Poor CUTE B.F.

So. CUTE B.F. and I start drinking early. Caucasian Gary's, Champagne..Bloody Marie's.... Beer.. You name it, I think we tried it. His big X mas party was the next day and he had gone out and bought a pimp suit.
We're loopy. He's trying on everything, prancing around.. Wielding his gun, acting like the Welsh gangster that he truly is.
We decide that we just aren't high enough. Right?
I whip out the reefer..Take a few puffs, and hand it over.
CUTE.B.F. never smokes the reefer. I mean EVER.
He doesn't handle it well. About 10 minutes into realizing how fucked up we really were, he goes running into the bathroom.
Now, as for me. I'm higher than a kite. I decide to rummage through the closet... Dig in my drawers... Zone out on the fuzz balls on the floor.... Count my hair....I'm pretty sure I spent about an hour trying to find a pair of pants that turned out to be right in front of me.......
Needless to say. The whole time I hear nothing from the bathroom.
I eventually pass out. Only to be woken up by MINI ME standing in front of me, yelling, "Will you PLEASE go check on him?? He's only been calling your name for an hour!!!"
I jump right out of bed, (like the GOOD committed G.F. I am) and rush to the bathroom door. All I hear are animal like moans and LOTS and LOTS of hurling. It sounded something like this.....


CUTE B.F.:OOOOOOHHHHHHhhhhhHHhHHHhh GoOOOOOoooooDDD!!!! retch.retch.retch.
me: uuuuh?honey??? you ok??
I open the door slightly.
CUTE B.F.:(lying on the floor nekked as a jay bird, puking)
GET oUTT!!!! HAVEN'T YOU SEEN ANY ONE DIE BEFORE??????


wELL, I decided that that is the last time I ever partake in the greeny green w/ him.