TF: I am filled up on some Ale and Red Wine and I am as calm as a spring morning.

JL: I've been drinking red wine lately and enjoy it. I'll publish the Thot Patrol piece on Sunday or Monday.

TF: Red wine is really the booze for intellectuals because it’s not just a total different (state when being drunk) but the bender isn't as horrible. I mean when you want your thoughts rolling drink red wine. The Romans and the Greeks they all knew beer but we today know them as wine drinkers because the works of these people survived.

…and by the way, you have to mix your red wine with 30 to 40% water. It’s just something you do.

…people have really weird drinking cultures like Americans putting ice cubes in whisky. But wine you’re best off drinking mixed.

JL: [I] do mix my red wine, with ice and rum.

TF: "And do mix my red wine, with ice and rum."

The guy from NYC crime report was right, you are a real American.

…biggest problem when I drank wine is that my wife-beater every morning looks like I executed someone close range with a shotgun blast.

JL: I finished writing Barbarism versus Civilization in 6 hours of drinking Even Williams whiskey—slowly, about 8 shots—first arranging and tweaking 420 pages and then two hours in full asshole mode writing 20 pages of opening, connecting and closing material. At that point, when I generated the PDF, I couldn’t even remember if I sent the word file off to Lynn, so 20 pages of that thing is a drunk first draft, Sorry, Lynn, but I’m a nice drunk and when I’m writing anti-social stuff it only feels like art if I’m drunk enough to cackle at ease about how many readers are going to throw the thing into their electronic fireplace and then get pissed off when it bounces off the panel and doesn’t burn.

The night before that I had been eating my boiled peanut dinner while the Rich’s ate their wild caught salmon in fresh rosemary over Hydarabad rice with Himalayan pink salt, with roasted pomegranate when Mrs. Rich tasted her glass of $200 dollar wine and said, “This shit is horrible!”

Mister Rich responded by declaring, “It can’t be, my buyer sampled the vintage himself,” then look a sip and gasped, “Good God, it must be bad.”

They then looked at me, as the two dogs, the miniature greyhound and dwarf Rot sat by my either side [I shit you not, these dogs sit at the dining room table] licking their lips and looking at my peanuts and both glasses and the bottle came my way as Mrs. Rich declared, “looks like a party in the library [what she calls my room] tonight,” and I drank deep and gustily like a barbarian, which had me gut out 30 pages for Barbarism vs Civilization and put me in a position to do the finishing stretch on whiskey. So yes, I agree that red wine is the better compositional inebriant, whiskey kind of like the gas canisters they used to supercharge the vehicles in the Road Warrior movies for a short burst, with cheap beer like the sort I am drinking as I polish this off and Megan prepares my feast of saucy beast in the kitchen while she sings along to her country music songs, good for a late afternoon, smartass, dumb white boy deadline but not for higher forms of discordant prosary.