Conflict, with the big "C," is one of those historical rhythms with a drumbeat that's driven the tempo of Homo sapien interaction ever since, well, at least since those damn monkeys from that 2001: A Space Odyssey flick got old, err, "new" skool on each other and started bashing one another's skulls with mastodon femurs and a nascent discovery of bloodlust, power, competition and domination – which eventually was to be known as politics – yet nevertheless codifying a reflexive and brutal interaction in a homogeneous community that had, on a whole, mostly been interdependent for survival.
And although the emergent variations in cultural and social structure over eons point to a hodgepodge of "apparent" diversity they are but a thin veil covering all those ancient instincts – the ones that made us persist, a genetic predisposition for survival, this is still the governing rule and the one that fuels all the narratives of all the folk in all the lands, for without it there is no "being" no "us" no defining in the way that is uniquely allowed by a fourteen hundred cubic centimeter mass of highly developed neurotissue.
Okay, this is a supremely useless digression to get to the main subject – Feud Oil. This bottle came into my possession many a moon ago. Produced by Tummy-Hawk Battlers INC. in the lovely hamlet of umm.. Scalpum, Kentucky, it apparently is designed to primarily "fuel the feud" or at the very least make it more than a timid back and forth of flaming poop baggies on the cabin porch. Perhaps a catalyst for the infamous Hatfield-McCoy feud?
We may never know...