At what point do you say "Enough!"

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At what point do you say "Enough!"

Post  El Guapo on Sun Aug 22, 2010 7:49 am

It happens every Saturday and every Sunday I make the same solemn vow. Never again, as God is my witness, never again will I got so totally rat-arsed.

But for some reason that vow only ever seems to last until the following Saturday when you think to yourself "just one beer won't hurt...just the one," after which you think "well, I'm not drunk, I can handle another. Two beers is ok as it is after all the weekend."

So you crack open another and suddenly halfway through that beer you get a strange craving for some barbequed meat smothered in chilli sauce that's been quietly festering all day on a metal skewer. So as you munch away gleefully ignoring that little part of your brain that is screaming at you "My God man! Do you not realise what you are eating?!" you think "Well, now I'm thirsty and what better thirst quencher can there possibly be other than another beer?"

So you reach for a third. By the time this is finished you've suddenly realised you are, in fact, what every beautiful woman in the world has been searching for and it's your duty to explain this to them as you stagger over to the dark haired woman at the bar. At least you think she's a woman as she clearly has long hair but by this point you aren't able to focus too well but nevertheless your alcohol driven mind is willing to take this risk.

After recieving the obligatory slap after you mumble "your plashe or mine shweetsh?" you decide what you really need to mend your broken is another beer as drowning your sorrows at this point can be the only possible way forward.

So you order a fourth beer. As you sip on this you mournfully tell the total stranger standing next to you what an amazing friend he's been all your life before you notice another stranger over in the corner has briefly glanced in your direction. Unable to allow this vicious insult to go unpunished you stagger over, poke them in the chest and angrily shout "Whash you been lookinsh atsh Mishter eh?!"

Then, finally, mercifully, it's time to go home and you wrestle with the idea of actually getting behind the wheel of your car before everything fades to black.

24 hours later you wake up. Your head feels like it's full of tiny vindictive little dwarves all hammering away at the inside of your skull. Groaning you look around and note with some relief the environment you appear to be in bears a welcome resemblance to home. Once again you make that solemn vow and you wait for the next weekend to break it all over again.

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El Guapo
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