Liquid Balls

I am an extremely non-confrontational bastard, and I try to avoid it all costs. Generally though, I like to think that I am a very honest, straightforward, no-beating-around-the-bush kind of guy. When it comes to some matters, however, the truth comes out only as a result of one of the symptoms of the vodka soda effect- liquid balls.

Telling a girl at a club, post-makeout, that her other boy-toy is fucking lame and she should go home with you instead- liquid balls. Throwing a glass off of a 12th floor balcony at a bunch of obnoxious ginos fresh out of Menage- liquid balls (and dangerously illegal). Getting home after a messy, messy night and indulging in flatbread and hummus (and light cream cheese) and a box of Lean Cuisine- BALLSY BALLSY BALLSY.

Oh, the mornings I've woken up, still drunk, remembering little from the night before, and wanting to never get out of bed as the memories came flooding back. The mortifying novels of text messages sent to that certain someone. Looking in the fridge and not being able to eat ANYTHING because I'd drunkenly decided that I liked myself better fat.

Liquid balls- the good, the bad and the ugly.