After the badass medieval festival at Fort Tryon last weekend, my roommate brought one of his friends over to hang out at the apartment.My roommate is awesome, so I look forward to any of his company.
I am told that the friend is a doctor, an M.D. More specifically, he is a practicing substance abuse therapist and pain management expert.
Huh, okay.
Anyone who knows me knows that having an addiction specialist tooling around my apartment could quite possibly put a little cramp in my lifestyle.
I guess I won’t be sitting in the living room drinking beer and smoking bowls tonight.
Wrong.
Out of the blue, my roommate’s doctor friend whipped out a doctor's bag full of various substances.
Huh, okay.
Long story short:
Wait, hold on. Before I tell you this, I think I should preface by saying that I very rarely do drugs. Well, since high school anyways. But, man. This guy had some serious holdings. I'm not going to go into specifics, but this situation warranted an exception to anyone's convictions.
The good doctor, the roommate and I spent the whole night partying hard out of the doctor's magic bag, drinking, and…
…wait for it…
…watching several back-to-back episodes of “Intervention” while The Good Doctor, high as a fucking kite, diagnosed and treated all the patients from my living room couch.
Fucking priceless.
2 comments:
that is totally awesome. i thought it was cool when i partied with my friends into the next afternoon, but partying with a substance abuse doctor is just that many more levels of cool.
That is priceless. Rock on.
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