Did I go out and join the fiesta last night? Yes.

Did I get drunk? Yes. Way (way) too much tequila.

In doing so, did I circumvent both common sense and my earlier forebodings? Yes.

Then why? Very simply put: poor role models and a strong predilection for native brewed beverages.

For the record, there are those close to me – some of those who presume to know me; who presume to question why I am not a nice guy.

Past tense: Growing up I had an absolute prick for a father – who was mostly never around – and I also had a strong taste back then for rebellious literature. And in that literature, bad behavior and drinking were a common thread.

Witness: The Ginger Man. On the Road. Early Jim Harrison. Henry Miller. Herman Hesse.

I make no excuses. Merely submit the facts.

The truth is I am a nice guy – mostly – but selective. I think it was Sinatra who once said something to the effect, “That sometimes you have to be drunk to endure your friends” (or family).

And I don’t know why, but consequently I can’t suffer a jerk or a bore without booze. I am a Johnny Walker kind of guy. A few drinks and you might be the biggest asshole in the world but I can at least put up with your stupid shit; that is right up until I can’t and then I’ll let you know or maybe do the more Mexican version of distasteful avoidance by ignoring you.

PS – Seeing murdered dead people does weird shit to your head. Cocktails help here too…

PPS – I don’t take any meds. Depression? Nope. Anxiety? Nope. High blood pressure. Nope.
Psst…Johnny Walker or Juan Tequila; sometimes the old remedies are the best.

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