The irresponsible consumption of alcohol has such deep roots in humanity, and those roots nurture a tree of intoxication with branches of so many different types of conduct.
This picture, I ponder.
This painting struck my curiosity. Certainly, the beverages these bastards consumed tasted as if Mona Lisa herself tinkled into an oak barrel and allowed it to age for six months. But all tart palettes of historical art figure’s urine aside, this was modern. This was cosmopolitan and chic, it was having an iPhone. These guys were the coolest fuckers around, this was the fucking party of the year, and these bastards woke up with dry pungent tongues and the hangover of all hell the next day.
In the name of contrast, I’d now like to consider an all too familiar scene. Grimey bar. Young humans. Gulp by gulp, problems and insecurities melt away until you find your hips are no longer driven by your nervous system but by that innate Darwinistic impulse to jam your alcohol flogged dingy somewhere warm and moist. Darwinism: Alcohol becomes a detriment to your memory so that you may have unprotected sex with a 15 pounds overweight undergraduate from the University of Georgia and wake up the next morning feeling like you drank Mona Lisa’s piss.
I ponder further.
Centuries later, trade those bastards’ stupid haircuts for…. stupid haircuts, those bastards’ stupid clothes for….stupid clothes, and generation by generation, we are all bound together by the love of alcohol’s compassionately tender kiss.
Charles Darwin, you dog…