[pablissimo]

Or of bitter, bitter sorrow, the likes of which can only be quelled by Chris Isaak and a bottle of Glenmorangie you stole from a liquor store in Ohio because you wanted to see if you were still capable of feeling anything at all after that witch pulled your heart out and ate it in front of you leaving you a hollowed-out and broken shell of a human being unable to express himself without cutting rough outlines of the General Lee into your forearm and pretending that your entire existence is one of those Dukes of Hazzard freeze-frame moments with you as the narrator and fate as the script writer.

Yeah could be that.