If you ever find yourself curious about what it's like to be poisoned... just drink moderately, or not at all, for a few weeks.
Then, drink as much as you'd like one day. You'll see.
Yesterday I went into SF to try and "help" celebrate Cato's birthday. Within an hour or two I was reduced to a hideously macabre burlesque of self.
If you've ever felt sorry for circus sideshow freaks then you have some small glimpse of what I became. Just a bundle of babbling neuroses, caged and taunted by my own behavior. It felt like I was being poked with a stick. I would occasionally jump and scare everybody, proving that I was still alive.
It defies science, folks. It wasn't born this way. It took this shape slowly, over time. By the time most kids were going to college and getting married he was living under some loose slats in the basement of his uncle's barn...
At one point I was chatting with a black dude that I had never met before. Within seconds I was discussing slavery and "The South."
Nobody is certain why, I just was.
And if what was coming out of my mouth wasn't hideous enough, every now and then I'd fart. It smelled like somebody had wheeled their dead grandfather into the room.
Awful.
I'm still checking myself to make sure I haven't shit my pants.
.
