Yes Milton, He's Doing Quite Well These Days

Using a piece of wheat bread I slathered up the remaining cranberry sauce and brought it to my lips, a gob dropping on to my hand-me-down tux, another roll of the eyes from my relatives seated at the circular table. Though the invitation said "dry" I said "no" and proceeded to pound shot after scraping shot from my grandfather's flask, stopping myself from vomiting in the bathroom sink while the priest knuckled and knocked on the door. I ate a flower from the bride's bouquet and dropped two plates of chicken fingers while feigning sobriety. The girl my aunt introduced me to told me my breath could sanitize a lab. I replied that she wouldn't know fun if it crawled up her skirt and bit her.