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| My bones feel like stringy leather in this junk-sick morning. | |
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| You're looking awfully grey, pink and fibrous. Have another shot. | |
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| More Montezuma? That's the foulest of the foul, cheap liquors! | |
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| You're just a junkie looking for a cold, black exit. You need some help, brother. | |
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| I think I smell someone cooking up a batch of Mugwump juice. A three-day bender of staring disconnectedly at a hardening loaf of bread sounds good right about now. | |
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| (His tether to reality is an evaporating tendril of frog jism at this point.) | |
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