Oh, My Head

Shhh... not so loud. It hurts to even type. My tank keeps spinning when I close my eyes. Why didn't I say no to that last Mojito? I'll tell you why. TaTa makes a mean Mojito, that's why. And after four in a row, I wasn't asking too many questions.

It's all our owner's fault. If they hadn't left the liquor cabinet open with a copy of The Happy Hiccup Bartender's Guide wide open, then this never would have happened. And besides, I was just the accomplice. I only provided materials to TaTa and he's the one who held the shaker. I was no more than Igor to his Dr. Frankenbooze. Maybe it was the laughs. Maybe it was the danger of getting caught. Maybe it was the fact that a fish was mixing Goldschlager cocktails. Who knows? Was it a good time though? Oh yeah, baby.

After TaTa kicked it up a notch, we abandoned the Tom Collins mix and headed straight for a few Harvey Wallbangers. Those got old pretty fast, so we chilled in front of the TV with a few beers - you know, to help rehydrate. Then it was onto Mojitoland, population: us. I don't remember much after that except when I sang Macho Man.

Now I just need to figure out how to fill the bottles back up to the Sharpie line with TaTa's tank water.