Will's Story that came with Armless Anatomically Correct Bunny Rabbit:
How Not To Drink Night Train
When I was younger and stupider we used to have Friday 40 night, then bum wine night, and over time it became like bum wine days. The aim of such days were for me, my new wife, and our friends to try and sample every bum wine we could find for less than two dollars. We'd take our two bucks a piece and go to the worst, I mean, worst part of town and find a convenience store. These stores usually had bars on the windows and locked the clerk behind some kind of bullet-proof partition. We only went to these during the day. There we would be wide open to all the fruits of wino-dom. It was a wino's dream festival of fortified spirits. Huge bottles of Thunderbird, Wild Irish Rose, Mad Dog and of course Night Train for less than two bucks and, Night Train was only 87 cents. 87 cents and, by the end of the bottle you would be fucked up. Totally and unmercifully fucked up.
We had been working our way down the list slowly when we had Night Train Saturday. Night Train Saturday started innocently enough. It was summer and blazing hot. Me and the wife had gone over to the local Dollar Tree weeks before and bought cheap plastic Margarita glasses to drink disgusting wine out of to make it a little fancier. It was the closest thing to wine glasses we could find at the Dollar Tree. Our apartment complex pool had a very very lax policy on alcohol consumption around the pool area. There were signs posted stating that there was to be no alcohol, but the unofficial rule (or so I thought) was the almost universal rule of "no glass" containers. I had seen many people drink many beers there on many occasions so I decided to be smart and pour my Night Train into Gatorade bottles and drink out of plastic Margarita glasses and everything should've been awesome, but awesome is what it was not.
We met our friends at the pool and started on the Night Train. It was terrible even in fancy glasses. Then we were drinking it next to the pool, then we were drinking it in the pool while Margarita glasses floated on the water like delicate cheap plastic booze filled Lillies. Who knew they'd float? This went on until we were finally asked to put our booze away. I looked at a corner of the pool that had no less than 6 people with no less than 15 Corona bottles and promptly cussed out the property manager and pretty much everyone else at the pool. Apparently the Night Train had made me rowdy. I used the word fuck liberally and often, then went back to my apartment, threw up, and passed out. In my drunken slumber I had visions of stuffed bunnies with no arms and little fuzzy cocks and nuts. They plagued me until morning. Eventually I found one in a strange little store not unlike the store that Rand Peltzer purchases the Mogwai "Gizmo". (Yes, I knew the dad's name without looking it up and it scares me a little)
A month later we moved out and into our house.
That's why I don't drink. Well, why I don't drink wines made for the economically depressed.