Drink Me

Understand that I don’t drink to prove how tough I am. Understand that I don’t drink to count with my bottles the number of girls I currently date. Understand that I don’t drink to prove I can topple everyone and sweep them under the table like some broken glass. I drink because I want to and I’m not out to prove anything. You wanna prove something. That’s you. That’s bullsh!t.

Who says drinking is a "guy thing?" I have a girl friend who can guzzle up three bottles of tequila and still pronounce the longest word in the dictionary without faltering. I bet you don’t even know what that is. She isn’t masculine. Take the number of girls charmed by your conscious effort at whatever a "guy thing" is, and the number of guys drawn to her charm. You lose. You try to compensate with alcohol. Wake up: it doesn't work that way.

Mine is bigger than your average dick and I can finish three six-packs while you eat supper and still be able to walk two miles for another round from 7-Eleven. By the time I’m having that next round, I’ll sing you an R&B hitting the right notes all the time. I don’t intend to prove anything but you must be told: if you measure yourself by the number of bottles you can empty, you’re nothing but bottle. You’re on the edge alright. When given a bit of a push, you crash down to smithereens. Pull yourself together, assh0le. Tell me you can finish 10 mucho mugs but frankly my dear, you aren’t quite the macho you fantasize to be.