What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding.

I guess I become some sort of not-so-brilliant physical comedian whilst drunk. I wake up with huge, gaping wounds in my flesh. My friend calls me and tells me I kicked our friend's car, pulled her boyfriend's hair, had to be tied to the backseat, blah blah blah. And I remember none of it.

I've decided that if the very drinking I'm doing to have such a good time is also causing me to not remember a damn moment of it, that I should probably find a happy median. What's the point? Other than physically abusing my friends (and their modes of transportation) and creating oppresively enormous bat-signal shaped scars on all of my joints for the rest of my life on account of making snow angels in gravel.