One bourbon, one scotch, and one mav

I know you’ve had that kind of moment.

I know you’ve had that kind of moment when you’ve come to a realization that whatever you’re seeing, hearing, or otherwise encountering was so brain-shatteringly unlikely, so utterly improbable, so wholly preposterous and far-fetched that only millseconds ago you would have bet your (insert most valuable posession here) that there’s no way in hell it could happen. You were absolutely certain of its complete inability to exist, until it did.

And your brain comes to a SCREECHING FUCKING HALT, acrid smoke billowing out from behind your now-shredded Potenzas, brakes ablaze and metal crying out from the strain and you have to literally bite your tongue to keep yourself from screaming WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS HAPPY HORSESHIT.

In retrospect, you know what’s neat about that moment? In a world that’s easy to predict, it shows your true character. Even if only to yourself.

Also your tongue will probably hurt a bit.