Jagermeister. How I despise thee.
You know, I think that the demon that masquerades as a drink - Jagermeister, to the uninitiated - probably owes me about a days worth of memories. I drink the stuff, although I know not why, and once I do, bam - may as well hit me on the head with a copy of forgetfulness for experts (hardback edition) as it's lights out for the brain for the rest of my might. Seriously.
I've fallen asleep under a flyover, only to wake up with an alsatian chewing my hand. It can get that bad.
And yet...time and time again, I find myself coming back to it. It is my secret shame, it is an evil vice, it is the death of hope and memories...but I loves you Jagermeister, I surely do. Although if you show me a bottle now there's a chance I would faint.
The Jagermeister is dead...long live the Jagermeister. Hail!
