Saint Drinkenstein
I'm drinking pre-mixed manhattans and I'm bored. So I give you... snippets of conversation.
Me: Oh crap. I only have a twenty. What do you have?
Sancho: A twenty. Dammit.
Me: Fuck, how do we pay. I mean I could..and then you could..
Sancho: We always do this. Why are we retarded.
Me: You're right. We act like they tossed us a couple of marshmallows and were told to start a fire.
Sancho: *chokes on portion of fortune cookie while laughing*
Me: We have money. We use it in exchange for goods and services. We are fucking retarded.
Me: So after we get our Gay Wingman/Straight Wingman t-shirts and I go to a gay club, am I going to get "straight bashed" ? Is that a word? Did I just make that up?
Sancho: I dunno. Probably not. Well... maybe. Some angsty gay boy might get all pissy about it.
Me: Be all "eww, a breeder." And shit?
Sancho: Yeah. And that's when I bust out with "You know what, bitch? Your mom's a breeder. Bam"
Me: Oh snap. It's true and a mom joke!
