Unlike in college, when I could drink a bottle of bourbon and still do a balance beam routine, I actually have a terrible tolerance now and don’t drink that often. Of course when I do, I just get to pay the price that my 18-year-old self guffawed at.
The night I made love to Jack Daniels with my stomach lining, I had spent the evening in a place called “The high rollers lounge,” and managed to consume an alarming amount of free! whiskey while also discovering a love for gratis Cuban cigars. Where did I find this fine complimentary contraband you ask? At a fundraiser for children, of course. It’s amazing how many times you can slur “it’s for the kids” as you drop another bill on the table, lap at your keg-size cocktail and inappropriately shake your (very small) boobs for the underage legally-blind (I swear this is true) dealer.
At appropriate times, like fancy fundraisers for children in need, I’m going to drink like a painted lady of the Old West, and I know I can count on Jack Daniels to carry me through.