LXVIII. I Won't Rest, Till I've Got Hair on my Chest
"Drink this. It'll put some hair on your chest" said my brother's best friend Leonard Davies as he handed me what would be my first, but certainly not my last, pull off of the moonshine bottle.
When I was 13 I went to my distant cousin's wedding in Dogwater, Tennessee. It was in this mosquito-ridden, sweltering, back-country land that I first experimented with a number of homemade substances that altered the well-being of my mind and undoubtedly took years off my life. Long story short, I spent a month there one night.
Those words echoed in my ears for ages it seemed. "... it'll put some hair on your chest." I quite frequently mistook similar genial catch-phrases for nuggets of wisdom at that time, especially when it came from my older brother or his accomplices. As a most impressionable child, they were also the types role models that a young man who's father was in and out of prisons and mental health facilities might look up to.
Having been a big fan of Burt Reynolds for some time, I decided to try my best to look like him. I had the greatest leather jacket I could acquire, but obviously at the "ripe" young age of 13 (as I was told in various online chat rooms) I would continue to be for the most part hairless, especially on my cherub-like face and non-muscular chest.
So you must see how the words "it'll put hair on your chest" would intrigue me so. Let me tell you, drinking out of a clay jar with three X's across the front will certainly enhance your time, but it will not in fact put hair on your chest.
I spent a large portion of the night sucking every drop I could from the moonshine container and an even larger portion of the night swearing at relatives, urinating on bridesmaids and sleeping in the wedding cake that I knocked over.
When I awoke in the hospital, my mouth tasted of charcoal. Indeed, I did not have hair on my chest. My first inclination was to suffocate Leonard for lying to me, but I learned that the real lesson here was not to believe in everything you are told. Only whiskey will give you hair on your chest - trust me, I have 8 of them.
When I was 13 I went to my distant cousin's wedding in Dogwater, Tennessee. It was in this mosquito-ridden, sweltering, back-country land that I first experimented with a number of homemade substances that altered the well-being of my mind and undoubtedly took years off my life. Long story short, I spent a month there one night.
Those words echoed in my ears for ages it seemed. "... it'll put some hair on your chest." I quite frequently mistook similar genial catch-phrases for nuggets of wisdom at that time, especially when it came from my older brother or his accomplices. As a most impressionable child, they were also the types role models that a young man who's father was in and out of prisons and mental health facilities might look up to.
Having been a big fan of Burt Reynolds for some time, I decided to try my best to look like him. I had the greatest leather jacket I could acquire, but obviously at the "ripe" young age of 13 (as I was told in various online chat rooms) I would continue to be for the most part hairless, especially on my cherub-like face and non-muscular chest.
So you must see how the words "it'll put hair on your chest" would intrigue me so. Let me tell you, drinking out of a clay jar with three X's across the front will certainly enhance your time, but it will not in fact put hair on your chest.
I spent a large portion of the night sucking every drop I could from the moonshine container and an even larger portion of the night swearing at relatives, urinating on bridesmaids and sleeping in the wedding cake that I knocked over.
When I awoke in the hospital, my mouth tasted of charcoal. Indeed, I did not have hair on my chest. My first inclination was to suffocate Leonard for lying to me, but I learned that the real lesson here was not to believe in everything you are told. Only whiskey will give you hair on your chest - trust me, I have 8 of them.
posted by Max Rays at 3:20 PM
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