(The following report originally appeared on Mike The Pod in December of 2007, and was written in the Pod studio.)
Around this time either last year or the year before, I acquired four bottles of absinthe from a company overseas in a republic that may no longer exist. My confusion over the exact year will make more sense after you’ve read this; also I’m too lazy to look up the dates on the pictures. Rest assured however, that what you are about to read is, embarrassingly, the truth.
I’d always wanted to try absinthe, after enjoying the work of so many followers of the “green devil” since childhood. Van Gogh? Picasso? Hemingway? You got it. In fact, it’s often speculated that absinthe made Vinny the unbearable beast he was in his final days, and shit, Hemingway became so determined to kill himself late in life that he was restrained from doddering into a whizzing plane propeller. Some claim absinthe has hallucinogenic properties, but nobody disputes that it tastes like bile hot from Satan’s fucking spleen. Continue reading
You must be logged in to post a comment.