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That was odd...

Hello, Mr. Cuervo

Hello, Mr. Cuervo

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retsnimdecorp
They call me Russ. Well, the people who don't call me a drunkard call me Russ. Most of the time. I guess that's what I get for being one of those poor souls who cannot find the strength within to avoid hitting the bottle at eleven in the morning.

Sure, it makes it hell to keep a steady job, but I've subscribed to the notion that having deep, meaningful conversations with complete strangers is much more fulfilling than any mindless task a job can throw at you.

And then there's the creativity that you find welling up inside of you after a bottle of your favourite liver-poison. It's true what they say, about intoxicants lowering inhibitions. For the shy (yet creative) type, booze is a godsend, as evidenced by the following:

'I want to go where the wild wind blows
I want to go to the sea
I want to know what the wisest man knows
And I want to know who is Me

I want to go on some Wild Goose chases
I want see Tennessee
I want to meet a billion new faces
And I want to prance with glee

I want too much, though it's never enough
I want the stars in the Sky
But above all that stuff
There is one thing I need
And that, is the answer to: "Why?"'

Not bad for a guy who can't put down the Bottle, eh? And to think, if I was a teetotaller, that poem would never have seen the light of day. Being self-conscious never made anybody famous.

I guess it's not so bad, being half-blitzed during nearly every waking minute of my life. It sure as hell makes my world seem a whole lot more interesting, I can tell you that. And what's life without something interesting?
  • And what's life without something interesting?

    Amen to that! Thanks for being a provider. I'm so glad you posted. I wondered how you guys were doing with all the rain. I envisioned you on your bicycle. I really enjoyed the story.
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