Your blood could run a lawn mower.
You’ve heckled A.A. meetings.
You can’t say the word sober without making air quotes.
You feel incredibly sexy despite the vomit stain down the front of your shirt.
Gin never gives you a hangover, but martini olives absolutely murder you.
You figure the cab companies are making a fortune off the cell phones, lighters and all that other shit that falls out of your pockets.
You know to put extra ice in your cocktail when you take a hot shower.
Contrary to popular opinion, you don’t drink all the time. You just enjoy having a few civilized night caps, day caps, afternoon caps and morning caps.
After eight drinks your “hugs” bear an uncanny resemblance to UFC take-downs.
You fell into a whiskey vat and bravely fought off your rescuers for three hours.
The first thing you think when you can’t find your wallet is, “Great, now how am I going to buy beer?”
You failed CPR class because your breath set the dummy on fire.
You’re having a little trouble reading this because the bar’s lighting sucks and you’re kinda loaded.
You called the cops on yourself but refused to testify because you “didn’t want to get involved."
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