I'm upset with my stomach. The past few times I've had beers, I started feeling a bit ill after just 2-3 pints. Not even really drunk yet, just sick and bloated.
Meanwhile, I still can't take straight spirits of any sort. The alcohol taste just hits me with an instant urge to retch... And cocktails are all either 50% sugar and 2% alcohol, or they're a bitter bumfuck designed for the demanding tastes of a psychopath.
What's left, wine? Buh... I already pickle myself with sulfites from excessive balsamic vinegar usage, and the choice between red and white is the choice between stained everything and being a suburban housewife.
I'm an embarrassment to my Nordic ancestry. Shit, I'm a disgrace to my American ancestry.
There is no glory in drinking until you realise there is no glory in drinking. Abandon pretences of prideful sloshing and awaken the drunken sourer; is there nothing more hateful than a suburban housewife, did the Nords not choose a drink brewed from honey as their sweet poison, did the Romans not poison their conquests with leadened whites OR reds? No reason then to find disgrace whether you are walking into a bar and ordering a neon pink sex on the beach or walking into a pub and ordering a glass of milk.
Me, I'm doing a keto diet, meaning no booze for the foreseeable future. Raise a glass for me, my fellows!
Wotta ledge you are m8, may you be blessed by the god of swole gains
That sounds truly glorious. I wish I had the time and motivation to study enough history to properly understand the reference.
Much property was destroyed and the torch passed from one generation to the next in a bacchanal of Imperial excess, with our generous host's brother getting scalped in a drunken haircut. All in all, life's another hole in the wall