It is. A few years back, we get this call around 4a.m. Some artist downtown screaming...

Det. Edward Kennesaw:

[Wayland explains that he was drunk on hard liquor. Absinthe. Much to the disbelief of Kennesaw and Braxton]
You sure that's what it was? James Walter Wayland:
Of course I am. Det. Edward Kennesaw:
I've only seen one man on an absinthe binge in my whole career. One, twenty... twenty-one years and I tell you what, it ain't pretty. James Walter Wayland:
That a fact? Det. Edward Kennesaw:
It is. A few years back, we get this call around 4a.m. Some artist downtown screaming bloody murder in his apartment. Keeping the rest of the tenants awake. So we go there, we knock, nothing. But we know he's in because we could hear him, this little whimpering noise. Ends up we have to kick in the door and there's this guy sitting in the middle of his floor, naked, surrounded by a bunch of lousy paintings... with no skin on his legs. Zero. Totally flayed. In fact, if you breathed funny, the guy'd start yelping and he had this little Para Knife in his hand. Somehow, this wacko got it in his head that he was a big, fat Granny Smith apple. That's funny. It sounds funny, I know but it's the God's truth. Can you imagine? Thinking you're a six foot apple? Well, that's what this moron thought and he had peeled off his own skin about an inch at a time. But you know what the fucked up thing was? He only had about a half a bottle. So, I'm not saying here that you don't think you drank absinthe. I'm just saying that if you did, you wouldn't be able to finish the alphabet, let alone sit here and tell me what you did that night!