Joe, you wowser. Can't you handle your turps or something?
Sssh! A gallery mislabelled an item of mine as being oil a while back, so it seems I'm capable of giving the impression of being hairy-chested, even if I'm not. This is what comes of spilling one's guts on the web.
. . . when I paint, I use the good oil. Just to be straight.
Strictly acrylics here, tho I wouldn't drink the stuff.
We have a another dog, a dacshund, who licks toads and then staggers around the garden in a haze before lying in corner for 12 hours of so with a sore head.
Doggy may be smarter than you give her credit for.
While stories of smoking cane toad skins in Queensland have been around for years, now that the buggers have expanded their range to the Territory the kids up there seem to to have caught on.
No possible hallucinogenic effects from bufo toxin? Well they would say that wouldn't they.
Sorry, black peanut. Along with grey peanut. Any suggestions for chardonnay?
How about re-labelling, say, pinot noir as grey peanut, to placate the wanker-wowsers.
Something I've never been game to try, although according to Ben's argumentss it should hit the spot like nothing else: Pocari Sweat.
I'd recommend the methylene chloride, to the adolescents of today. In moderation of course.
Of course. Inhaling dichloromethane makes you talk like an Australian - the famous paint stripper accent. And yes, I too like the entertainmaent value of conspiracy theories. A pity that the illuminati never seem to be able to work together, though. Back when Dupont was demonising weed in order to promote their chemical hemp substitutes, Henry Ford was attempting to make cars out of the stuff.
Steven - while Henry's early cars were capable of running on alcohol, it was hardly the norm. Model Ts, and even the later A, would happily burn alcohol and kerosene, but you needed to pour a bit of petrol down the carburetor throat to start them.
The prohibition/big oil conspiracy schtick is dodgy at best. When Bertha Benz undertook her 106 km unauthorised road trip back in 1888 buying gasoline wasn't a problem:
When they were short of gasoline, they visited a pharmacy. Gasoline was
quite expensive at that time. People would buy it at the pharmacy in little
bottles, and use it only for removing stains from clothes. Imagine the
pharmacist’s surprise when he saw a strange machine carrying a woman
and two teenagers who then came in and bought a half-gallon of
gasoline—all the remaining stock. He probably didn’t realize it, but he had
just become the owner of the first gas station in the world.
Pardon me for being so frank about my crass tastes here, but I think it goes to the very heart of the massive mind fuck involved in discussing the 'alcohol problem'.
You're welcome. On the crassometer, though, you barely rate. The real high score would have to go to someone, now long departed from this world, who was reputed to regularly knock back Old Spice. Dog knows, it can't have been for the smell. Anyway, just how shitfaced do you want to get?