Remember the aquarium in Finding Nemo? After Nemo’s managed to clog the filter and it gets all scummed up? Imagine licking that filter while the dentist goes to see a man about a wallaby. Since you’ve not left your oral phase behind, you move to well-used lab equipment, burnt matches, and a corrupt politician’s (hypothetical) soul. You put on your peat pajamas and roll around in your peat sheets.
Sipping and nipping brings a bright peat—a kind trampled by the tiny exuberant hooves of mountain goats frolicking in highland bogs. I honestly wouldn’t have guessed prior to this that such peat existed, like learning about tardigrades, the honey badgers of microorganisms. A dialogue opens up between me, the essence of peat, my memories of past and future lives, mint cigars, and oatmeal eaten in an FDNY firehouse. (Unsurprisingly, the oatmeal didn’t have much to say.) This would be a perfect digestif for the lucky sinners of the flesh flying around in an erotic frenzy in Dante’s second circle of hell.