By GREG MAFFETT
Published: December 30, 2010
Writers do not write well as they think the do when they are drunk, according to Professor Russ Roberts.
He may be right.
But I suspect he has never ever, ever...been hammered on soju.
Soju. Soju is becoming my new friend. Lean in soju. Lets become intimate, word-wise at least.
Because that is as far as I go.
This stuff is not from earth.
It does not behave in the manner to which I've become accustomed, alcoholically speaking.
In general, I do not drink mineral water. Soju is the exception.
It drinks just like mineral water. Except (here is the rub) it is 20% alcohol.
No shit GI. I just drank a pint or the metric equivalent of that without any of the usual physical cues that I was drinking booze.
And now here I am, on level 4 of the Incheon airport wondering exactly why I'm as hammered as I am on mineral water.
These people are not alcoholically honest. There, I've said it.
Or typed it; it matters not. All they told me when I spent all of $2.50 for a pint of this stuff was that I couldn't check it through security.
Little did they know. This liquid is going through security.
It is going through because I'm going through. Soju has become one with the G.
Holy mama, I'm hammered.
I'm wondering if this is a poem.
Ok, it's not, but it's a wide screen and I keep hitting return. Hey Lordy Mama, It's alright.
Dag, there it went again.
Here is a tip for the casual reader. You can often discern poems from prose by the excessive number of carriage returns.
I wonder, how could people live if there were no happy hour?
That was only a mildly rhetorical question.
Roughly 99% of the best legs on earth are in this airport. I'm not talking about me.
Ok, I am. But this isn't just about me.
Seriously, New York City was so disappointing this year.
American fashion in a recession. Not pretty. Yet here...these people have legs. Fasionably displayed.
I just look, I don't inhale. It's OK.
Not that there are not legs of note in the USA, it's just that here I think they walk more. It shows.
My flight is massively delayed, but I have this idea that my legs probably are not under my command. They are taking orders from commander soju.
These here legs of mine are good legs, don't get me wrong. They are randomly ogled by people who should know better but apparently don't. Like that one. That was nice of her.
So they do. But most don't. We can not sell soju in the USA. It would be the end of civilization as we know it.
Cute legs in hosiery, soju.
In that last line, somewhere...there is the key to world peace. I'd like to think it is in the hosiery, but the part of me that can't feel my toes is not wearing hosiery.
Hey Professor Roberts, do I write better drunk?
I may not know the answer to that. But I think I have one answer.
Sorry Mr. Lennon, love is not answer.
Soju is the answer.