I managed to skate thru christmas drinking nothing but turkey gravy and eggnog. No amount of temptation could coax me into the darkness. Not even the Universal Theory of Inlaw Avoidance*. I was fine.
Until I pulled my big hairy ass onto that freaking floating megabar known as The Norwegian Jewel and tossed my liver over the side. Now I could sit here and blame Gaelic Storm (a bigger bunch of liquor pigs you will find nowhere) or point the finger at my close friends who came along this year to "look after" me and then promptly crawled into a bottle of vodka on disembarkation. But that would be just making excuses. I need to take responsibility for my actions and place the blame squarely where it belongs.
On Bob.
Let's face it. The fiddler is a demerara demon. A rum rifle cocked and pointed directly at my beagle brain. Resistance was futile.
Luckily damage was minimal and I am sitting here at the gate relatively unscathed. It could have been much worse. I could be passing thru customs with a bright orange mohawk.
Tosh
*anything it takes to get u thru it