Listen, it’s not actually an issue. I don’t show up drunk for my niece’s recitals or sneak whiskey shots from my desk drawer at the office.
But it’s there.
It’s a part of life.
I likely don’t exceed a six pack a week, and maybe a couple of glasses of wine. Like, a drink a night (although a lot of nights, I don’t have anything).
But what I am struggling with is whether a seven year old would call Jim Beam Mr. Beam or mis-hear it as Mr. Bean.
But do I want Rowan Atkinson in this? I love the character, but the connection is incongruous with what I’m trying to do.
Mr. Beam, Mr. Bean, Mr. Beam.
Safer to stick to what you know, I guess, and Jim Beam ain’t it.
Nasty stuff, that. I’ll never understand Americans and their obsession with bourbon. It pales in comparison to true whiskey or scotch. Playdough to cement. Koolaid to an Old Fashioned. Sure, it’ll get you drunk, but damn, don’t you want it to taste halfway decent while you do it?
Target: 800 words
Written: 632 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: 'Salem's Lot, Stephen King
Comics: I Hate Fairyland 15-18
Music: More Live Random, Guns 'n' Roses (you wanted the best, but they didn't make it... so here's what you get.)