As I'm sitting here nursing a cup of coffee, shaking my head at myself, sorting through the half shot bits of drunken recall from last night, I'm fairly certain there's a very angry exotic sea creature trying to claw it's way out of my guts. At least my head doesn't hurt. It really is the little things...
Were strippers really grabbing my ass while I did hand stand push ups? How many times did I have to tuck my shirt back in? Why would I get out of the car and take a piss in the middle of the taco bell drive through? Is the ability to walk out of any bar with my drink considered a super power?
I'm really gonna miss these guys.