Uh-oh…patience is waning with 2500 drunk mother – f*ckers rubbing and bumping into me.
If I ever found the d-bag who started that whole “Whooo…” scream shit, I’d ventilate their trachea with a fork. When the waiter drops off a fresh basket of bread at your table, it’s really not worthy of a concert-scream you weathered old assbag.
Now, admittedly, I used to study the finer points of the alcoholic arts but, while I certainly did dumb-ass shit, from what i recall, I did it quietly. Party drunk, outdoor drunk, no worries. But in a public dining roon? Shut yer fuckin blowhole you weathered old bitch.
Life's tough, wear a helmet. 