Generally accepted physical characteristics of hard-core alcoholics include:
> Broken capillaries on the nose and face (check and check. Big time Rudolph nose and Santa cheeks.)
> Yellowing of the eyes and skin, indicating a potential problem with liver functioning (check – I would say a pasty shade of jaune)
> Breath that smells of alcohol on a consistent basis (can’t smell a picture but – whew -what’s your guess?)
> A marked decrease in attention to personal hygiene such as showering and dental care, resulting in unappealing aesthetics (unappealing – definite check)
> Notable weight loss or weight gain (super double check, definitely porky)
> Dry skin (you can almost see the dandruff cloud)
> Brittle hair and fingernails (hard to say but those nails look pretty stubby to me. And that hair? Probably brittle, but mostly just greasy.)
> A flushed appearance (oh yeah!)
> Evidence of aging more rapidly than usual, such as a sudden increase in wrinkles and age spots (just check out those legs – wrinkles and age spots along with a spider web of varicose veins.)
And I would add a few other things like irrational judgment, impenetrable denial, vicious projection, uncontrolled rage, hate-driven aggression, deep paranoia, grandiose delusions, and needing a drink more than anything else in life.
There have been plenty of alcoholics in positions of power in this world, but few of them are so clearly impaired as Steve Bannon. But I’m willing to bet that his alcoholic cunning – how many hiding places do you think he already has for his booze in the White House – enables him to know just which buttons to push to get His Eminence to blow up the world.
After all, how hard could it be to convince Daffy Don that the Kikes, the Chinks, the Ragheads, the Niggers, the Fags and the Spics are out to get him and that he better get them all first? Now wouldn’t THAT make America great again?
When I was a child I moved around the world with my military family, always traveling by ship in the days before aircraft could cross oceans. I would spend hours on deck writing messages, sealing them with candle wax in bottles I snagged from somewhere on board, and then consigning them to the sea knowing in my heart that they were on their way to someone, somewhere who would read them. Sometime replies arrived at my grandparents’ house years later, and they would forward them to me wherever I was living. From these contacts I developed pen-pals who I stayed in touch with for many years. I was fortunate to develop, very early in my life, a sense of the network that invisibly but seamlessly connects us all. Thank you for picking up this message in a bottle, dear reader. We are here together.