The Defense restsSo on Friday Megan and I went to our favorite disgusting Mexican food restaurant, Amanecer, which is the perfect place to go if you want to eat delicious but gross cheese enchilladas served by the same waitress who never smiles and ignores repeated requests for water, and to drink the most lethal margaritas known to mankind. Seriously - you drink one, and you are crawling home. So we're drinking our first round of margaritas and I'm already drunk as a skunk and then I decide it would be a great idea to have another one immediately. So I drink the second margarita and I am showing all the classic signs of drunkenness: a) constantly denying I'm drunk, b) repeating stories 30 times, c) bitching about my nosejob and d) declaring my love for Perry and how, if he ever dies which he luckily never will, I will drive to the nearest graveyard, dig myself a grave and jump in.
Megan is historically familiar with the signs of my drunkenness, but instead of being a good friend and telling me it was a bad idea to go into the convenience store across the street from Amanecer to buy chocolate, she accompanied in there and acted like it was completely normal when I rolled up to the counter with NUTELLA AND VANILLA WAFERS. Um, are you KIDDING ME? Why don't people stop me? Why, every time when I'm drunk, do I always end up eating something disgusting that I would never eat in normal life - like last weekend it was garlic knots, Haribo gummy bears and a HEATH BAR, and the weekend before it was yogurt covered raisins and Cool Whip. It is other peoples' job to stop me from doing this shit, and if people don't start doing their job, there are going to be some changes around here very soon.
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2 comments:
When I was younger, the first time I heard of "Heath bars" was in a ice cream store called "Marble Slab Creamery" (which, by the way, started BEFORE the whole Cold Stone rip-off wanna-be fetish crap that everyone wants to be married to came out), and it was a topping, and I was picked the topping because I thought it really meant "Health Bars" and that therefore it was healthy for you.
Later when I realized that it wasn't, it annoyed me that they were called "Heath Bars" for the same aforementioned reasons.
I would like to point out that I forcibly removed the nutella from you (twice) this past Tuesday evening after you consumed no less than four "make 'em strong" margaritas.
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