Ye err pourt a whole 5th a dark a dark Cantuckee Bourbon on yer crotch, had relations with a fat blond in a Honky Tonk bathroom, then slept under yer car? Me too. I'll tell you awl bout it since yer awl sinners wanderin this wicked world who lahk dark an unredeemed things. Ah was in Solomon Deacon's joint las Friday an we was all getting perty tight. I was up on tha bar hollerin bout awl tha agony in mah los an lonesome heart. I whipt out mah pecker an set ta pissin on ever last motherfucker thar. Solomon pult me down by mah belt buckle an throwt me out inta tha cold Cantuckee night. Well, Ah wadn't harly numb yet, so Ah headed up tha road ta “The Big Easy” so's Ah could make more folks hurt lahk Ah did. Soon as Ah waltzed in, Ah went behind tha bar an grabt a bottle a Old Crow an threw it against tha wall. I pickt up another bottle, pult down mah drawers an pourt it on mah pecker, awl tha whal makin gulpin sounds lah mah middle leg was drinkin it down. The depraved denizens a this dive fount this a little less amusin than Ah did. Tha bartender an one a his buddies grabbt holt a me with intention ta inflict bodily harm, I spect but I managed ta squirm out a thar grasp an barricaded mahself in tha bathroom whar a plump blondette was pissin great, foul streams a sour smellin bourbon piss. That full bodied woman a tha earth immediately reminded a feller a Demeter an watchin her piss with her panties round her ankles me think a tha world fore there was tha agonizin stain a iniquity stalkin tha earth. Aroused, without mah drawers, Ah sat on her lap an she responded ta mah desire with a hard mouth kiss that was slow an open mouthed. We disrobed frantically, clawin at each other's hearts an tearin flesh with mouths an nails. Ecstasy. Other worlds. Whal we're recklessly fuckin, her fat body prest tween tha filthy piss soaked wall an mah tiny, tiny throbbin earthly vessel tha bartender an his buddy is knockin down tha door, strugglin with tha lock. They finely managed it on fount us ruttin lahk any animal would. I triet ta climb out tha winder but they got holt a me fore I could an drug me out ta parkin lot ta beat the mortal dog shit out a me. I crawlt down that dirt road ta whar Ah'd left mah truck at Solomon Deacon's an decided gainst drivin home. Fer shelter, Ah rolt under tha truck. Fore I slipt off ta tha ecstatic estate a nothinness, I heard someone listenin ta tha Hal Ketchum album “Past The Point Of Rescue” Boy, it's a piece a stark Merican lunacy. “Old Soldiers” is jus Ketchum accompanied by a rake an a overflowt river. It's bout these Army men in tha Merican Civil war who ate childern ta show thar disgust with tha laws a civilization an tha agonizin sameness a errythin. Thay was prolly hungry too, I spect. “She Found The Place” howls with anguish. This lady stands over this feller whal he's sleepin with a Bowie knife. She cuts him open from tha neck ta tha abdomen an pulls tha throbbin heart out a his palsied body an starts rippin it apart ta try an understan tha misry that living things experience. “I Know Where Love Lives” cuts ye ta yer heart. A child starts wanderin in a lonesome, treacherous forest at night ta try an find some kind a decency an goodness in tha broken world. He wanders his entire life through thickets and thornbushes an nerr fines any; don't ye understan tha meanin a that? Aren't ye out thar sojournin? Lookin fer love an mercy? Hal Ketchum bets ye are. Me? I ain't so shore. Hope is tha enemy a joy, frens. Ah love each an erry one a ye, more in yer darkness than in yer false light. I bet Hal Ketchum would say that, if he could.