A LIBERAL QUAFF
From the land of sky blue waters, to the land of pines, lofty balsams”
“Come join our festivities”, proclaims the host, and with the flick of a finger on an aluminum ring, magical pleasure is released : a genie sprays forth freshness from her urn of restraint, into freedom. Mouths water anticipating a flavorful sip of this chilled effervescence. A sigh of exhilaration greets the first blissful burst upon the lips.
Initial satisfaction is soon followed by a craving for more of the luscious brew. Its taste is crisp and exciting yet contained in a velvet smooth finish, surrounded by aromas of intrigue. Myriad tiny bubbles rise from within the golden liquid contained in a frosted ampule, each with its own happy thought...waiting for its release upon an eagerly awaiting palate.
“This beverage is the drink of the gods “ Beware
Spirits rise as spirits flow: Drinks are consumed in a greedy frenzy: one glass is emptied as another is filled. The tiny bubbles unite to form a larger union to be released in an enormous belch of pleasure, Giddy participants revel in conversation: inhibitions are softened as more and more of the wonderous lager is imbibed.
Jubilance and frivolity reach their summit as the foamy brew saturates the veins of the partying populous. Some takers begin to show signs of over-indulgence: balance becomes uneven, words are slurred. Static objects seem to sway as the floor moves like a pulling tide beneath the feet. Where once was exuberance, now turmoil prevails. Background rhythms pulsate like tympanies inside the head,
The amber nectar, with its genie now repressed, morphs into a witches brew.
Entrails wretch as the victim withdraws to a porcelain commode.
Death imitates life: gods are cursed.
Outside, the revelry continues, oblivious to the fallen comrade. For now he sleeps. Not to awaken until dawn, with a splitting migraine as his souvenir.
“Come join our festivities”, the host proclaims, as a new guest is welcomed. With the flick of a finger, magical pleasure is released…
IN OTHER WORDS
“Hey y’all,let’s party, screams the dude at the front door.
PFFT ...with a yank on a pull-top, up pops the devil. Nobody can wait for that first massive swig of beer. “Ahhhh, that was good...gimme another one. This shit smells good and tastes even better. Bubbles are risin’ up just waitin’ to pop in my mouth”.
“Mmmmmmmmmm This must be The Devil’s homebrew”
Everyone’s gettin’ wasted as they slam down one beer after another. The stank from a gigantic burp hangs like a cloud.The more they drink, the crazier it gets. Pretty soon the shit hits the fan. Everybody’s smashed and acting stupid.
The room starts spinnin’ like a top. People feel like they’re stuck in pudding.
One of the main party animals starts feeling puny and makes a b-line for the head: his own head pounding like a bass drum on steroids. His guts are churning,and begin to puke as he hugs the slimy toilet bowl.
“Faaaaak, I’m dying in here he moans, but no one hears. Before long he passes out.
He’ll wake up the next day feeling like his skull was split wit a hatchet.
“Hey y’all, let’s party”, screams the dude at the front door as a new fool joins the fracus.
PFFT… Here we go again...
