Who? I don't know. Did the bro-in-law the elder make it?
It's possible, but my brain cells are so addled I don't remember.
Addled! By what?
By his wine that I tasted years and years ago, and still
have not recovered from.
You can tell that by my fragmented sentences and ending them
with a preposition, something I never did up until then.
He took any kind of juice he could find in the house:
orange juice, grape juice, apple juice, frozen juice, gatorade,
and who knows what else, if it was liquid, in it went.
It fermented, he decanted, I came for a visit.
With no hyperbole, no exaggeration, I can state that it was
the foulest nauseatingest liquid in the world.
It's a wonder it didn't dissolve the glass jar it was in.
The smallest taste left me incapacitated for hours.
I have never recovered. That taste haunts me.
Occasionally you might notice me shuddering uncontrollably.
Even writing about it now causes my hands to shake and
my mouth to drool.
Today is the office Christmas lunch where the bossman takes
the peons to the Snappy Dragon. I have lost my appetite.
I am supposed to play a small concert tonight then accompany
a sing along, but I'm shaking so bad from reliving that
experience, I'll be lucky if I don't fall off the piano bench.
Ah, but that's why they invented Duct Tape.