He's going the distance

After (in)Action Report

Saint Patty's day.

What a day to go out, get a lottery ticket, talk smack, rock out with my cock out, and then get stewed, screwed, and tattooed. Right?

Go to my bar? Check.

Lottery ticket? Check.

Losing lottery ticket? Yeah, go figure... that's a check. No biggie.

Talk smack? Check.

Rock out with my cock out? Since I wasn't at a gay bar, that's a figurative check.

Stewed? As far as I remember, that's at least 12 Guinness's, 1 green Miller Lite, 4 Smithwick's, 2 shots of Irish whiskey, and to end the day 2 back-to-back Irish Carbombs. There could be more, tho. I'll say that's a check.

Screwed? Figuratively, check. Staining sheets, furniture, carpeting or lack thereof if she is good enough to share with my white sticky goodness? NOT a check.

Tattooed? Not on St. Patty's day, although I need to start drawing up the pattern for my next one. So no check there.

Scary fact? I had half a quart of orange juice before I went to bed, and the rest of the quart after I woke up. Even before the second half a quart, I woke up with no hangover at all.

Final tally: my body was up to the challenge unlike the 2 others I helped carry out of the bar. The rest of me didn't get to try out, darnit. Was a fairly good time until I outpaced everyone I knew. Went the distance, but didn't get the trophy to have brag about it the next day. Crap.

No points today, but know the band in the quote?