It was the crossover you demanded. Two heroes unite, fight briefly over a misunderstanding, and then join forces to defeat a common adversary. In this case, that adversary was alcohol. I met yesterday for with Tom Peyer of the excellent and always entertaining Superfrankenstein blog, and we were going to hit a bunch of different bars in order to figure out where comic pros should go to drink on Saturday night after Emerald City Con. We decided upon the Nite-Light, and later adjourned to Shortys for more alcoholic revelry.
Tom, to his credit, is currently quitting smoking. And you know me. I'm hardcore. That's the reason you come here, after all: to live vicariously through all my amazing adventures. And you know, there's not a single drug that, when placed in front of me, I will not drink, snort, swallow or shoot. Unfortunately, this included Tom's nicotine gum, which he generously offered me a piece of. The first piece had me buzzing like crazy. So, naturally, I took him up on the offer of a second piece. Bad move. It made me so hot and nervous and jittery and sick I had to get out of the bar. I tried to keep my composure leaving the bar, as to not raise a scene with Tom, and all the various fine women at the bar, including my Baby Girl's Mama. However, the split-second I got out of the bar I puked. Furiously. So hard and so suddenly I actually dislocated my jaw.
I have a doctor's appointment later. I suspect my jaw may actually be broken. I'm in terrible pain, sipping frying chicken through a straw, and slacked jawed (add to this a sloped brow, 180 pounds, beady eyes, hairy knuckles and a complexion like a Jovian moon, and I'd be the spitting image of that vile and villainous Brian Perez.)
Anyway, your well-wishes are appreciated. Sadly, though, this delays another announcement I was planning on making today.