"Aww, whats the problem, gertrude? You mean to tell me that you can't walk into a bar with a $100 bill on your forehead and walk with anything, either male or female?"

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My selective memory of what drinking was like told me that standing at the bar in a pub, on a summer's evening with a long, tall glass of lager and lime was heaven, and I chose not to remember the nights on which I had sat with a bottle of vodka, a gram of coke and a shotgun, contemplating suicide.

— Eric Clapton