“What else would the resident spirit of a liquor shop do, Vodka?” I sarcastically replied. He laughed.
“I have a friend today.” He said. “His name’s Margarita. Pansy fellow.” Vodka snidely whispered.
“Oh.” I didn’t care. The portly man walked over to us.
“Hi.” He seemed nervous.
“Hey kiddo! How you holding up? He was weeping his eyes out a while back!” Vodka interjected.
“Why?” I asked.
“Said he didn’t want to die this young. You know, newborn stuff. They all say the same thing.” Vodka smirked. The new kid was definitely scared. He was not at ease at all.
“Breathe son. Have a drink.” I encouraged.
“I don’t want to drink ever again.” He whimpered.
“That’s how I died.” And saying so, he broke into loud sobs. Vodka was terribly uncomfortable with emotional ghosts. He hated them.
“Oh shut up! That’s how we all died. I got run over by a bus just after I stepped out of that bar. And Uncle Whiskey?” He asked.
“Liver cirrhosis.” I muttered.
“See? That’s why we all are here. Celebrating with all the alcohol in the world.” Vodka was ecstatic. He always was.
“What happened to you?” I softly asked.
“I choked on the first Margarita I ever had in my life. None of the doctors could make me breathe again.” And saying so, he began bawling again.
“Good lord! You are a disgrace!” Vodka held him by the scruff and threw him out of the bar.
Keep this shirt on if: If you believe in anti-alcoholism. It shows the future to all alcoholics.
Forget about it if: If words like ‘pint’, ‘lager’, and ‘peg’ make up for 90% of your conversations.
This shirt tells the world: Alcohol kills. Just like apples.
We call this color: Absinthe