The world that Mike Harmeier and all of his Moonpies not only exist in, but rule, is tinted very amber. It's a place where you can go with your hurts and know that you'll never leave with them. You can take your lumps and your dings in through the front door and when you leave hours and hours later, they're massaged or hammered out and your stumbling feels like a victory lap. You've done it. You've at least temporarily cured your ills and sometimes temporarily curing your ills is all that you're really looking for, smart enough to know that fixing them forever is a fool's errand. Harmeier sings often of the perils that come to a man in close proximity to and in relations with the fairer sex. He knows that there's little to no defending oneself against their allure. They're dastardly and intoxicating. They go great with the hard stuff, the light stuff and all the in between. They are worth going nuts for. They're worth getting stinkin' drunk over. It's worth getting stinkin' drunk to get over them. Harmeier sings, "I've been seein' other women at the bottom of a glass," and on paper that sounds like a fella in a bad way, but the pain felt clears up nicely when the bartender keeps them coming and George Strait, George Jones, Hank Williams or Mike and the goddamn Moonpies are playing on that jukebox over in the dusty corner.