I split this five way with friends as a form of punishment, and I do indeed consider myself punished. I hate myself. I knew I would hate myself. This outlet to vent my disgust with my own existence is all I have. Why God!? It smells like straight Tabasco and despair. Yet somehow it was enticing enough for me to put this in my mouth. It did not disappoint. By that I mean the palate lived up to the nose in the sense that it also made me question why I do the things I do. It tasted like violence and fire with a touch of sweetness. I have put a lot of things in my mouth in my day, but few have left the impression that this shot straight from the anus of Satan himself has left. I am sad that there is still fluid in my glass. I fear neither my tongue nor my glencairn will ever be the same. But I must persevere. While I have lost nearly all respect for myself, I at least shall have the dignity to finish this pour so that I can look my six-month-old daughter in the eye in the morning. When she is bullied, or fails a test, or has a bad game, I will speak of this day. I will let her know that if I can survive this, she can survive that.