Out with Marf, or Don't Wait Up

We're well into the third hour of a long-overdue man date right now, my pal Marf and I, where thus far we've consumed three meat sandwiches stuffed with French fries and coleslaw and two and three-quarter pitchers of beer.

Oh, and he's using the restroom at the moment so if someone could please use this opportunity to pull me aside and not-so-gently whisper, "Corey, darling, your day tomorrow will suck a shit-ton less if you pound several glasses of water and then take a Lyft home immediately." I will give that someone any one of my organs, their choice, and the rest of this beer.