You kissing me right before banging your head on the wall while screaming red rum, red rum, red rum. That is the way I wish to leave through destruction and chaos. You always run down Beale street naked and end up visiting a voodoo fairy with a beer in your hand and nachos on your face. Or you end up taking a trip to the Pink Palace to force yourself inside the shrunken head. Lock your family in a freezer on the way out of lala land and ensure that the neighbors can’t hear the terror in their snow muffled screams. But not before you take that body from earlier in the day the one belonging to the dead bouncer who resembled your father so well and dump it into the Mississippi.