Today, we present two snapshots of the comically wasted.
1. You know how in zombie movies, when the non-zombie protagonists are escaping to safety in an enclosed vehicle, and zombies surround the vehicle and are heavily thumping their rotting appendages against the doors? And pressing their moaning, sallow and hollow-eyed faces against the windows? We had accomplished what can be an impossible task during the post-last call hours in the City by the Bay—we hailed a cab. No sooner had we hoisted our booze-weakened bodies into the backseat, than she with the empty gaze, teetering in strappy, pencil-heeled sandal, pressed palm against glass to steady herself and grabbed at the door handle. Our cab driver immediately locked us in, giggling at what was probably the 8 billionth wasted dame to attempt to commandeer his occupied back seat. Quivering, we heard her palm smack the window and fingers ineffectively yank at the handle. Seconds dragged on as she futilely struggled. Finally, the light changed and we left Ms. Zombie Apocalypse behind.