Here’s something you’ve probably already figured out about me, I’m a jackass. I tend to live in the now, and despite uttering mantras about only having 1 Guinness the entire way to the bar I am easily convinced to do otherwise.
Last night I joined some friends to say good-bye to one of them that is moving away. I was a good boy the entire time. Then some asshole suggested we move the party from El Torrito to a bar. Sure. Why not?
This is where my one beer chanting began. It ended about 5 minutes into the bar when I was handed a shot. It was all downhill from there.
In my defense, I’ve been pretty down lately and the idea of tying one on was growing increasingly appealing. I accepted the fact that I could do it and still wake up with the boys in the morning. Hell, I’m a trooper.
Hangovers are for people without kids. I’ve been throwing up all morning. I eat the toast. I puke the toast. On the brightside, at least I’ve been able to clean out some of that old stomach bile that’s been stinking up the place.
It’s ridiculous. Too much money and not enough sense. That’s me.
Now if you’ll excuse me. I have to change a smelly diaper. This ought to go over well.