“You know how to drink, don’t you? You just put your lips together and suck.”
No shit, Sherlock. Every newborn that ever successfully met a nipple knows that much.
Why do the DIY nut jobs have to overcomplicate everything? I think they got a screw loose.
OK, smartypants. How do you drink whiskey?
We recently renewed the contract for another year on the house we rent. We politely inquired directly with the owner about cutting the property management company out of the deal because they’re stark raving assholes and don’t do jack shit, but she said no. I figured it would have been a good deal for her since she wouldn’t have to pay them for doing nothing.
They only handled one issue from us all year and that was a broken 35-year-old hot water heater. In our defense we do need hot water several times a year.
The owner felt she “didn’t have time” to manage the property herself. Eh? Wazzup?
Then the other night came a very alarming sequence of events.
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The other night my wife took me out to a Mexican restaurant for my birthday dinner. The selection of the restaurant was based on a single criteria: the availability of margaritas in the “pitcher” size.
As we ate, at a neighboring table, a giant sombrero was carried out and placed on the head of a woman as the staff began to sing the happy birthday song. They also produced a plate of the ubiquitous crispy chips dusted with cinnamon sugar and topped with whipped cream. The Mexican restaurant version of birthday cake.
I looked at my wife and, under pain of divorce, made her swear she wouldn’t mention my birthday to the restaurant. There was no way in hell I was going to go through that. She was mischievous and had me going, but eventually she relented and agreed to my request.
Then, something interesting happened. The restaurant staff produced a shot glass, slammed it on the table, and the birthday girl snorted it down.
I looked over at my wife. “I wonder if that shot was free?”
Later in the dinner our waitress stopped by to check on us. “Can I ask you something,” I said. “Do you get a free shot if it is your birthday.”
She said yes.
“Well, then. Guess what? It’s my birthday. Bring it on. But not that damn sombrero – and no singing!”
For some reason, the waitress didn’t exactly trust me. It’s almost like she thought I was trying to scam a free shot. So I produced my ID, she smiled and walked away.
Yep, sure enough, next thing I know there was a giant sombrero on my head and two waitresses and a busboy were singing to me. Argh. But oh man, was that shot good!
It was tequila and Kahlua and carbonated water (I think). Delicious!
Pride may go before destruction and haughtiness before a fall, but for me, dignity apparently goes before a free shot.