Keely, the Un Mom is the creator of RTT so go see her, ask for Banana Pancakes, and show some damn manners while you're over there.
Coconut Rum, to be exact. Not for me. For a friend who loves the stuff. Me, I'm a lightweight. Single Malt Scotch Whisky, from Islay, Scotland. The real smoky, peaty stuff. Laphroaig, Bowmore, Bruichladdie. Yum!
But only a wee dram at a time. And I'd be lying if I said it were for medicinal purposes, because it's strictly for life extension purposes.
I think of it as a version of Pascal's Wager, but for booze. If I believe it will help me live longer and better, then by drinking it I may live longer. If it doesn't help me live longer, then I still get the satisfaction of that taste and feel. I win either way. Just don't introduce any other possible outcomes to me (like liver disease), and I'm good to go.
Also, don't bother me with details about how this is a totally shitty way to look at Pascal's Wager. I already know that, but this is my RTT fantasy, and I'll strangle you with the crook of your own arm if you try and ruin it for me.
Diddle Diddle Dumpling, my Son John's Hands
If you ever find yourself in the position to see this sight, remember to enjoy it, but also remember to get under cover. And for god's sake do not look straight up in awe and say, "Wowwwww!"
On a related note, my wings are tarnished, but please don't tell anyone.
On a note unrelated to the thing the other note was related to, but related to the previous note itself, I always liked Ginger way better than Mary Ann. Seriously guys, M.A. was all sugar and spice and coconut cream pie nice, but who are you really staring at the whole time? Be honest.
Oh, and if you've enjoyed any of this, found it tolerable, want to bear children with me, or just want other people to share in your misery after reading it, please do recommend this blog. It would mean a lot to me, and it would mean the world to Buster. So if not for me, then look into his eyes, feel his neediness, and do it for Buster.