Well, let us see… From my perspective, slightly tipsy and full of words, I would be rather inclined to state comprehensively that alcohol is neither a drug nor a depressant. Why… what… oh Jesus I wish she’d just shut up. It’s impossible to get any peace and quiet round here with that bloody woman in the house.
Where was I? Oh, yes. It’s not a drug, dear fellows, at least no more so than water or caviar or any other essential item that one leans upon to get through this fascinating yet fraught life. Look at it all, look at existence, the pith of life and the sting of whisky. When the bleak snows fall, what better way to survive than with a bottle of Glenfiddich and a cigar or two? Who is that…?
Sometimes… if… mmmm… ah yes, depressants! Well, slightly silly wouldn’t you say? Certainly, I have met my fair share of depressing drunks, but they were all incredibly depressing people even when sober, not worth the time and immune to the beneficial effects of rum, brandy, port and whatnot.
Bloody hell and damnation! I tell you, if she interrupts my flow one more time I shall be mightily vexed! I am a writer, damn it, let me work! Heavens to Murgatroyd!
Blast, I’ve lost my train of thought yet again. Drug or depressant? No, neither one nor the other. It is an ancient form of self-help that involves none of the pathetic indignities that modern “self-help” flaunts in the faces of sterilized, stagnant and stupid humans. By Shakespeare’s quill, what better way to shift one’s mood than with a 40-year-old Glenlivet, supped gently from the sweet comfort of an old armchair.
Blessed heavens, I should never have taken a wife! Turmoil! Dickens never had to support this constant palaver and fuss. Hell and be damned! This, you see, is why we need alcohol. This crystal glass that I hold before me, passed down to me from my father and his father before him, is the very essence of life, is the shut eyes of the sloop, like old Dickey just after the war’s end, poor old duck…
Shambles, wretched woman, I am a bishop on a boat, drifting like Jason upon the Black Sea, this whisky, sip by sipp, a little teeny little bit on my beard there, drifting delicately through it all, sigh no more ladies… one foot in sea and one on shore… damn that infernal woman with her endlessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssdzhzdfhdrddddddddddd