You want to hear a frightening scary tale; the wine ran out this Friday and I haven’t bought more yet.
It flowed through my veins with a shot of sweetness, ah cab-sav, but the other bottle Merlot, walked away.
You at home and work take heed because I know your ilk, stop taking my wine. I’m not the sharing type.
So, what my arguements ad hominem ‘against the man.’ Should I not rip to pieces your character and everything you’ve done. For wine, yes of course.
You’re a no-good-wine-thief you know who you are, and I won’t take back my criticism until you bring back my bottle.
My glass is waiting, empty, such a big glass. I could have just one sip but it will probably lead to more.
Bring some Vodka and some lime when you bring the wine. It’s a slippery slope but mostly, bring more wine.
But you motion to this great bottle you bought; sparkling what? You’ve distracted me with a ‘red – herring’ a bottle that looks like wine but reads non-alcoholic.
Where is my Malbec, Zinfedal, Shirez, or Merlot? Where is my wine, red, rose, or white?
You said your neighbour she drank the last of the vodka and you couldn’t get any? It wasn’t your fault the store closed.
Yes, the vodka was important but you are strawmaning the arguement, the issue is my bottle of wine? Where is it?
“Well it’s where I left it,” you said. “But I never had it” I cried. “Well then, if you never had it it must be where you left it” you said. Circular reasoning, thief!
I open my hand and close my eyes wishing my Merlot would appear. And suddenly, it does from the sky? It’s raining wine. What a dream.
I guess it wasn’t your fault the wine meant missing. But maybe it was? I’ll never know and you’ll never tell. I won’t forgive. So, the tired writer wrote.
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