I Drive Much Better After Slamming A Fifth Of Jack Daniels

Look, it’s just a simple fact: I drive much better after slamming a fifth of Jack Daniels.

No, I’m not superman—I just have a very high tolerance for alcohol that will undoubtedly impress all of you lightweight pussies who like to call it quits after finishing a mere 13 ½ beers and half a bottle of Smirnoff. I’m not trying to say that you all are limp-dicked ass-eaters or anything, it’s just that I am still perfectly capable of operating a motor vehicle after polishing off a fifth of Jack as part of my at-home, pre-party Friday night regimen.

This is a talent that I have built up over time, and so I don’t want you to think that this is something that I just up and decided to do one lazy afternoon while hanging around my one-bedroom apartment before work. This is something that requires a lot of time and practice, much like the dedication and patience required of a Kung-fu master to attain a black belt in martial arts. Except of course that rather than mastering an ancient martial art and its commensurate attainment of a transcendental union of both mind and body, I have mastered the ability to consume 750 milliliters of 80 proof bourbon whiskey with no discernible adverse impact upon my motor sensory skills, especially with regard to navigating heavy machinery through the streets of a heavily populated residential area.

I should confess here that there have been a very few, very minor mishaps along the way to this remarkable achievement.

yorkshire-terrier-21Firstly, that dog should have been on a much shorter leash. That really goes without saying. Because even if I had been going within fifteen miles per hour of the posted speed limit, I wouldn’t have been able to slow down enough to avoid grinding that Yorkshire Terrier beneath the left front wheel of my 1997 Pontiac Bonneville. So that’s really on that kid’s conscience, not mine.

Secondly, does it really count as a hit-and-run if the other car was parked illegally? I mean that car’s rear end was clearly hanging several feet into a red zone, and so I think that my careening into it on that turn was sort of God’s way of sending a message about the importance of obeying municipal ordinances in order to better participate as a functioning member of our democratic social order.

Furthermore, if I had stopped and left a note with all of my identifying information and State Farm representative contact numbers, that guy would have had no reason to be more attentive to his parking habits in the future, and so mine was more of a Good Samaritan’s act than anything else.

Thirdly and lastly, if you’re going to throw a summer block party that lasts past 8:30 at night, then you had better post plenty of notices and put up some more formidable barriers other than a few card tables and lawn chairs. I’m sorry if that old lady broke her hip while diving out of the way, but I had a massive canopy from the music tent covering my windshield and obstructing my view at the time. And honestly, kids are pretty resilient. Most of them had only minor cuts and bruises, and I sort of feel like it was past their bedtime anyway, so why weren’t the parents equally scrutinized for neglecting their children’s physiological needs that evening? One might say that I was fortunate in bringing this community’s poor parenting skills to the attention of law enforcement.

And this brings me to the irrefutable proof of my claim—in case there were any doubters—that I now drive much better after slamming a fifth of Jack Daniels: since having my license suspended nearly a year ago, I have not been successfully pulled over by law enforcement or had any noticeable collisions with other vehicles while driving under the influence of a bottle of Jack Daniels.

And that is why you should check yourself before you start popping off about how any amount of alcohol, including a paltry .08 percent blood alcohol level, is an impairment to any and all driving ability.

Because I just proved your generalization wrong, you cockfaced pigfucker, meaning that the exception represented by my superior facility in this area is not the proof but rather the wholesale refutation of your stupid faggoty rule.

Bitches.

Yours,

Fifth of Jack

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