Four years, 10 months and 15 days ago I embraced sobriety. Was this because I had a serious drinking problem? No — it was because a voice told me that if I continued to pour wine and beer into my system on a nightly basis (I quit the hard stuff in ’96) I might eventually come to resemble the present-day Steven Bannon. Honestly? If I did look like Bannon, if I saw that grotesque Luciferian puss in my mirror every morning, I would be sorely tempted to put a glock in my mouth and pull the trigger. [Apologies for accidentally wiping an earlier version of this post — I don’t know what the hell happened.]
