Mates forever, forever drinking

I was at a pal's house drinking Margaritas, and we were have a great time, even though he was getting pissed with me for throwing limes off the balcony.

"The limes are green, the lawn's green, what's the problem?" I asked.

We ran out of tequila, but luckily he happened to live across the street from a liquor store. You could call me impulsive, but I like to think of myself as adventurous, always ready to try something new. So, I scored a bottle of mescal.

Back at his place we had the tunes cranked, and we were feeling good, singing and having a good time. I didn't even care that we ran out of limes - I was drinking the stuff right out of the bottle. And being the up-for-a-challenge guy that I am, I ate the worm. (They put a prize in the bottom of each bottle of mescal.)

Even a bottle of mescal, which probably tastes like turpentine if you're not hammered, won't last forever. With all the booze gone, we decided to go to the bar.

Drinking mescal makes you ask the deep, philosophical questions. Like, did the mescal make me to it, or deep-down am I an asshole? Anyway, for whatever reason, for no apparent reason really, as we were walking down the street, I swung around and punched him in the nose.

"Enough of this bullshit," he said, and stomped away.

I went to the bar and had a couple of beers. But it was a country and western bar, and really, incredibly boring, so I hopped on a bus and rode back up to his place.

I pounded on the door, but he wouldn't answer. I walked down the stairs, out onto the lawn and climbed up onto a fence and then reached up and pulled myself onto his balcony. I went inside but he wasn't around, all I found was a pizza on the coffee table. It had one piece missing. Right then, I realized how hungry I was, so I sat down and ate the rest of the pizza. Then I stretched out on the couch and fell asleep.

The next morning, he walked through the living room, and muttered something like, "What the hell are you doing here?"

I kind of took that as my cue that maybe I should take off.

But just to show you what great mates you make while drinking, despite all that crap I did, punching him in the nose, eating his pizza, and even throwing limes all over his lawn, we're still pals. Yeah, he even phoned me the next day to see if I wanted to go for a few beers.

I think we'll be mates forever, as long as we're still pounding them back. And with friends like him, why would a guy ever quit?