I fear for my life.
Even now, at 4:09pm on a Friday afternoon, I can feel the great war machines of drinking and choas starting to turn and spark to life. For my wife’s sake, I now say a silent prayer to whatever deity presides over Not Going To Jail, along with his celestial brother Not Going To The Hospital. If all goes to plan, I will walk out of this building in 20 minutes to play a game of basketball that determines if we move on in the tournament. After beating Judd’s team to a basket-ty pulp, I figure on going home to take a shower and get dressed. Erin, myself, GMC, Dan, Luke, Blaine, Matt, Brian, Joe, Kendric, and his lady friend will then make our way to The Improv for an evening of comedy featuring drinking and Carlos Mencia.
After that, the night will most likely devolve into some form of the following:
It is at this point in the evening where the bonds of marriage and plaincy of flesh will be tested. Will Erin become exasperated if I get drunko? Will she leave me and go sleep at Q’s house if I demand a burrito at 3 in tha morning? Erin, know that I go into tonight and this weekend with only the best intentions: to love you and keep you as a wife.