Dear Drunkard,
Hi there, I hope your summer’s going well. I know you’re probably a little drunk right now, but try to stay with me. This is going to be hard for us both, but I wanted to write this little note to tell you that it’s not my fault. Not this time.
You blame me for many things. You told all your friends that Tequila made you unable to tell the difference between Bailey, the hot girl you wanted to go home with, and Greta, the fatty you rolled out from under the next day. You said it was Tequila’s fault you went into the bathroom at Francis’s going-away party only to come out three minutes later with a brown streak down your leg, giggling and telling everyone that you had just “made fudge” in your pants because it would have taken too much effort to pull down your trousers. And by God, if it weren’t for Tequila, there’s no way you would have misplaced all of your clothes and jumped into the frigid waters of Clinton Lake, facilitating the acquisition of your new nickname, Wee Willy Wachovitz.
Furthermore, when young girls have fallen victim to my savory tangs, I hear this kind of shit all the time:
“I can’t drink Tequila; I get too crazy.”
“Tequila makes my clothes fall off.”
“I can barely operate my motor vehicle after a few swigs of Tequila.”
Shut. Your. Mouth. Just let me slide down your throat and shut the fuck up.
I’m sorry for that outburst, I’m getting a little sassy. Plus I’m shitfaced. But it’s tough to take the blame when I am 40% alcohol, just like everyone else. The same as all my friends: Professor Vodka, Mr. Bourbon, Doctor Brandy, Captain Rum. Yet I’m the one you blame whenever you make an ass out of yourself.
Here’s the reason you do stupid shit after and during consumption of my delectable liquids: You drink a lot of me all at once. I am not much of a sipping drink, am I? Nor much of a mixer, for that matter. My principle use is to be poured into a little glass and deposited directly into your bloodstream. And when you do that, you get fucked up. So when you say, “Man, Tequila really makes me do some stupid shit!” what you really mean is, “Man, taking shot after shot of an 80 proof liquor really makes me do some stupid shit!”
Let’s face it, I’m the king of shots. If you need to shoot something, chances are you are going to suckle on my sweet teat. Therefore it’s easy to deduce:
A Shot Night = A Tequila night
A Shot Night = Trouble
Hence =>
A Tequila Night = Trouble
The mathematical correlation is simple.
So next Sunday morning, when you wake up with a pounding headache, you’re mixing up the letters “d” and “b”, and can’t remember where you put your cape (that you were wearing the previous night for some reason), don’t blame it on me. Take some responsibility and blame it on your parents—that deadbeat drunk dad of yours or your whore of a mother. They didn’t love you and probably never will. Which is why you need me around. Because no matter how often you slander me, how many times you tell all the world that you will never drink me again, and continually blame me for every one of your bad decisions, I will always, ALWAYS be there for you.
Your friend,
Tequila
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I didn’t give you permission to use that photo of my dad.
Good premise. It is true, tequila is the default shot for many.
But your tequila “scenario’s” are stupid.
Fudge, Wee Willy, those just sound stupid. Not because of your actions stupid, just juvenile writing stupid.
But a good point nonetheless.
That’s arguably the best photo in Flip history.
Nick, he’s writing a humorous anecdote from the point of view of tequila. It’s not Chaucer. Give us all the penis and poop jokes we can handle Matt.
I agree, as long as they are in fact humorous.