Benjamin Reynolds (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} _cavendish_) wrote,@ 2011-08-21 11:37:00 |
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Locked away in one of his many gilded cages Big Tobacco tries and fails at getting drunk. Alcohol, most beloved of mistresses, partner in crime, other self, favorite addiction has failed him. He isn't surprised. She's always been a fickle bitch and the only time she turns him away is when he needs her most.
He drinks the whiskey anyway. The slow smooth-burn that starts in his throat and works his way into his belly is the only comfort he can get and Big Tobacco in a rare mood of compliance takes it gladly.
They are changing his face. Peeling back the layers of smooth talking Hollywood Star, erasing the foundations of the grizzled cowboy he had been built on and showing the world what he really is. The black disease ridden, stitched up cadaver and should have been aborted fetuses of the slow killing death god he has always been.
He giggles and even more skin rips and falls away in sheets on the floor.
DRIVER! BRING ME SPACKLE AND SPRAY GLUE!
He drinks the whiskey anyway. The slow smooth-burn that starts in his throat and works his way into his belly is the only comfort he can get and Big Tobacco in a rare mood of compliance takes it gladly.
They are changing his face. Peeling back the layers of smooth talking Hollywood Star, erasing the foundations of the grizzled cowboy he had been built on and showing the world what he really is. The black disease ridden, stitched up cadaver and should have been aborted fetuses of the slow killing death god he has always been.
He giggles and even more skin rips and falls away in sheets on the floor.
DRIVER! BRING ME SPACKLE AND SPRAY GLUE!