Alcohol has the ability to remove the rind of the mind, that outer layer of protection and shells we place there to feel safe from another’s intrusion into the real gist, the gut of the brain matter hidden within. Unlike watermelon, orange, and mango, or copious variations of other tropical fruits deemed too weird to test by shy unfamiliar western taste-buds, the cranium innards often don’t hold the same high quality matter. The taste of a fresh mango beckons; the stench of a hidden warped mind doesn’t.
Once this cerebral rind is removed by Johnny Walker the dissipater, thoughtlessness, sheer stupidity, bravado, false strength, and self-perceived ability to drive a Ferrari in Monaco takes over.
An earlier honourable gentleman can turn into some groping beast of a being, unable to keep his paws to himself, or his voice unrestrained to spout audible and obnoxious lecherous intrusions into dignity, both his own and that of the intended prey.
The sots can become the world’s greatest fighters, capable of defeating lineman twice their size, but in reality only hitting walls, doorjambs, floors, Tazers, and cells, bringing crystal clear meaning to “Maybe I should have stopped at three.”
What lies beneath the cranium rind is hidden, unlike real fruits. If we peel an orange, we expect orange, not mango. This truth begets further dangers. Surprise can be a consequence of the unsuspecting or uninitiated.
No doubt within this society, so rich in freedoms, the worst uncovered forbidden but rotten substance herein is the psyche of the wayward soul who incorrectly believes he owns the skill of an Andretti or past master of the brake and steer. This is not a pleasant fruit, as many of us can attest to, having tasted its essence in some waiting room of despair, those slurred toasts of better fortune now behind us, and mortality staring us in the face.