Septimus. The seventh. Destined for greatness… Destined for grapeness more like!
Ahem. By that I meant that I have a little problem with that addictive creation of Dionysus’ known as ‘wine’. It’s just so orgasmically delicious, alright? I don’t think that there is a God of Hangovers up here, but if there ever is, and I ever meet him – or her – I’m just going to hit the bastard in the head…repeatedly. That’s what my hangovers feel like, anyway, so it would be poetic justice. You think you struggle with the morning after? Try being a God – we don’t have the constitution for it.
I used to be able to predict the future, and I still can – but only when I’m too paralytic to do anything about it and too incoherent to tell anyone about it. Even though I struggle with the sauce – the sauce wins more often than not – there are still ways I can impress Zeus and prove to everyone that I am a deity worthy of Mount Olympus. Specifically, I’m reasonably sure that nobody else can put away as many leather skins of the juice in one sitting. Yours truly is also capable of flight…provided that I’ve scoffed enough beans or the like and get in a decent run-up.
It really is inexplicable that my magnificence has not been recognised yet.
Solidarity, brothers & sisters…Σεβ