Ron, I've been hearing some things. HarrasmentPanda tells me your pretty good at drinking, but I'm pretty sure you just paid him to say that since he started counting his money as he walked away mumbling something about “the shit I do for cash."
Still it gave me pause for a second and, as I vomited from drinking four bottles of Southern Comfort mixed with two bottles of Sambuca, I thought, “Man when did I eat that?" But I also thought, "Why? Why am I steadily shaving years off my life by out drinking you so much when you don't even reply
to my friendly suggestions of drinks.” It was a moment of weakness, a twenty second lapse where I actually wasn't drinking and then I felt it, you drinking when I wasn't! It was horrid.
"Fore soothe," I shouted as I grabbed the nearest bum and stole his brown paper bag of alcohol and started to chug, "I shall not go quietly into this good night" (Note: actual statements came out more like "faoriua! gEorage foreaman hasa pants!"). And I shall not and will not back down so here Mr. Ron "My last name could be a Mega-Man villain" Workman drink this:
Only two this time, the third one is to complicated at this moment of hang over induced blurry vision.