Liquor, Guns and Money (Without the Guns and Money)

The plan was to leave by midnight, at the latest. Couple beers in me, a good 5-5 ½ hours sleep and then off to work. Well, there were free beers involved. Still though, being mature damn it, and went and said goodbye to some people and they put up a fight, impugned my manhood by comparing the small (in relation to normal) amount of alcohol I’d had, and essentially told me I couldn’t leave. I said I would chug another beer, but I’d have to go.

Rob believes that he was the enabler, he wanted responsibility and I let him have it. The truth is I just have little self control. Did I mention free beers?

So after a few more free beers somebody finally busted out a bottle of whisky. Now as most people who know me know (did that sentence seem like it shouldn’t make sense?), if I turn down whisky:

1. I am trying to be responsible and by that point I’ve probably had more than my fair share.

2. I’ve got the spins and I’m about to vomit whisky out my nose.

3. I’m near death. Scratch that one. If I’m near death I’d better be sucking off a bottle like a 400 dollar whore.

So yeah, I ended up having a good time, but at what price? AT WHAT PRICE?!?

Sleep attempted at around 2AM with too much alcohol on an empty stomach. And yes, as the old song says, it’s nobody’s fault but mine. I am finding it difficult to dredge up the empathy at work today for the dumb asses who spill a hot beverage on themselves and expect me to supply them with a lifetime supply of said beverage because they’re dumb asses.

Wrong day to call…