The Continuing Adventures of Joe Sober—Freedom!

By Joe Sober 09/17/14

My name is Joseph and I am still more sober than you.


Since the gift of imprisonment I have come to understand something so shocking so scandalous that even Bill W himself would weep. Indeed, my dear reader, despite the fact that I have not picked up a drink or a drug in 11677.76 days I have not been nearly as sober as I am right now in this thunderous top of the mountain moment!!! Even my voice has changed! I have grown up thanks to what I call a gift and others might call extreme emotional and physical trauma! Ha! I laugh at them! Ha ha! You do not see what I see and therefore are way less sober than me today! Ha! Ha! Cough!

Today I sound much more like Obi-wan than the Emperor. While the Emperor’s words came from his God hole all scraggly and rough sounding my voice today has a smooth, clear commanding sound with just a touch of an English accent to it that has to do more with the character of Obi Wan Kenobi and that character's intense God-like way and nothing at all to do with the actor who portrayed him, Alec Guinness, who I understand was a heathen! I would pray for him but he’s dead. Looks like someone already did. Amen.

Whilst in jail, I learned so much from my friend Travis’ incomprehensible demoralization of me I hardly know where to begin. He taught me that if I wanted safety or freedom I could only find it by having the willingness to submit my mind to the supernatural. He taught me that by doing what he told me to do (in all the various positions that he suggested I do them in) that only then, no matter how much I resisted, would a great and loving God give me the keys to the kingdom!!! If I could just allow myself the willingness to allow what other less sober people call nonsense dictate my life I just might be able to get on my knees whenever Travis commanded and not have the urge to kill myself. Through the practice of this submission I found a new freedom by living in a constant state of fear. Thank you, Travis. Thank you for your gentle, loving hugs that you forced on me after the nonconsensual sex in which you would call me Linda. Thank you for the tears you shared after you felt you had to prove something by shanking Freddy in the showers. We stepped over that body together that day and I shall always be grateful for you trying to blame that one on me. If you ever get out please don’t murder me but if you do I’ll understand that you were only doing His will. For you too surrendered and are powerless over your own demons. Had you only surrendered to the police you might have gotten less time but alas we are not saints although I probably will be one day. You see that, don’t you, dear reader? Of course you do.

I have recently returned to my AA and whilst jail has given me quite a bit of “street cred” I pretend not to relish the attention and feeling of tough guy it gives me. When I’m in my abode alone quietly reflecting upon the day I often think that I look very handsome, grown up and spiritual in my new flowing all white silk Sumita Bhojwani collarless men’s dress shirt that billows over my brand new all white Carmelita Couture men’s slacks. Of course I’m barefoot like Him but better pedicured!

My serenity comes from knowing that this is all about me and scaring another alcoholic. I may not be an employed man today but i am most certainly not spiritually bankrupt. I feel, more than ever, that I am ready to parent (aka sponsor) a newcomer. Amusing to know that I have had many ejaculate offspring of my own. Seven children roam the earth thanks to me effortlessly spilling my seed in five very willing females. They were all equally radiant, garish and high heeled. Their lovely bodies into which I could release my god given sexual power. These children’s names I do not recall. The females' names ...well… three of them sounded like Lisa or Laura. They should have known my only priority is my sobriety. My clarity sees it very clearly. They were wanting a child and it was his will to make them forget to correct myself by misrepresenting that I was wearing a rubber birth control device over my teeny tiny peeny. If I ever meet one of these estranged sperm connections they will most assuredly understand that I have other children that really need my attention, the children of my AA. That I could only pray for the ones that are, in fact, legally my own. If they cannot understand that then, my dear reader, they are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. They were born that way.

(That reminds me of a wonderful story my sponsor Greg shared with me once as I was cleaning his bathroom with my pinky finger. He told me of a woman he had once made a child with. A woman so horrible looking that it repulsed him to ever think of her again but that he would, just for this moment, he said, he would remember briefly, for me. He went on in his lovingly abusive way to tell me that seven weeks after the child was born the woman no longer wanted to make the beast with two backs as often! So he decided she was controlling and that it was somehow a codependent relationship and he got, his words, “the fuck outta dodge!” That woman was my sister. Wonderful! Thanks, Greg!)

I oft tell the newcomer that the world would be a better place if everyone did the 12 steps. That we should breed only with each other and create a culture of sobriety that will be born already masters of the 12 steps without ever even having to go through the messy drinking part of it. That one day they will come to understand me as the voice of God and all will be sorted out. All those degenerates that do things like art shall be removed and replaced with healthy sober baby bankers bouncing on my knee! Perhaps this fantasy is a silly one but it is mine, dear reader. In fact my old pal Travis had a very similar fantasy only it involved me with a skirt on and blood coming from my ears. Old chap, Travis, I shall always be gratefully terrified of you. Always.

I starred at a meeting in my hometown recently and I spoke so well about my faith in the squealing baby Jesus that I am almost certain I encouraged a newcomer to go out and drink again. If he’s lucky he’ll return to us and bow down before us, live in fear of us revealing his sins after he is just traumatized enough to tell us them and always be grateful and humble to my AA for not being about drinking at all. In point of fact we are all about your thinking and if you aren’t thinking the way I’m thinking then you simply aren’t thinking well. Today my thinking, thanks to Travis and my AA is most assuredly to the right. Thank God as Nazi sympathizer Frank Buchman understood Him.

Keep it simple you stupid Coulters!

Joe Sober is a pseudonym for a comedian and AA member with eight months sobriety.

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