You would think the ambulance ride and stomach pump after the last booze binge festival would change his ways. But judging from this text message I got from him before a party we went to last weekend, he hasn’t changed shit. Again, funny message, but it screams raging alcoholic…

“OH GOD TOM… WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK OF ME AS I STAGGER DOWN THE FUCKING STREET WITH MY PUKE STAINED CLOTHES? MY CRUSTY PIE HOLE WILL BE SWALLOWING AIR TRYING TO SUSTAIN LIFE LIKE A FISH ON A FUCKING FISHING ROD – WHERE THE FUCK IS THE SCOTCH? SCOTCHIE… BEAM ME UP TO DRUNKNESS YOU USELESS BASTARD! TONIGHT I WILL BE ROLLING IN THE GUTTERS FEEBLY SCRAPING AT THE SIDEWALK AS THE WORLD SPINS AROUND ME. GO AWAY! DONT LOOK AT ME! IM WORKING ON FIRST PLACE FOR BEINGE DRINKING, I WANT TO WIN, I WANT TO BE A WINNER. WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY PENIS IS HANGING OUT OF MY TRENCH COAT? HOW ELSE AM I GOING TO WANK MYSELF IN PUBLIC? THIS IS FOOLISHNESS, I HAVE TO KEEP SLAPPING RUM SHOTS DOWN MY FUCKING GULLET TILL THAT GOLDEN TEQUILA SUNRISE. WHAT DO YOU MEAN I SPIT WHEN I’M TALKING? I HAVE TO GO AND DO THE JIG FOR MY SOBRIETY TEST. SHIT THIS BURBON MAKES ME SMILE.”