While leaving Manhattan on the Long Island Rail Road last week, I overhead an “entrepreneurial conversation” between two guys (college-aged) looking to earn extra cash. Their conversation was upbeat and enthusiastic, but also quite distorted.

One guy was excited to start bartending school and eager to graduate so he can begin “stacking mad paper”. I was tempted to throw my two pennies in the pot, but sometimes things are better left unsaid and learned the hard way. Don’t quit your day job, bartending school is for suckers!

I have nothing against working as a bartender or holding a job in the food and beverage industry. In fact, I’ve spent six years of my life in a various positions ranging from working in a kitchen, serving at fine restaurants, to making drinks behind the stick.

I’ve never been afraid to work hard or get my hands dirty, but enrolling in bartending school to learn tricks of the trade is as good as lighting money on fire if you’ve never had experience working in food services or a job that requires customer service skills.

In the event you already have food and beverage experience, you’ll probably find the material presented at bartending schools to be common sense. If flipping bottles if your thing, (flair bartending) you’re best sending your resume to Ringling Brothers.

1: It’s a common misconception that you need a “license” to serve drinks. Most states require cocktail servers to be over the age of 18 and it’s up to the establishment to decide if you are fit for the position. There’s a big difference between a “license” and a certificate in this case.

More importantly, completion of a certification program is not an employment guarantee or an advantage over somebody with experience applying for the same job.

2: Bartending schools offering job placement services post certification is an advertising tactic. Presenting students with the opportunity to earn what they spent on instruction from one night behind the bar has been used for years. Don’t fall into that trap!

Many bartending schools partner with dive bars in need of patrons and offer students a “guest bartending” appearance post graduation. Students are usually expected to bring a certain number of people to the bar as a requirement.

Don’t embarrass yourself in front of friends and family by explaining that you have a job, when it’s really just a one-time appearance.

3: If you’re interested in mixology, there are free resources available online such as DrinksMixer.com. Simply put, you need to acquire a certain degree of knowledge pertaining to liquor, beer, wine, and mixers to become a proficient bartender. Using free online resources and taking the time to memorize drink recipes should help accelerate the learning process.

4: Get a job at a food and beverage establishment. By interacting with both customers and staff in a high-pressure environment you’ll be prepared to serve dozens of patrons at a busy bar. More importantly, you may have the opportunity to work as a barback or fill in at a service station bar.

As a barback or runner you’ll most likely be working with an experienced bartender while learning how to make drinks properly, deal with unruly customers, and handle tasks such as counting a register.

It’s OK to ask questions on the job, but don’t overstep boundaries. Barbacks are NOT bartenders.

5: Bartending is not as glamorous as it seems. Working the day shift at a biker bar is a far cry from a nightclub or upscale restaurant or lounge. Additionally, positions at Applebee’s or other chain restaurants are hidden gems that are often overlooked. Why be a diva when your options are limited? Everyone gets their start somewhere.

6: Hot chicks with little or no experience will get jobs over guys that have completed the aforementioned training programs. Why fight reality?

7: Your success behind the bar is a function of your ability to make money for the establishment. The more money you stuff in the register at the end of the night, the more you’ll generally earn in tips.

Learning how to suggest food from a menu and up-selling is key to the establishment keeping you around. In busy bars and night clubs, speed and experience are critical factors in addition to “looking the part”.

Equality opportunity employers? Get real! Beautiful people are always in demand.

8: Developing a following and a personality behind the bar is critical to your success in the industry. Be prepared to break up physical altercations, deny underage drinkers, clean vomit off the floor, charge customers for every drink you serve, and work 12-hour shifts on your feet.

Many guys think that bartending is a free option to meet women and get drunk on the job. Sometimes it is, but that’s usually not the case.

Acquiring knowledge in a specialized field is important to achieving success in any industry. It’s also important to realize that there’s no substitute for experience and hard work.

There’s nothing wrong with serving drinks to make “extra cash”, but if you’re serious about making a living in the food and beverage industry be prepared to expect some challenges along the way.

By avoiding shortcuts and distractions such as bartending schools that make unrealistic claims, you’ll be on the road to wrapping rubber-bands around cash in no time.

Bartending School is for Suckers is a post from: Nicky Papers

I’m no stranger to NYC, receiving birthday party invitations on Facebook, and attracting attention from females with the “more to love” body type. Big girls need love too.

When the usual suspects RSVP, I’ll determine the over / under on the first person to get kicked out for behaving inappropriately. The “bridge and tunnel” crowd is most fun whenever there is an open bar, a reason to celebrate, and when all guests adhere to the club’s dress code. Leave your AF1′s and do-rag’s at home!

I took the role of designated driver for the last party I attended in Manhattan. We blasted in making sure to hit the 59th Street Bridge to avoid unnecessary tolls on our way to “The Yard”, the Flatiron bar formerly known as Porky’s.

I parked my car on West 20th street across from the vacant church that was once Avalon / the old Limelight nightclub. I paralleled my shit right in and we took a walk around the block before settling into bar.

Since this was Pinky’s birthday, the crew was out in full force. With the “The Bro Hello” count increasing like Charles Barkley’s gambling debts, this was sure to be a night to remember.

It was just moments into the evening when I was greeted by a voluptuous member of the BGC. More commonly known as the “Big Girls Club” among my group of friends.

She totally had a case of the lobster claws and couldn’t help herself from devouring a side-dish of “Long Island” after making her presence known on the dance floor.

After a bumping and grinding to some 90′s Dance Explosion joints, she left the “wet bandits” calling card on my neck, ears, and face. At the right moment, I threw the peace sign to Miss Piggy and carried on with my evening. Deuces!

My boys and a few black dudes, (I hear they like white meat too?) took turns tonguing the BGC and creeping up from behind. I took my union mandated 15-minute break to grab a drink and catch-up with the birthday crew. My buddy’s girl came through with a few of her friends and we got to chatting and fist pumping as we do.

The night took a series of twists shortly after:

1) The over / under came into effect when two of our party guests had been ejected from the bar.

2) One guest was detained and thrown into an NYPD Paddy Wagon.

3) One of the girls lost her cell phone.

The lost cell phone was the catalyst that caused the evening to shift into a “wind-down” phase where we eventually ended up leaving.

Being the gentleman that I am, I offered a ride back to Queens to the girl who lost her phone. The crew had now been reduced to two couples and a Serbian chick in sweatpants wearing a Michael Jackson-esque fedora hat.

We rolled over to West 20th street only to find my car missing along with every other vehicle on the street. The Serbian princess had a wise-ass remark while pointing to the no-parking sign above. So much for the after party.

Two hours and $185 dollars later, I was on my way home after getting the car back from the NYC Police Impound in Hell’s Kitchen.

If only I had exercised the options contract presented by the BGC earlier in the evening regarding a “tag-team opportunity”, I may have been able to move my car in time. Lessons in life have been learned.

Big Girls Need Love Too is a post from: Nicky Papers

RJ Reynolds has done it again! It all started with Joe Camel serving as their mascot (1987-1997) to gain market share in the tobacco industry. Joe Camel’s swagger (aimed at children) during the 90’s has inevitably cause many smokers (who are now in their 20’s) to remain loyal to the brand, as a choice product.

I’ve always been a fan of free enterprise and clever marketing. Camel attempts to stay relevant with their new product Snus that has been gaining traction in US markets.

Snus is a smokeless tobacco product where the consumer places a pouch inside their upper lip which delivers a “spit-less” alternative to traditional chewing tobacco. After letting the pouch sit for a few minutes, a tingling sensation will develop and the nicotine will be absorbed into the gums of the user delivering a buzz that lasts up to an hour.

With the exception of an occasional cigarette after drinking a few beers, I would not classify myself as smoker. On a Sunday morning at food and beverage operation I used to worked at, my buddy Shaun introduced me to the Swedish delight. At first I resisted, but I caved in when Shaun got all “big brother” on me and forced me to try it.

This badgering reminded me of the book Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss and the famous scene where “he tries it… and he likes it!”

I got the tingle, I got the buzz, I bought the product, and now I’m hooked. I first tried the Snus Spice flavor which smelled and tasted like being at a Fall craft fair. Next, I tried the Frost flavor and stuck with that ever since.

My thoughts on Snus:

1: Partnerships should be developed with major airlines. Every flight should have this on board for unruly nicotine-addicted passengers.

2: From a managerial perspective, employers should provide Snus to chain smoking employees to increase productivity. Smoking breaks and elevator rides down to city streets can now be eliminated.

3: Get this product in the hands of high school students immediately! The product goes undetected as there is no scent or spit residue. An entire class could be enjoying the nicotine delight while remaining cool, calm, relaxed, and focused on learning.

4: Camel needs an official spokesperson for Snus. I’m no cowboy, but I feel like this position was created for me. A blend of sophistication with a rough-around-the-edges attitude, I’m everything Camel would be looking for.

5: It’s European baby! Snus is destined to become a hipster’s delight. Jump on it!

Do you think Snus is a safe alternative to traditional cigarettes or chewing tobacco?

Camel Snus Review is a post from: Nicky Papers

While sticking with the Vegas theme of my previous posts, I’ve always had a fascination with Las Vegas. I wrote the journal entry above in fourth grade and Vegas still remains one of my favorite “dirty destinations”. Aside from watching the Rangers win the Stanley Cup and rooting for OJ in hot pursuit, my imagination in 1994 ran wild about what really happens in Las Vegas.

The early months of 1996, my Vegas fantasies came true when I watched Showgirls, staring Elizabeth Berkley, for the first time. The cable descrambler box came in handy (thanks Dad!) as I was able to switch between episodes of Saved By The Bell (Jessie Spano) and “naked Jessie” on Pay-Per-View. As a sixth grader this was my first introduction to quality soft-core action.

The acting in Showgirls was terrible and the storyline sucked. The movie reviews were equally horrific. For me, watching Showgirls and having accessibility to a descrambler box as a pre-teen was great.

Additionally, being able to turn the color of my pee from yellow to “white and sticky” filled my Outlook calendar on many afternoons that winter; until dinner time…

My fourth grade writing should have been a clear indicator of what would become, a love for all things gluttonous and slightly voyeuristic.

My teacher on the other hand thought differently, by giving me “mad props” on my journal entries. In hindsight, she wasn’t doing anyone a favor as it was her responsibility to call a parent teacher conference about this. Clearly, the warning signs were there.

After going to Vegas more times than the average person, (four times in 382 days to be exact!) it’s pretty much a given that I know my way around town. Whether I’m going balls deep on a hot Latina, telling a stripper that I used to have long hair, or explaining the economics behind VIP bottle services, Vegas will always be there when I want to cut loose.

As far as my fourth grade teacher is concerned, I’d like to thank her for her kind words and encouraging me to write freely.

Dreaming of Las Vegas is a post from: Nicky Papers

All the single ladies, put your hands up! It’s been over 24-hours since my #firsttwitterdate and I have much to discuss. I met Twitter-user @CLRochelle at Nolita House in NYC for dinner and drinks before heading to Kyotofu for dessert. This was a blind date where we documented the happenings via Twitter while remaining blind to each others Tweets and direct messages.

I understand that some people who are following this story do not have Twitter to follow @Nicky_Papers_NY or @CLRochelle. The feed below is presented chronologically with numbered Tweets for easy reference.

Please read our Twitter Feed below:

Tweet #6: My date thought about cheating and calling me to avoid a potentially awkward situation! She cheated by sending me a text message to avoid walking into a dark and crowded restaurant alone.

After reading Christine’s post-date commentary, I now learned she’s “legally blind”, (in her words) and owns glasses that she doesn’t wear. Spotting me in dim light made her nervous. To ease tension, I went outside and greeted her as she approached.

Tweet #17: In retrospect, I should have kept my business to myself. Sometimes, I share too many details with people. I thought @CLRochelle would tell more about some of her triumphs, especially her trip to Vietnam.

I was really interested in learning more about that. However, she held back and played it safe by talking about her about her freelance work.

Tweet #27 / #45: Let it be known that I never insisted on paying for anything. I did what came natural for me in this situation. Please note; I picked the restaurant(s) so picking up a tab should not be viewed as something negative.

Tweet #28: I knew my date liked cupcakes, I think she appreciated my effort to plan dessert around something she’s into.

Tweet #31: My date secretly snapped a picture of me while I was Tweeting. Was she put up to it? I thought that was a little creepy seeing that on Twitter the next day.

Tweet #36: “I brought up past relationships”. For the record, I asked my date if she was seeing anyone. Certainly, that’s a fair question and a typical girl would not be freaked out and answer truthfully.

My date admitted that she is seeing someone but it’s “not that serious”. The only thing “bold” was her response my question. (As she trolls the Internet posting CL ads seeking companionship?)

Tweet #41: I didn’t stalk @CLRochelle’s blog. I read her stuff and I enjoyed it. I think Christine is a phenomenal and comedic writer and has a bright future in journalism.

Tweet #43: The date ended awkwardly on the train platform as we “shoulder-hugged” (brother / sister style) as if she thought I’d pull a creepo move and slip her the tongue. Get real! I was just making sure she got on her train safely.

Would I date @CLRochelle again? Probably not.

Simply put, the chemistry wasn’t there for me. Additionally, learning that she was currently seeing someone is an automatic deal breaker in my book. However, remaining friends and staying in touch about blogging is smart as we’re in related fields and our paths may cross again.

All The Single Ladies is a post from: Nicky Papers

While clicking through my RSS feeds, a buddy sent me a cryptic Instant Message with a link to a Craigslist personal ad for “women seeking men” in Manhattan. While I was expecting a typical ad for an Asian “body work”, or a housewife looking for some hot “NSA” action, this was an opportunity that was far more exciting.

Shortly after clicking the link, my buddy followed up with an IM saying, “that’s all you bro”. NYC based woman blogger 23, looking to meet a mysterious man via Twitter and go out on a date.

The romance opportunity sounded cool being that we’re both close in age and will probably have a lot to talk about as we’re bloggers.

Without hesitation and in good faith, I replied to the personal ad.

Well what do you know? I was selected by my mystery woman & Twitter user @CLRochelle to accompany her our journey to make Twitter dating history!

This entire date was recorded by Tweets with the following hash tag: #firsttwitterdate so the world can witness our thoughts before meeting, during the date, and our feelings after getting together.

This concept was the first form interactive dating by means of social networking. Simply put, like those TV shows where the lucky contestant has an ear piece and guided “by a wing-man”, we’ll both be guided by Twitter users participating on our date where we’re blind to each others Tweets.

So what do I know about my Twitter date so far? Besides from being a talented freelance writer and blogger from New Jersey, she’s also obsessed with cupcakes.

If only she knew that I subscribe to Bakerella.com and that I’m the self-proclaimed king of all things edible! This experience certainly has the makings to be a fun date and a memorable experience.

Dating is a lot like soccer, if you look for where the ball is (the action) you’re never going to score. I was wide open and ready for this opportunity as it came my way.

I’m certain my date has performed her due diligence by reading my blogs as she seems like a smart and sassy chick. It’s safe to assumed that we’re both hoping to avoid a case of buyer’s remorse. Either way a fun and exciting night is in store for all!

Follow us, @Nicky_Papers_NY and @CLRochelle on our #firsttwitterdate. Be sure to check back for the follow-up posts featuring the juicy details of our date.

Blind Dates From Twitter is a post from: Nicky Papers

I’ve always been someone who shits better at home. If I’m at work, a friend’s house, or a public place, I’m always paranoid that somebody is going to disturb me. Is someone going to knock? Will I clog the toilet? Am I going to stink the place up? Like most people, I enjoy going #2 in peace and without interruptions.

A few weeks ago, I was in my cubicle minding my business and casually ripping ass under the desk. That day my farts were particularly obnoxious and could be attributed to the half dozen pints of Blue Point I drank the night before and the egg sandwich I devoured that morning.

I made sure I rode low in my chair to keep the stench under the desk and under my co-worker’s radar. I knew that morning I was going to drop a nice deuce and carry the rest of the day on in comfort.

I made my way to the side bathroom in the front lobby avoiding all employees in my path. It’s a single toilet (no urinal) with a locking door. It’s only used by men so leaving a hot stench behind to trail the hallway is not all that embarrassing.

From the thousands of logs I’ve dropped in my time, this one definitely made the ranks. Easy out, and no trace left behind on paper. Sick deal!

I was just about to finish up, but I decided to give myself an insurance wipe as leaving without a “paper trail” is generally a rare occurrence.

Picture this: I’m standing up and hunched over the bowl, my pants are at my ankles, hairy ass is in plain sight, and the front of my button down dress shirt covering my junk.

You can probably guess what happened next. I see the door knob turn and Rich from accounting is staring at me stooped over wiping my ass with my right hand. The fucker didn’t even bother to knock!

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” he said, and quickly shut the door. Embarrassed, and standing with my hand in my ass, I wondered how I was going to face a guy I hardly know that works in a different department.

Rich came over to my cube later that morning and broke the ice. He ended up being a good sport admitting his wife enjoys ass-play and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. He broke my balls for a few minutes, but it was all good.

It was partially my fault for not locking the door and Rich was certainly responsible for neglecting to knock. My “anal surprise party” boosted corporate morale as the story circulated through various departments of the company.

It’s too bad Rich is no longer employed at the company. He never said goodbye or left his info. He definitely was one of the good ones. I guess we’ll always have that moment where our eyes met and he saw me crouched down, ass up, and digging like it was 1849.

Moving forward, I’m more careful about defecating when seeking comfort in public.

The Challenges of Pooping in Public is a post from: Nicky Papers

My friend Rob is a notorious bachelor party cut-up. It’s usually the groom’s college friends or in-laws that find him rude, obnoxious, and childish. In most social situations, including our trip to Rehab Las Vegas, I’m usually appointed as his guardian and caretaker.

This particular bachelor party was for our buddy James (2005 USPC Winner) and the setting of course, was Las Vegas. On the last day of our trip, (Sunday morning) most of the crew made their departure back to New York. It was Mother’s Day 2008 and only a select few stayed behind to enjoy the highlight of any weekend in Vegas, Rehab at the Hard Rock.

We checked into the Hard Rock, ate breakfast at the 24/7, and made it down to the pool after trimming my chest hair in the hotel room. (Norelco baby!)

After all, this was Mother’s day and one must take into consideration that all women attending the dirtiest pool party in Las Vegas must either hate their mothers and want to get back at them, or celebrating the day with Mom in a cabana with champagne and finger foods. Either way, it was a win-win for us.

The highlight of the day was finding a hidden waterslide set back from the main pool. I took a few runs and brought Rob to check it out. Rob has a tattoo on his chest that says “Lil’ Boo” in an old English font. Lil’ Boo isn’t his baby’s mama, it’s actually his cat that he’s had since high school.

Prior to getting on the slide a gay guy chatting up the lifeguard asked Rob “who’s Lil’ Boo?” Rob, using the bar above the slide to gain momentum gets distracted by the question, slips and hits his head on the slide causing his drunken body to go limp and trail down the slide into the pool below.

The sweet boy screamed “OMG, he’s out cold!” Next, the lifeguard left his station and jumped down the slide, a perceptive party-goer shouted “I’m an EMT” and barreled down the slide, the knob-gobbler piled down next, and I followed shortly after.

From my perspective it looked bad, really bad. Rob hit his head hard and I thought for sure he’d be unconscious and floating in pool full of piss-water and chlorine at the bottom of the slide.

Rob was held by the lifeguard and the EMT as he was gasping for air. They asked him a series of questions, (what’s your name, how many fingers am I holding up?) The gay dude participated in the Q/A period and asked Rob once again; “who’s Lil’ Boo?”

Rob replied, “my cat, Lil Boo is my fucking cat!” The poo-pirate apologized and told us that his dad “owns the place” and he’ll comp us rooms at the Hard Rock and get us a table at Body English that night.

To ease the hard feelings the gay guy said; “if you need anything I’ll be back on the lifeguard stand, by the way; my name’s Abraham.”

Rob, fresh out of a coma, says “Abraham, eh? What kind of fucking name is that? Your father owns this joint and he named you Abraham? I now see why you’re such a giant pole-smoker. Fucking Abraham!”

Our buddy Abe stood there speechless after being belittled by Rob. He exited the pool and shouted “fucking assholes!” while splashing the water effeminately. We spent the rest of the afternoon frolicking poolside, drinking heavily, and harassing young women.

Rehab Las Vegas is a post from: Nicky Papers

If you’ve lived away at college there’s a chance that you’ve had a weird roommate at one time or another. Sophomore year, I lived with a dude named Irving who got a glimpse of my morning wood on a cold winter morning.

This guy was always doing weird things like leaving chicken bones in his drawers, taking naps with his shoes on, and tagging his initials on everything, including coat hangers.

It was the beginning of the winter semester and I remember the room would get pretty stuffy with the heat on. I usually slept in just my boxers to stay cool while the window remained closed. I didn’t want to end up with typhoid or mono nucleolus, so my boxer shorts did the trick and kept me cool at night.

Hung-over one morning, I ended up sleeping longer than expected. Well, truth-be-told; I got a handful of morning wood and I was lying in bed stroking my man meat while continuously hitting the snooze button.

I knew Irving was getting out of bed any minute to take a shower before me. Irving was notorious for taking hour-long showers and I’d be late for class if I didn’t act fast.

I hopped out of bed making sure to tuck my junk against the elastic of my underwear and my stomach. I think most guys are familiar with this technique in boner concealment. It’s the only way to ensure that your hard-on is fully camouflaged. More importantly, it feels pretty damn good!

In my haste, I neglected to put on a white-tee before I hopped in the shower, thus leaving the tip of my penis exposed for Irving to examine. He looked at me in disbelief as if he’d never seen another man’s chubby before. How could have I been so pro-active to tuck, but forget to hide with my undershirt?

I had to react quickly to shut this peep show down. I pulled upward on the elastic band and let my dong hang freely. Big mistake. This made the situation even more embarrassing for Irving. My penis was now in a “semi” state and elevated a portion of my underwear.

It was quite obvious that I had morning wood and I couldn’t hide it. I took a towel, wrapped it around my torso, and darted toward the bathroom. I didn’t see Irving again until later that evening. Thankfully, no mention was ever made about my morning gagger.

When it comes to Morning Wood: If you are going to tuck, don’t forget to hide!

Camouflage Morning Wood is a post from: Nicky Papers

The pre-game is a necessary and proper way to kick-off any “going-out” night. Throw the effects of alcohol poisoning out the window! Whether your tastes require a 30-pack of Busch Light, or liquor; some social lube to fire things up is needed without question.

During my junior year of college, my buddy Rudy (home-friend) showed up to my dorm bearing a bottle of Fleishmann’s Vodka ($6.99/liter) and a few Gatorades.

Rudy is a real “man’s-man”. Although his head is oddly shaped, (Think Hey Arnold!, but with a skinny forehead and long temple region) he’s a dude that’s about fantasy football, beer pong stats, and exaggerating tales of the vagina’s he’s conquered among the boys.

He repeats things, sounds like a hyper dog when excited, and is an advocate of the dollar menu at Burger King. He’s good people; but this night the wheels fell off the train for our hometown hero. A good soldier was about to go down.

We started the night on my futon, mixing vodka into the top portion of the Gatorade bottles. Rudy was in a bad mood because the Yankees were losing as he dribbled “red” Gatorade around the neck of his Don Mattingly jersey.

As the night progressed, his rate of consumption increased. By the 9th inning, he was lighting cigarettes backwards, sporting the “fruit punch” mustache, and banging on girls doors. (Who’s looking to party?!)

We finished the bottle before leaving my dorm and hopping into my friend Mike’s Jeep Grand Cherokee. We were both pretty tuned up, but Rudy was completely out of control and harassing Mike’s girlfriend and her friends in the backseat.

A few hiccups and burps later, the “vomit sensation” took over and the kid went projectile out the back window.

The following happened next:

1: Rudy apologizes for puking.

2: He’s denied entry at the bar because he’s visibly intoxicated and left his ID at my building.

3: Rudy is put into a cab and taken back to campus.

4: I continue drinking with the gang, figuring my buddy is sleeping it off.

5: Our “suspect” is found by a campus public safety officer on the hood of a Ford Explorer (not his), in a pool of his own vomit and piss.

6: Neighbors explain that an “unidentified student” was taken to the hospital earlier. (No wallet or ID.)

7: My friend is taken to the hospital as a “John Doe”. BAC = 0.33

8: Rudy harasses the nurse and taunts her with a catheter in his penis.

9: My buddy released the next morning in my custody and he makes it to work (deli /sandwich maker) by noon.

During the interim between squabbling with the nurse and Rudy sleeping, I got him a change of pants and underwear as he urinated his own.

The guy never returned my Puma track-pants. I had nothing to wear on Monday while making cold-calls at my job. Not cool.

My buddy paid the hospital bills out of pocket because he didn’t want his parents knowing what a screwball he was that night. He learned some valuable lessons from this experience, and has laid-off the sauce for a while. Smart man.

Effects of Alcohol Poisoning is a post from: Nicky Papers