… I finished the bottle — and I’m not sorry!

I do love this stuff, this elixir of medieval medicinal indulgence, such as monks would concoct in the moldy cellars beneath their monasteries, employing their arsenal of ancient herbal knowledge; their exploration into the healing powers of hallowed, astringent, Alpine flowers; their initiation into the arcane catalog of knotty, pungent, tea-like roots; their unholy penetration of the primal secrets of the European heritage of folk remedy and the magical conjunction of the sacred and the profane; and you’re thinking, readers, “Damnation, F.K., do you never give up? Go to bed, man!”

And so I will.