I'm Not Allowed to Tell You There's Ice on the Roads
A meditation on whiskey, Columbo, and the end of civilization as we know it.
I feel like absolute garbage today. My liverâs been giving me hell lately. Turns out 15 years of heavy whiskey drinking catches up with you. I know, shocking. Who could have predicted that treating your internal organs like a college fraternity (Sigma Alpha Cirrhosis) would have consequences?
Iâve been sober for a while now. Mostly sober, anyway. I had one magnificent slip-up when the Epstein file dumps started coming out a few weeks back. Spent five glorious days hopelessly drunk because I couldnât stop reading those documents and wanted to cry. Or scream. Or both. Possibly while eating an entire sleeve of Oreos and watching old Columbo episodes. (Peter Falk would have solved the Epstein case in 47 minutes including commercial breaks, by the way.) But thatâs a different article for a different day.
Since Iâm not drinking myself into oblivion anymore, we hired two Filipino researchers. Sharp kids who know how to dig through news stories trâŠ
