I hate Drunks.
Don't get me wrong. Alcoholics are fine in my book. In fact, I quite enjoy being better than them in almost every capacity. There is no greater satisfaction than being a complete loser and yet, not having to ask your roommate if the erotic dream about sexing that hot bitch next door, "Bambi" was just a very bizarre alcohol-induced dream or some really grotesque bestiality with a Collie-Lab mix.
No, I'm talking about Drunks. Drunks are the ones that go out drinking with their non-drinking friends, run up a $153.87 tab, and then go to use the men's room. Apparently the men's room is better at the next bar on the night's itinerary.
Drunks are the ones that introduce the avant-garde concept of nudity at weddings. Often the bride's nudity. And if not the bride, the maid of honor, and if not the maid of honor, the grandmother of the bride. God bless you, Nana.
Drunks are the ones that say what everyone else was thinking... would be absolutely the worse possible thing to say.
Drunks are the ones that drink enough in one hellish night to kill any large mammal, but you are the one peeing blood for the next 4 days.
Drunks are the ones that posses amazing accuracy behind the wheel, even at 3:14 a.m. on a moonless night, because no matter how many times you could ever try, there's no way you could have landed inverted, on the front porch without even so much as nicking any of the lawn ornaments.
Drunks have a proper place in our society, there is no doubt. I just wish they would all go there some day.
Prohibition has been, well... prohibited. So instead, I say we apply it to only Drunks. To qualify one must commit an act of incredible retardedness in a drunken stupor. No need for Three Strikes. If you are capable of turning a Girl Scouts convention into 84 counts of indecent exposure, 14 counts of sexual harassment, and 1 count of sexual assault on a box of cookies in one fell swoop, it's enough evidence to show you should probably find other ways of indulging in artificially-induced pleasures.
Say you manage to park your Buick in the self-help section of Barnes and Noble, you lose your turn at the beer bong. Say you get in a jaw-breaking, drunken fist fight with a school teacher because she "can't raise my kids my way," then you lose your right to that 14th Apple Martini in 2 hours (hold the apple). And let's say you beat up your son with a broken broom stick on his 15th birthday in front of all of his friends, for "talking back", then humiliate him further by calling him a "queer" even though I'm not even gay, then you should lose your right to drink forever!