In case you may have been under the mistaken impression that I am normal; I am in love with Al Swearengen.
Anyone who can pontificate so articulately the muddy stream-of-consciousness that is human baggage moving on the conveyor belt of survival whilst receiving oral pleasure, is a precious purveyor of American Isolationism.
Ahhh... the sweet soliloquy of human depravity! Oh, my connoisseur of connivance! Oh, flesh peddler! Oh, murderous blade to the whiskey throat!
Pain or damage don’t end the world, or despair or fucking beatings. The world ends when you’re dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man—and give some back.
(A young Ian McShane for your viewing pleasure.)