A Toast To Drinking Buddies

comic about a toast to drinking buddies

A Toast To Drinking Buddies

I started drinking early. Who could blame me? My mother drank, so I drank. This was back in the good old days when we didn't have all this hysteria about what women should do or not do when they were pregnant. If a woman smoked, she smoked. If she drank, she drank. If she was pregnant, she was pregnant. And never the twain shall meet. Or something like that. So I imbibed my fair share of Shlitz, Jack Daniels, and other quality quaffs. Or should I say imboobed my fair share. I mean we're talking straight from the fleshy tap. For you laymen, that's breastfeeding. And from what I've been told, I took to it right away. Apparently, I became quite the connoisseur. If mom hadn't been hitting the sauce, I would adamantly refuse to take the tit. Just push that nipple away like it was carrying the plague. But when the nectar of the gods touched my baby lips I couldn't get my fill, and would leave poor mom sore and dry. But being the loving and devoted mother that she was, she never stayed sore at me. And as for dry, there's little chance that either of us will ever be accused of that. I have to admit, I miss those days. That really was the life. Didn't have to drive to a bar or to a store. Didn't have to interrupt my drinking to talk to anyone. Basically, my life was sleep and drink, drink and sleep. Ah, such bliss! Thanks, mom. The foggy and fuzzy memory of those halcyon days and nights shall live with me forever. If only I could say the same for my liver.