remind me to never drink southern comfort again.

funny how the call it that; the "comfort" part, i mean.

of course, there's nothing more comfortable than the chilly bathroom floor after half a liter, curled up with the moldy unicorn rug in the corner, worrying about my pinkie toe nail never growing back.

or maybe i can drink enough of the stuff that they nationally recognize me and place me on the board of directors and then i can pitch advertising campaigns in which they could follow me around to discover other "comfortable" places.

hm, i wonder how much i would have to drink.