the hard stuff will of course power your throat but strip your gut. you think i joke until you meet the burly irish lads with bludgeoned noses where the red rivers run through and laughter chokes the horse. pressed against momma’s teat, they surely didn’t believe life finds a way of circling back again. but it does. from swollen nipples to the neck of a leaking vice, no matter race or creed, what you draw between lips manifests to source and so chased thereafter. don’t judge the hilarity until you realize we are all born to die and how else can we applaud the effort of trying aside from cauterizing all which will eventually escape from us anyway.
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