Right about now you’re thinking, “I should have taken the blue pill.” I know, I know. Here at the Green Porch the madness never ends. But that’s what makes the crusty stick of gum we call life, taste like Big League Chew.
Most of you have never wondered what sort of alcoholic beverage Death would consume had he the allowance and the inclination to do so. None the less, today I provide the definitive answer — tequila. And not just any tequila, but Casa Herradura, 1878, Reserva. (Could it be a coincidence that Félix López, the founder of the hacienda and distillery, died that same year?)
When you think about it, it makes total sense. Killing people at the fore of the apocalypse is dusty work, and nothing wets the old whistle like a stiff shot of tequila. Anywho, it’s time I bridge over to the official launching of the second complete Reeferpunk prequilla, Fourth Horseman. This little ditty is not so much the backstory on any of my characters, but a harbinger of things to come.
The coffee shop I’m patronizing at the moment, Liaisons (in Hamilton, MT), has a T-shirt slogan that boasts, “Good morning, sinners!” I think this is a swell way to greet the world every day (I know more keenly than anyone about my sinnerly status), and it is sorta’ the way I view my writing career (I use the word “career” loosely).
