"It Tastes Like Burning!"

(The author, at left, this morning.)

Oh, my aching head!

Last night, I spent some quality time with my neighbor Denny, a captain in the Philadelphia Fire Department. By "quality time," I mean lots and lots of drinking at Jillian's, a local restaurant/bar/pool hall. Yuengling Lager for him, Guinness Draught for me. As is usually the case when I go out, I spend more time blabbing and watching sports on the eight millions tv's in the place than actually counting how many brews I had.

That's a problem.

Here's a bigger problem: Denny's wife and kids are in Germany to visit her parents, and left him alone for two weeks. For some inane reason, Jillian's had last call at midnight. I wanted to flash my badge and say, "Not happening!," but thought better of it. So, Den convinced me to close another bar, "Chickie and Pete's."

Now it's 2:30am. Chickie and Pete's is closed, and Den gets the great idea to go to his house, sit on his back porch, and drink some more. By this time, I can't tell a bad idea if it hit me in the face, so I agree. Unfortunately, Denny is fresh out of beer, and all he has left is Jack Daniel's.

Ouch.

As my friends are so fond of reminding me, the last time I drank whiskey was at the Psychedelic Furs concert in April. Five shots later, I was incoherent. Five hours later, I was worshipping the porcelain god. Not fun. But, what the hell, I was up for more abuse last night. I kept it simple, and took three shots in three hours. At 5am, I stumbled home (two doors down).

Long story short, I woke up at 9am, and have been up ever since. I am sure I am still drunk (which would explain this incoherent rant), but I wanted to teach all the kids out there a life lesson: DON'T DRINK WHISKEY . . . EVER!!!

Thank you. Now, I'm gonna lie down for a spell.