He was right, she did not want to see him on tequila. At
first she thought he’d do something crazy like run naked through the neighborhood.
Or maybe he’d go full psycho and start killing people, but she could not have
predicted this blackout drunk man-child.

He was slouched on her couch shouting whatever thing popped
in his head, and there was a lot rattling up there.

“I used to think Pamela Anderson was the hottest person I’ve
ever seen.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Up! Up!”  She grabbed his hands and tried to pull him
up off her couch.

“Whoa, you know there are like three of you.”

“I’m sure there are.”

“You’re all like really hot,” he said smiling dopily at her.
“Are you all here to punish me? Because that would be awesome.”

“No we’re not here to punish you, we just want you off my
couch.”

“Ahh,” he whined. “Come on, tie me up, have your wicked way
with me.” He pulled his hands out of her grip and pulled them together above
his head.

“As exciting as a night of sloppy kisses and whiskey dick
sounds, Imma pass.”

“I don’t have whiskey dick,” he said indignantly grabbing
his crotch. “See, rock solid.” He winked. “All for you baby,” he said proudly.

“I’ll pay you a hundred bucks if you never call me baby
again.”