F is for Fuzzy Navel

Thanks to several formative experiences in the 1980s arising from a dangerous mixture of youthful overexuberance, youthful naivete, and youthful overindulgence, I can no longer even smell peach schnapps without wanting to throw up. So I don't drink Fuzzy Navels anymore.

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Landless by Tony Noland. If you like the blog, try one of the books.