I'm not a smoker.
In fact, I'm such a non-smoker, that merely being in the same room as a lit cigarette can make me sick.
Last night I wanted to drink. And drink I did. I also wanted to smoke, for reasons unknown to me. Smoke I did.
After my third rum and coke and Marlboro Light in an hour and a half, I started to not feel so hot.
So I went upstairs and chucked the contents of my stomach into Beltane's toilet. I think if I had stopped after the first or second cigarette, I would have been ok. But that third one proved to be my undoing.
So I wake up this morning and tell my dad about it because he thinks I got totally wasted last night.
Later on we're at Albertson's. We start talking about the pizza we had last night, and how it caused my father to run the Chug-A-Lug© on a 2 liter bottle of Coke. I make mention of how I got to have a face-to-face meeting with the pizza again later that night, and he laughs.
Then he describes the whole fucking scenario to the hot cashier girl.
I was the only person who didn't think it was all that funny.