Rumplemintz Holiday Massacre

Well Liquor drunk isn’t the same as Top Shelf drunk – tell you something you don’t know, you say. It’s not the stomach churning, why oh why did silver tequila from a plastic jug seem like the right way to save up for my new Huffy? abscess-potion qualities that I’m exactly talking about here, though said qualities of Well Liquor are hereby noted and unpleasantly sense-remembered.

Rather it’s the nasty turn that happens oh maybe after Well Liquor beverage number four that’s troubling. Here we’re talking about a sort of perceptual shift, the vertical knob maybe nudged too far, the bar, the world stretched squat and fatty. Imaginary errata snows down but never settles, and your thoughts take some kind of perverse turn – the reptile brain moves a little bit closer to the surface and you can feel it there like a half-dead gila monster pushing its way through layers and layers of gray cheese, snapping pathways and cutting off impulses as it tries to slither its way to the backs of your eyes and flick its tongue out of your mouth. This is what happens at high altitudes or great depths. Imagine maybe this is what happens in the instant before Hillbilly Hollywood murders.