Every now and then I think, it would be so great to just drift off to sleep and never wake up again, like a wave landing on a beach, disappearing into the sand, or to melt away and dissolve into nothing, like an ice cube in whiskey.
And then I remember, don’t put ice in your whiskey. Good whiskey doesn’t need it. Bad whiskey doesn’t deserve it.
Mmm. Whiskey would be so great right now. Fortunately I have a bottle, and a glass. And a reason. Whiskey is the cause of, and the answer to, all of life’s problems. Just like religion.
Compare Ireland pre-whiskey to the Middle East before religion. The deterrence to rational thought is equivalent, and the subsequent induced fanaticism is comparable.
What were we talking about? Right. Bad ice. Wine and flounder, shortcakes and tuna. The inescapable sadness of existing in a deterministic universe. Pi is exactly 3.0. The hyperbola squared is equal to the lesser of two evils.
—DG.
Inside Doug's Head 