Dave recently switched from beer to wine. But as a long-time drinker, he makes the transition easily. Wine has twice the alcohol of beer, but it’s still half that of, say, Grey Goose. Still, he can put the stuff away, so it comes as no surprise to anyone that at Amoebapalooza last Sunday (which I miss) he finds himself staggering outside King King, slurring his words and slumping against the wall in a stupor. No surprise to anyone.

Except him.

Tonight he tells us that he had four glasses of wine that night. Yes, just four. I’ve had three glasses since getting home tonight and the worst effect I’m noticing is an incredible need to edit for typos. And lately, I’m not much of a drinker. Dave could drink four glasses of wine and perform open heart surgery. And that’s without a medical degree.

He knows himself. He knows his limits. He knows he wasn’t within a league of those limits on Sunday. He’s never blacked out, yet he remembers very little after ordering that fourth glass. He’s never collapsed on the concrete, yet he has a splint on his finger to remind him of the sprain he suffered after sliding off Brett’s shoulder. So what happened?

He doesn’t know. Understandably, he’s extremely curious. His last glass of wine comes via someone else. And this person has even mentioned “Roofies” in his presence earlier. Jesus, it doesn’t take Daryl Zero to figure that one out.

So the question is WHY? Was it a joke? Was it coincidence? Was someone anxious to throw Dave over one shoulder and have his/her way?

This stuff drives me crazy.

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