Yum, vodka.

So there’s down and out and then there’s drinking Skol vodka alone on a Saturday night the week after your roommate’s wife had a miscarriage and you know he’s pissed at you because you passed out on the porch last night and you’re waking up every motherfucking goddamn morning realizing you have a goal in life and every step you take is getting you no where near closer to it, you have no friends, no lover, and you live in Florida.

Skol vodka, by the way, is what the collective ass juices of the entire soviet nation tasted like while the where under Stalins’ rule.

Also, I’m depressed.