Did you ever wake up under a chicken coop covered with overnight droppings? I have. Have you ever barbecued yourself on a hot stove? I did. Have you ever come home smashed, ending up the unintended clown for your daughters’ sleepover? I did. Were you ever so hungover you forgot your own name? I was. I once went with my brother-in-law for a haircut, an excuse to go to a bar, and lost him for three days. I almost fell off the roof of the Peabody Hotel, smashed, looking for the famous ducks.
WITHOUT THE LAMPSHADE - How I Learned to Love my Brown Martini is my tale of boozing through roughly twenty-five years of my life, performing some hilarious antics that defy belief. In a quarter century I made it my job, a career, if you will, to pursue hard drinking in lieu of becoming the typical working stiff. It was more important to get to the bar for the first drink than work late for advancement. But I was still lucky, mostly finding people and companies that drank as much as I did. I was a happy drunk that has one hell of an adventure to relate.
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