The Mouth That Roared

I always talked too much. Long before I picked up my first beer and long after I put down my last scotch, I talked too much. When I was afraid, I talked to hide my fear; when I felt inadequate, I talked to convince you that I was hip, slick, and cool; when I was in trouble, I talked in such convoluted circles that many times teachers or policemen or sergeants threw up their hands in defeat. I talked so damn much, I got good at it. Or so I thought.