I have reached a point where I have to write myself notes on my arms before I start drinking during the night. On Saturday, I woke up with a note that I had written that said:

"That cute girl in the bridal party you were flirting with, remember you found out she is only 15. Do not have sex with under any circumstances. You will get put in prison this time."

I wish I could say I was lying, but I can’t. I wish I had a camera that I could have documented this with, but I decided it would be in my best interest to not show anyone there that this note existed, because I did not want to be forcefully removed from a wedding I agreed to be in.

But as a creature of habit, I did drink way to much at the reception. It was free beer and half off shots, so as I sucked back a pitcher of beer and $2 shots of whiskey, my thoughts drifted off to making boom boom in one of the empty rooms in the place. My intended target was still the 15 year old I had met the night before. The only reason I gravitated towards her was because I convinced myself that the night before I had sealed the deal and could just whisk her away for some illegal intercourse after we enjoyed the main course.

As the night went on I started to strip down and leave parts of my suit all over the reception hall because it was hot as hell with three hundred people crammed in there. I approached said 15 year old and proceeded to work my magic, and I guess when I can barely operate women find me more attractive than usual. As she laughed at my shitty jokes I took her onto the dance floor and we slow danced. I started to whisper to her. I really don’t have a clue what was said, but it was golden apparently. She informed me she had been sneaking beer and champagne all night, so I knew my work was finished.

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But as fate would have it, when I rolled up my sleeve, I saw black permanent maker on my arm.

"That cute girl in the bridal party you were flirting with, remember you found out she is only 15. Do not have sex with under any circumstances. You will get put in prison this time."

Drunk me understands that sober me is only looking out for my best interest. Drunk me trusts sober me, so drunk me told the 15 year old I had to go to the bathroom. I then proceeded to walk to the bar and drink three more shots of whiskey, guaranteeing that my penis would not be functioning that night. I was told by my friends that I lost the ability to talk until I was loaded into a car, then I came back to life. I rambled something about 15 year olds having big tits is garbage, and that cleavage should be propionate to age. Also, my mom asked me if I got the phone number of that cute girl I danced with, and being drunk I showed her my arm, and she told me she now had lost all faith in me getting married and giving her legitimate grandchildren.

That’s how my Friday went.

(P.S. Thank you Court for sending me a copy of The Imbible by the wonderful Alex Bash, who I’ve never met, because it’s the reason I blacked out in my car Saturday night, had to pull over and sleep in an Arby’s parking lot. Buy this book if you get the chance general public.)

 

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