I went on the downtown art walk last night and Bobby Fischer joined me. We started at my office building’s holiday party and had a few Mac & Jacks and then headed off to the galleries. Bobby drank harder than I’ve ever seen him drink (though I’ve only seen him drink a glass of wine or a beer at a time). We had fun checking out the mostly mediocre art and talking to the artists and Bobby kept drinking tough. Finally, he was too drunk to drink any more so we went back to my studio where he promptly flopped on the floor and crawled into the bathroom and threw up all over the tub. Damned gross. He called his friend Tara and simply said, “Help” to her. I got the phone from him and talked her into coming to pick him up and gave her directions.
Moral of the story: Don’t drink with the champ if you don’t know what you’re doing.
Who was the champ? You sounded pretty wasted on the phone…
That’s just like, you’re opinion, man….
I thought YOU sounded wasted.
Drinkety drunk, drinkety drunk… you were slurring your speech that night…
Hmmm….
“I may have had A beer or maaaaybe TWO occifer….”