I've always liked the taste of metal.
I can't put my finger on it. There's a definite reaction within the mouth upon tongueing anything metal. As a kid, apparently held by the clutches of Freud's oral relapse, I would sneak tastes of the latch of my dog's leash. Spoons and cutlery, having been beaten slightly in a dishwasher, will give off this sensation as well. Along with smelling gasoline at the local pump, putting your mouth on metal was one of those special opportunities, something your parents couldn't get mad at you about. They didn't know.
At least I know that when I finally get around to shooting myself in the head tomorrow by way of wrapping my lips around a barrel, I'll know that I can go out with the subtle joy of metal on my tongue being the last thing I experience before painting the walls behind me.
Gomez -- "Airstream Driver"
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