Hey man, I see you over there and, trust me, you look wasted. That is awesome and all, but I can tell by your shit-eating grin and zig-zag stumble that reeks of jello shots and medium-strength weed, that you are reaching your limit and don’t need to be hovering around the bar in search of even more sweet, sweet alcohol. Oh boy, there you go. Yup, now you’re talking to my pal, trying to make a new friend. You see, the thing is, I’m here with my friends too, and we’re not really discussing the show or reaching out to others to find out how good a time they are having. Hold on there, fella. Now you’re angry. Don’t be upset. No, really. Listen. Trust me. My friend (the one right next to me that you are so successfully annoying the shit out of) isn’t upset either; he just wants you to fuck off. You can talk to your pals (they seem to be operating on a compatible frequency), but you should avoid trying to network at any show, let alone a show at which you are clearly losing your mind. Oh no, now you’re asking him if he’s mad. “Oh, you’re mad at me now,” you say. No one is mad at you, bro. Trust me, we’ve all dealt with simpletons before, we’re going to be fine and everything is cool. It would just be a whole lot cooler if you would just get the… oh fuck it, get over here you old so-and-so. We’ll be your new best buds. Who wants a shot?
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