Dear Empty Bottle of Expensive Hipster QuasiVodka

You were nearly full last night. You’re now empty and waiting impatiently for the recycle truck. Why the change? It’s not like there are unregulated consumers making my stuff disappear.

Probably because you called for me late last night, after my date with Stella. It seemed like a good idea, mixed with some ginger ale. A double was overkill. Especially after the first one. [Ed.: Opening up my laptop so it could autocontinue blaring Motley Crue was fun. Evidently, that was what all the cool kids were doing at 1:24 a.m. on Sunday.]

But there you were later this morning when the fog lifted. Mocking me in that “Yeah, this happened. Better go check your texts and FB” sort of way. Well, fuck you, you ugly bag of mostly water mostly full bottle of slimy feeling (like Dr. Pepper) near-vodka. I didn’t hate you. But today I loathe you. Welcome to the kitchen sink. Say hi to Nemo when you finally get to the ocean.

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