Twas the night after Arlington, and all through the house... Not a creature was stirring, except Duncan and Spencer and Ryan...who all wanted to go out...

Bartenders all over Ft. Worth were washing their glasses with care, In hopes that the three functional alcoholics soon would be there.

The three large men all squeezed into Duncan's car, All the while hoping cheap beer and shenanigans wouldn't be far.

With Spencer in his beard and I in a Spiderman shirt, Had just settled in to find a bar that would work.

We arrived at The Library and there arose such a clatter, The drunken bachelorette party sprang from their chairs to see what was the matter.

Away from the Affliction shirt sissies they flew like a flash, Bought us some beers and ignored our heat rash.

"You guys are shaped like real men, not these squat-rack curling Bro's," "Tru that," says Spencer..."Got no love for them h**s!"

Three beers later Ryan started to get crunk, Little did we know he was two beers beyond drunk.

I went to the bathroom and what to my wondering eyes did appear, But two guys...crying...in a stall...lots of tears.

One of the fellas had just lost a dear friend in the war, 3 shots later he was passed smooth out on the floor.

At this point, I couldn't remember my own name... And fell victim to a semi-toothless Wampa...of Star Wars fame. (Look it up)

Trapped on a chair, bum leg and all,
This woman freaked me against the bar, out of my chair, and eventually, down the wall.

As quick as I could I yelled for my boys, but they couldn't hear me above the drunken karaoke noise.

"On Spencer! On Ryan! Get this chick off me, you know I can't run!" Instead they whipped out their camera phones...to take videos for fun.

A few, no, many beers later, we finally got our Irish up, and Ryan grabbed the karaoke mic, not giving a...damn (?)

"Welcome to the Jungle" rang out like a bell, grabbed my nine all I heard was shells...My bad y'all, wrong song. Caught up in the moment.

Kicking the speakers and dropping the mic, Ryan was the king of karaoke, if only for one night.

The bartender came and gave us our tabs, the look on her face told us the damage was BAD.

We paid our bills and stumbled out the door, put the keys in my Scion and took off with a 4-cylinder roar.

Spencer passed out before we got out of Sundance Square, and I forgot how to get home...but nobody cared.

Ryan and I pulled over because nature was screaming, Spencer didn't even twitch, busy drooling on the door against which he was leaning.

We made it home despite all the odds, after partying our a$$e$ off like GnR gods.

I think I remember Ryan saying, before he went to bed for the night...

"Dude, we have to get up in 23 minutes, or I'll miss my flight."

A big thanks to my friends Ryan and Spencer "Bar FOOOOOOOOOOD" Tyler for not only getting most of the evening on film, thereby destroying my aspirations to political office, but for explaining to the bar beast that yes, in fact, having two ex-husbands in federal prison is not one of my turn-ons.

We were irresponsible, to be sure. All of the above is absolutely true. The names have not been changed to protect, well, anyone. It was a good night. An expensive night.

A Highland Games in Texas night...Merry Christmas y'all.

That night in Texas was down right legendary. Didn't think it would take 3 days to get home. I still might be drunk. And yes the girl feakin up on Duncan was that ugly

I have a great desire to see the video.

Fantastic writing Duncan!  Great mental images.

Remember this Spencer: The lowest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers...

See you in Judecca.

Virgil, Dante, and Duncan