This whole “life” thing would’ve been a lot easier, for me and everyone else, if only my parents had kept paint-stripper under the kitchen sink instead of premium Polish vodka.

At least that’s what I tell myself I was looking for all those years ago.

I love the smell of paint-stripper.

Vodka is a stripper in it’s own right. Here are some things that vodka strips me of:

  • inhibitions
  • morals (some, or all)
  • worries
  • layers of my liver
  • senses (one, or all)
  • this fucking albatross
  • memories
  • appetite
  • clothes (some, or all)
  • shoes (one, or both)
  • fear.

Paint-stripper is cheaper than vodka.
Vodka is cheaper than a female stripper.
One of the above I have so far avoided becoming.
Two of the above may kill me once ingested.
All of the above relate to my favourite hobbies: art, drinking, and sex.

I don’t know.

Maybe the world would be a better place if we were





6 thoughts on “Strippers

  1. While it is anatomically impossible for me to be a ‘female’ stripped, your stopped down idea has merit. Remove the veils and facade we create and build. Show the raw us, than be judged equally – or to not judge at all.

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