Double Flee A

I just spent a little time with a guy I lived with when I was 20. He looks back on how much I used to drink in a kind of trance, clearly in awe. He tell me things I don't know if I believe, stories about pint glasses full of whiskey with three ice cubes. It sounds vaguely familiar, but is it possible?

Yes. I have a few drinks now, and it's a few, meaning three. Back then I drank like I had a death wish. In drinking,, I was a marvel without peer. I stood alone. I'd do this segment on the webcast, I mean, I'd tell the story out loud, but if my liver overheard, it might jump ut of my body and then I'd have a mess on my hands.

Anyway, this guy's mom just bought him a house, outright. Here you go, sort of thing. That not being enough, she also took him shopping for everything that would go into the house. Not just big plates and small plates, but charger plates, salad plates, pasta plates, fucking sterling silver napkin holders, that kind of thing. And the guy's having a hard time dealing with it. He feels guilty. Well, since he doesn't read this, boo fucking hoo.

posted by dale @ 11:18 PM