"Hello?" Pt. 1

March 18th 2016

"I have a serious question for you."

"Um, ok?"

"How have the Irish managed to survive?"

"I, uh... what?"

"How have you not died out from alcoholism or alcohol poisoning, or liver cirrhosis, or something along those lines?"

"Oh, right, I see. Um, no idea because you'd think, from the amount of booze consumed yesterday, we'd all be dead."

"Which is why it's really rather surprising that you're still alive. I'm glad that you are, don't get me wrong, I'm just a little shocked that you are."

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me!"

"I see your sarcasm remains intact, anyway."

"Always. My sarcasm is like a cockroach. It could survive an apocalypse."

"I think St. Patrick's Day was my apocalypse. What possessed me to do half of what I did last night?"

"Irish liqueur. That stuff is lethal and you don't know it until it suddenly hits you and you're on the floor. Or bent over the toilet, spewing up your internal organs."

"Graphic descriptive."

"I've seen it happen enough times."

"You know, since meeting you, I've been drunk more times in three months than I have in thirty years."

"Nice to see that you're pushing the blame on to me. Was I the one who forced you to drink an entire bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream?"

"I vaguely remember playing shot chess with your father."

"That happened, yeah."

"Did I win?"

"My dad put up a good fight, but ultimately you won."

"I think we were playing it wrong, though."

"You were."

"No wonder I was getting drunk. I was drinking the shots your father should have been drinking! Why didn't he tell me?"

"Ever wonder where I get my sadistic side from?"

"Not after last night, no."

"Exactly. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Like I need a new liver."

"I told you to take it easy, Daniel."

"I thought I knew better."

"Haha, regretting it this morning, huh?"

"Hey, who was that bloke I was talking to for most of the night? The guy that was with your dad when we were playing chess?"

"Oh, that was my uncle. Why, what did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything-"

"Thank God! He has a habit of being... unpredictable on St. Patrick's Day."

"Well, I mean, he could have been trying to egg me on to do something but I couldn't understand a word of what he was saying! His accent, mixed with the fact that he tended to mumble, it was hard to grasp what he was going on about."

"It doesn't help that he talks a mile a minute, either."

"I think I sold him my soul and I didn't realise what he was asking."