Drunken People are Stupid I was at a get-together Saturday, somewhere in the South-end of Louisville. I went there with some of my friends. We hung outside on the deck, just chilling. There was a woman there drunk as hell. She latched onto a red plastic cup, as if it was the cup of life. She came up to me and said, “Hello there, I don’t remember if we met.” She extended her hand. I reluctantly shook her hand, noticing how tipsy she was. “I was here last week, we’ve met before.” She pointed her wobbly finger in my direction, her cup sloshing the liquid around. She narrowed her alcohol-hazed eyes at me. “Yeah, you’re the guy doesn’t talk much.” I nodded. “That’s me.’ I guess she noticed my standoffish approach to our conversion so she said, “Don’t mind me, I’m shit-faced drunk. I get like this.” “Thanks for the warning,” I remarked. She left my sight, and I sat down near the table. I struck up a conversation about geek talk, when the sam...