This is my last drink.

……His eyes closed. Voluntarily trapped in a subconscious landscape. He imagined himself stepping out of a space shuttle as he exhaled his bong hit. After a lip smack and a quick oral observation of how delicious that bong hit really was, he blurted out the words “Space Shittle” at his girlfriend sitting across from him. She stopped examining the lines in her hands long enough to look up and smile and then got up from the bed to change the music. He’d never noticed how much contempt exuded from her until that moment. How much she was probably truly bored with him and not at all amused by his junior high douchebaggery. He also lacked the sobriety to realize that this was just a “high thought” and should be looked no further into. Still, “Space Shittle” blew his fucking mind. He tried to hide his chuckles from her. Which quickly evolved into a silent convulsive state. And as the tears from stifled laughter began to welt up, another mind blowingly hilarious turn of a phrase entered into his thought process. And as if his brain blew air into the balloon of his mouth until it burst, “Shittles” weezed from his creaking lips, igniting the fuse of explosive laughter from only him. And it was at this moment that she realized that it was at this moment, she had never loved him more. She grabbed her bottle of water and his beer from the dresser, and as if the lifting of the drinks happened to be the music’s cue, Uffie’s “MC’s Can Kiss” dropkicked out of the speakers and dictated her every movement. She felt the beat in her spine and the vocals in her loins. She moved slower in her mind than she actually was, but no one noticed…. including her. By the time she made it back to the bed, he was apologizing profusely through a brainless smile, that somehow came off as beleaguering. She called bullshit on that thought, due to the countless bong hits and MDMA from earlier.Probably injecting some moderate level of needless social paranoia and she leaned in for a kiss. This token of affection most certainly saved their entire relationship. Had she made any other gesture it would have surely lit the fires of hostility prompting him to declare “How dare you judge me!?”. Almost definitely resulting in some hours long blame game, instead of the cosmic lovemaking session that was soon to follow. As this was not the case, he reached forward with his lips protruding like a cancerous tumor and touched down like an excitable explorer in a new land. The flag of his love had long been planted, he was just securing it’s position. As they pulled away their eyes opened simultaneously and the knot tying their souls together tightened. She expressed her desire to feel him inside her. And he expressed his desire to exit that space shuttle one more time.

****Editors Note****

I need an editor.

Never go home drunk. The notion of burning yourself down inside of your house or apartment is far too romantic. Spend your drunken experience in a foreign place. That way the idea of going home never involves the thought of a smashed fish tank or defiled vase.