That last beer tasted like piss, and I know for sure ‘coz I’ve indulged. Don’t ask for details – it’s a tale for better times. Taste is a funny thing. It changes with the mood, yet no one really thinks with their tongues. Maybe if we all lived life as the taste on our tongues, we’d be happier people. How many people do you know that’d be happy to keep sucking endlessly on a bottle of vinegar? Some might. Or is that just wine snobbery at play?
Talking of taste, cigarettes are another case in point. Taste makes all the difference to the smoker, else it all smells like smelly smoke. I hate your smoke but I love mine. Why? ‘Coz mine tastes better than yours smells. The same with my farts; yours smell like crap.
Good taste, fine wine – the less you know, the more you smile. The more I smile, the drunker I seem. Your arse is wound so tight that I’m the tasteless one, with no control or sense, while you play out an elaborate pretence.
The first cigarette and the first kiss aren’t that different. One tastes of tobacco, the other tastes of spit. Both give the taster a high. As each is sucked on deeper does inhibition slowly die.
And then both move to newer, tastier and deeper ground – where exotic pleasures are to be found. Those not fussy may heed the call of pussy.
I think therefore I am of better taste than you. What is the taste of this malaise that rocks the cradle of equality? More sauce? Not for me, thanks. I’m too busy tasting my own bile. These burps have been around for a while. They’re not going away till you give me reason to smile.
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