I’ve been hearing a lot about all these new cleansing techniques that are supposed to help improve your body and even your mind. Some people seem to need such things, not sure why, we haven’t run out of beer. Still, who am I to put down something I haven’t tried? Maybe it works wonders and the holy feathered serpent knows that many haven’t found the holy light of our savor, Yig. His name be hissed.

There are all kinds of cleansing out there, water, colon, cyanine pepper, and tape worm. All of these techniques advocate focusing on a particular food of liquid to the exclusion of all others, in the hopes that this will help purge the body of built up toxins. Of course this is non-sense, but it makes people feel better knowing they are trying something and many enjoy the cozy feeling of having a slim hope that someone out there knows something they don’t, like listening to the lyrics of any rock band from the 70s.

I, however, have decided to cut through all this crap and with the help of my good friend, medical adviser, and local barkeep, Phillip Brownhurst, I’m planning on setting off for a whole month of beer cleansing. Yes, you heard it here, no food or hydrating liquids will pass my lips, while my body focuses on purging such products from my inner core.

As this happens, in a wild Bacchanalian fit, I will embrace all this ale. I will save the ales (STA) as they save me from the distracting images that plague our modern world. What insights, what revelations, what incontinence waits in store, I can hardly guess. I only know that this is not a journey for the meek or those unsure of their inner drunk.

I have been warned that such a trip is not without its own inherent dangers, but Phillip has promised to drop by with a few joints after last call each night, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.

So into the realm of Dionysus, Bukowski, Morrison, and Lohann I go. No, don’t try to stop me, I need to do this. Not just for me, but for us, for everyone that has been inclined to not be inclined, bribed to be good and proper, or simply told that they should try to make something of their lives. Yes, it is for those that I fight. For the right to throw it all away, forget their jobs and just wake up whenever the hangover allows and start the day will a cold one. I might still see all those suckers heading to work, while I grab my pre-nooner six-pack, but in the end, deep in their hearts, I know they are the ones that will envy me.

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