The Man with No Name
When I was a young warthog…
When he was a young warthooooooggggg!
As a younger lad, I loved sarsaparillas. I discovered it when my family was on a road trip through the southwestern United States, when I was only seven. In the same vein as ordering a root beer, a kid kind of felt like they were drinking with the big boys… all grown up. Especially on this road trip, it was fun to saddle up to a ghost town bar and ask the tender for a sarsaparilla. Take a big swig of it to show everyone in the joint that you’re a badass and then take your seat at a table for a round of poker.
In reality, my parents probably ordered me the sarsaparilla, in a family establishment, and I likely had chicken fingers for dinner, while colouring one of those kid’s menus.
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