You decide your second date with a Brazilian dude should be at a nightclub.
Tequila's on the house.
You don't have to drive back.
This guy you randomly made out with sometime back, knows your date. (!)
Tequila's on the house.
You're drinking like the world's ending in 1.46 minutes.
You're high and deny it.
Your date starts looking like a hazy blur.
On your way to the loo you trip and fall.
Tequila's on the house.
On your way to the parking lot, you trip, roll down an entire flight of stairs.
You puke in the backseat of his friend's shiny new Merc.
You puke some more. Where? You don't even remember.
You're passed out right through the drive home; marinating for an hour, in your vomit.
Once the car stops, you stumble out, fall flat and scrape your knees.
Your friends put you to sleep and clean your wounds with whiskey.
And... And. AND:
Your friends tell you that while you were passed out, they caught you snoring.
*heart fucking attack*
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
There are moments in life when sheer embarrassment renders you incapable of normal speech and makes you want to head to a town where nobody knows you so you can adopt a couple of puppies and grow old in absolute anonymity.
This was one such.
Rot in hell, tequila, you motherfucking bitch!
Die!
Image courtesy: Photoshy's photostream @ FlickR.
