by Tommy Gimler
It could have been that bottle of Pacifico that I pounded down 45 minutes before midnight. Or maybe it was the fact that I had a Budweiser, Coors Light, two different IPA’s, a bottle of beer that someone ripped the label off of and that might have had the end of a Marb Red at the bottom of it, and a shot of Fireball whiskey before that. I’m not sure. All I know is that when I woke up this morning, my head felt like I had been the victim of an eight-hour facesitting sesh with Melissa McCarthy. (more…)
