If you can’t say something good about someone, you ought not say anything. ‘Tis why I’m not saying — but am, rather, thinking — that salvaging a warm and watered vodka tumbler to brace yourself for the grim realities of the “morning after” will only forestall the heart-pounding despair and sultry shaming that await thee, madam. You may be busting a bloody gut as you attempt to revisit the tawdry details of last evening's excess with the barroom buddy buckling his belt and angling for the door, but the last laugh surely won't be yours, so proceed with caution as you guide the party train back 'round the bender, as they don’t call you “Little Miss Trainwreck” for nuthin', darlin’.
