He woke up from his nap and is bemoaning his state of bourbon drunkeness. He’s currently in the shower yelling to me, “Oh my god this is terrible. How do people deal with this? I’m going back to beer. Oh my god, my head. I can’t do anymore bourbon tonight. I’m sorry. This bourbon…jesus christ fuck.”
“Shit! This hurts.”
Me: laugh out loud for-fucking-ever. For the record, so far today he has had: two large beers and three flights of bourbon.
I don’t think we’re completing the Urban Bourbon Trail. hahahahahaha
It may be room service for us tonight. We shall see.
Oooh there’s more:
D: “I don’t know how these confederates do it.”
“I’m just a simple Yankee, ya know? I want my IPA. I want to do like 3 IPAs a night. Some weed. Watch a Dave Matthews Band Concert. I want my girl to fuck me. And maybe do a little work. And then I want to go to sleep. But god…this shit. Fuck. This is hard core.”
OMG this is amazing.
“You wanna go to that fat fuck’s restaurant or do you wanna do room service?”
He’s referring to Guy Fieri’s Smokehouse.
“You just had a taste of the bourbon, but I can’t even stand up straight right now.”
“Oh man, these fucking southerners, jesus fucking christ.”
“God, my head hurts. I kind of want to order a cheeseburger by room service.”
“I’m done with the bourbon today. I’ll drink more beer, but I’m done with the fucking bourbon today. Jesus fucking christ. God, my head hurts.”
“Oh man I’m such a Saint Louis pussy. I can drink beer all day but I can’t drink bourbon all day. I can’t do it. Do you know what I’m saying? I don’t even remember coming back to the room. Wow.”
“These fucking confederates. It’s no surprise they came close to winning the fucking war. They are hardcore.”
“I’m a Yankee and I’m proud of it, but I’ve got respect for these fuckers.”
I’m fucking dying right now, you guys. The southerners broke Dave.