So. Last night. Me and Snuffleupagus. Four whiskeys, neat, no chaser, each. Red Label. The good stuff.

Snuffy, he usually stops at three. Last night, fight with the bird. Big fight. Big bird. Snuff called late, I dressed. Nearly closing time by then, so we had to pound them. Snuffy slammed #3 empty to the bar, had #4 in his big furry paw before I could say 'Halt, friend.' Boom. 2 oz no longer whiskey, now Whiskey + Snuffy.

Snuffy...he got ugly. Not a place to be at 2AM, country bar, country music, country men under cowboy hats testosterone-testy and percolating with ethanol when your drunken friend Snuffleupagus begins cursing out his lover in nasty, nasty language. When asked to stop the cursing by the bartender, it took one swing of that big brown trunk to send the place into chaos.

Snuffy woke me with trunk-nudging. I'd blacked out. Came to in the church parking lot four blocks away. Maybe three. Presbyterian. I could already tell - broken rib. Broken knuckle or two. Definitely I had a broken nose.

Snuffy though, he always managed to get off easy. He looked fine, big limpid eyes blinking, not a scratch on him. He does this to me every time. I swear - it's like they never even see him.

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