It happens without warning. Sitting there throwing back a shot here. Another there. Once interesting bar names, now irrelevant. Spill. Mynt. Monarck. Blue Ice. Who gives a fuck, really? Seriously. You're more smashed now than you ever thought possible, and you're not done. Not even close.
In your infinite wisdom, you order Johnnie Walker black--on ice. A sign of brilliance. You eye the bartender while she pours the smoky intoxicating liquor. Gotta make sure she doesn't short ya. Because you need all of it. Of course you do. Your constitution and tolerance know no bounds. Of course they don't. You're Superman. Ten feet tall and made of steel. Of course you are.
It happens without warning. You wake on Thanksgiving morning with a hangover that would fell King Kong. Your wife looking at you as if to say, "You're brilliant." Instead she says, "You've got the turkey, you know." And laughs. I ain't making it up.
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