I wanted to post something truly earth shattering here in my first ever entry to The Snake Pit blog, but I guess I'll settle on this. It's Super Bowl Sunday, a national holiday for all intents and purposes, and I'm planning on drinking enough so that I'll be forced to call in sick tomorrow. Wish me luck. I just poured my second beer, and it's almost 3:30 PM. Not a good start. But I plan on picking up the pace and driving this pig home even if it means busting out that bottle of bright blue schnapps type stuff that I got for Christmas a couple of years back. I will, in true Broadway Joe fashion, guarantee the mother of all hangovers for tomorrow morning. I'll let you know how it turns out.

The problem with calling in sick the day after the Super Bowl or the day after St. Patrick's Day or the day after the Kiss concert is that everybody and their great auntie knows that you done got f*@%ed up, and couldn't drag your irresponsible, lazy butt outta bed in time to take an industrial grade shower to wash off the smell of smoke, booze, sweat and whatever else you got yourself into during the course of the previous evening. But, if you can take the ribbing, and your job is secure enough to survive whatever lame story you're able to come up with in that sorry state, it's well worth it. Sleep in, hang out, drink gallons of ginger ale and watch the entire first season of Danger Mouse on DVD. That's my plan for tomorrow. That is, if I can find a way to drink enough tonight. I have a good feeling about this thing. We'll talk again.