landscaping. Iron Liver has a leathery beat-up physique and no driver’s license. He would always pick beer over any kind of food offering, and was able to function after insane drinking and then sleeping 2 hours. He would get completely shitfaced but still work the entire next day with NO problem. His mother lives with him, but due to her urging him to not be an alcoholic loser, he chooses to stay in a camper outside where he gets wasted and listens to “Hair Nation” on satellite radio until he’s no longer conscious every night.
Karl has 2 lesbians that he pays to have sex with him on monthly basis. They’re cheap too! $150 a session. He doesn’t have internet, so I have no idea how he found these girls. Kinda envious as he’s getting a two for one. Just saying.
Karl claims to have lived in all fifty states, and “North Carolina sucks so bad, it’s why he’s an alcoholic.”
He once hired a prostitute while my brother and their work crew were all travelling on the job, and offered my brother sloppy seconds. Now that’s generosity!
Karl once got kicked out of a former church that was converted into a country nightclub called the Midnight Sun. Why? Because he took the tip off of another table to cover his own tip. I feel it valuable to mention that this same club was one my dad frequented in the late 90s. We lovingly referred to it as “The Midnight Slum” because we always had to be my dad’s designated driver back and forth from The Midnight Slum.
Karl has hit on our mother before. Karl will hit on anything that has a slit. It can even be man-made, and Karl will hit on it.
But when he launches into his drunken rants, whoo-wee, that’s when the magic begins! Such classic slurred quotes include:
“There’s two kinds of motherfuckin’ music. That’s rock…and fuckin’ roll.”
“Country music needs to stay in the motherfuckin’ country. Rap just needs a C added to it.”
“She was good enough to put a helmet on Fred.” – Fred being the name of his penis, and him referring to actually using a condom with some whore.
“It better be good enough to fuck AND eat.” – demands for a woman’s privates
When sitting in traffic, Karl will stare at an attractive woman and say to her out the open window: “AIGHT NAH GAL.”
When said woman blatantly ignores him, he will look over at my brother who doesn’t have 7 D.U.I.s and say “She wants the ole schlong. She won’t even look over here.”
Now, the most hilarious thing I have ever heard was recently when my brother confided in me Karl’s relationship advice. And here was his tidbit of knowledge in which changed my life for the better:
~Add alcoholic slurs where you see fit~
“See, what you need to do man, is when you meet the right one, you meet Mrs. Right? You need to take that bitch to Hooters. You go on and check out the other chicks and shit, and your girl will feel like she has to compete for your attention. You do that, and she’ll give you a piece that night man.”
He was completely serious.
All I can say to that is:
AIGHT NAH GAL.