Epilogue

Yesterday, when I told a co-worker that it was my birthday, he responded with "Aw, you're going to get smashed! There's going to be videos on youtube of your night tonight!"

I figured that would be a good thing, it would help me remember my night.

Luckily, I behaved myself amazingly well, considering how drunk I was.

Really, I know what I'm capable of when I'm in my cups. I have, in the past, ended friendships, fucked in public, puked in taxis, gotten friends into fistfights with strangers, saved lives, pissed in my garbage can, smoked pot with homeless people, messed around with chicks, messed around with married men, and insulted innocent bystanders, to name a few things.

And that was just what I can remember from last week.

So, putting last night into perspective, I was almost an angel.

Almost.

I did forget my new drinking mantra, "Don't hit on the bartender", but I also came up with an even better mantra for next time, "Don't hit on the bartender and his foxy friend and offer them a hit from my flask, even if they are off duty and off property". Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but whatever, poetry is for suckers.

I got some nice presents.

I got a little man-toy-voodoo thingy, which I'm planning on unleashing on my various crushes.

So take heed, Dear Various Crushes, if your penis starts a-twitching, and you can't stop thinking about me, you should probably just surrender before it gets messy. Don't worry, I don't bite. Unless you want me to.

And if you aren't a member of the Various Crush Club, but your penis is still a-twitching and you think about me too much, you probably have syphilis. Gross.