there's something about mid-to-late 68 paul that just drives me insane. i want to pick him up in my mouth and throw him around like a dog toy. I want to tell a joke in front of his friends that undermines his confidence slightly. I want to peck out his liver every morning like Prometheus and the Eagle. I want to make violent love to him over the hood of a reasonably priced car on the side of the motorway. I want to make eye contact with him in divorce court.

Its the perfect mix of cocaine slut prince of london paul and broken man at his lowest paul. There's something about a man with inhuman levels of confidence unable to do anything while his life falls apart around him. The crazed eyes. The slight post coke-bloat. The air of desperation for something, anything to hold onto. Fuck, what an era