Benders. They’re loads of fun when you’re in the process of alcohol overindulgence….but the post affects could cost you a lot of money, severe headaches, loss of appetite and sanity. Not to mention alcohol ridden 24 sweat beads and the leafy shakes.
Friday night. It’s dead….and I’m looking at some barren tip buckets. That’s fucking depressing. How am I supposed to fund my booze intake with this nonsense?
And that’s why they invented the savings account. Only to dip into in case of an emergency. This IS an emergency!
I’m loaded. Its 3:00 am or something of that nature. The last memory I have is me trying to down a glass of water in hopes that the 18 draught beers WON’T give me a raging hang over.
BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP!!!! My alarm clock is going off. Apparently it has been for the past 45 minutes which means I’m LATE as I glance at the current time.
I stumble out of been squinting as I am still pretty drunk. I take a peak in the mirror and see a Pennywise whorish clown with black makeup running down her face starring back at me. Not good.
After a full body steralization in the shower I hop in a yellow cab and arrive at work.
“Brian, I need a shandy.” I say.
He gives me the okay. Only I don’t just need one, I need as many as possible.
The bar is slammed along with the restaurant….ALL DAY. I inadvertantly am working the service station and the most packed area of the bar. But with a little help of now what is just beer and not 7up….I’m good to go. Suprisingly.
That night I ended up closing the bar in a happy drunken stupor and climb into the cab with non other than my bff debra. Debra knows I’m trashed especially since I keep one eye closed and one open to avoid seeing double.
I passed out with my face against the cab’s window.
My eyes are wide open as I feel my stomach pumping up what is known as vomit. I try and hold it in with one finger pressed against my pursed lips. No dice.
The vomit is like a water gun…but miracoulsly landed only on ME!
“Oh my god! I have plastic bags! Why didn’t you tell me?” Begs the cab driver.
“I’m so sorry! But it just landed on me! Not all over your car!” I try to explain.
“Just get out! Oh god the smell! No more business for me tonight!” The cabbie screams.
Meanwhile Debra is cracking up.
I’m drenched in my own bender puke and I feel like roadkill with the slightest hint of embarrassment.
Luckily I don’t have to wander the streets of Astoria for very long time. I’m only a block away!
Cheers to being a block away while wearing vomit. Thumbs down for puking up my 48 hour bender all over my brand news chucks….never mind my clothes.