Blitzedkrieg

So, our friend Jacqueline was tending bar on Saturday night, and I headed there with the intent to test her skills at a Long Island Iced Tea. It just so happens, I tested her skills at two Long Islands, half a pitcher of Newcastle, an Electric Lemonade, and a rum and coke.

Longtime fans of this series know what happens when the main character meets up with friends at a place that serves spirits: I do incredibly stupid things. An evening that started with polite political debate (fuck watching porn, nationally a black man is beating the ever loving shit out of a white woman) turned into the psycho circus when Jacqueline's intensely competitive boyfriend, Jacob, showed up with plans to show off his alcoholic superiority, like some kind of whiskey gestapo.

There's some defining moments in one's life, and one of them is realizing that you and big Jacob are grasping each others elbows, creating a forearm valley into which a smoldering cigarette is being tossed. At that particular moment, I was so full of besotted fortitude I could have let the thing burn a swiss-cheese network throughout my whole arm before I let go. We all woke up the next morning with lymph-engorged blisters. It was like my body's physical testament to machismo and stupidity.

But damn, those were tasty Long Islands.