whiskey was indeed a strange man.
he walked with his shoes, but felt with his heart. he saw with his eyes, but thought with his head.
he was as strange as you and i.
he'd waltz all through midnights, then eats in middays. then he'd work on mornings, and sleeps all night.
sometimes he'd hear voices echoing through his vertibrate. and he swore it was the angels. but his family knows it wasn't the angels, nor the voices; but was the lice, within the mice.
on a final note: jousting is a knights-only. outside from that, is a tree, with a club.
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