I've gotten a little too toasty with the tequila...and have been wandering from room to room almost forcing the drinks upon people. Some highwayman took about half of them and started calling out "I come for belly buttons...give me them now", the he ran off. Anyway my tray was half empty and that was good cause to me the room was tilting left so that evened things out.

I went upstairs handing out drinks as I go and heard someone in the master bedroom. I peaked in the door and say a man in flowing robes holding a candle in the steamy room and was talking with someone...He didnt look like he needed a drink. Just as I turned to go I heard a crack....like the crack of a whip and felt a tap on my shoulder.

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Love...the slowest form of suicide.