And then she put her cigarette out on his lap

In high school I knew a girl that we'll call Ali. (I'm changing her name for reasons you will see below)

Ninety percent of the time Ali was great. A totally cool chick. Laid back. Friendly. Down to Earth.

But the other 10% of the time?

She was wasted.

Which usually meant drinking herself into a delirious state. Which ranged between joking and acting silly... to crouching in the corner looking like the girl from 'The Ring'... to being a total sloppy mess tripping over herself with throw up in her hair.

What we in the biz call "white girl wasted".

And on one fateful night, Ali, I, and some friends were underage drinking at an 18 and up casino not too far from where I lived. And my friends, being the responsible (albeit incredibly stupid) high-schoolers we were, all went "buzzed" instead of drunk and even had a 100% sober designated driver (which in hindsight turned out to be a very good decision, as you'll soon learn).

All of us that is... except Ali.

Ali got in a drunken world of trouble deeper than I had ever seen. Slurring. Cussing at people. At one point she even started passing out at the blackjack table.

My friends and I looked at each other, and without saying a word, agreed we needed to get this mess of a human home before she sprayed like Shamu.

But then it happened...

Right when we got up to grab her limp, lifeless body and drag her away from the table, she began passing out HARD.

She began to tip... and once she started, there was no stopping that train. She fell closer and closer towards the guy next to her. All with a lit cigarette in her hand.

And then, falling all the way over, her hand hit his leg and she put her cigarette out on his lap.

I was amazed, tickled, and embarrassed all at the same time. I couldn't believe my eyes. But at that moment I knew we were in a world of hurt.

Because 18 and up casinos don't like underage drinking.

No siree.

As soon as she did that, the security guards walked over and asked to see our IDs. We stupidly complied (only one of many mistakes for the night), and of course they said "the cops are coming" and refused to give us our IDs as well as blocked our car in with golf carts.

They were like Seal Team 6 compared to us, a group of cross-eyed teens.

And yes the cops came. They shamed us. Poured out our remaining booze. And made Ali call her mom (which was by far one of the cringiest moments of my life. I was ready to go to jail just so I didn't have to hear that Hallmark movie of a conversation).

But eventually the cops let us go. Again, we had a sober driver and knew how to fake respect for authorities when it helped us get our way (after all, we were teenagers).

So it was a weird night.

The weirdest part is, that wasn't even the most outlandish thing that happened to me that night.

Do you want to know what was?


I would tell you, but it wouldn't make sense here. Stories need context after all (maybe that's the lesson for today).

Let's just say that this thing I am teasing you about was a real knuckleball.

And if I ever do tell it, and you don't cry, you're a monster.

Allright, that was fun. If you're new around here, this is the part where I tie it all together:

If you are smarter than a group of cross-eyed teens drunk on tequila... and you want a "designated driver" to drive new sales into your garage... helping you earn a Hummer full of cash... and a police force of hot customers, rabidly chasing you down, interrogating you, and even beating you in order to buy more of your offers... head to the link below.

There you can enter your info, and if you qualify, you will be added to my waiting list and will be notified via email the next time I'm taking on a new client.

But first I should note:

There will be no drinking (I personally haven't been able to stomach the stuff in years). There will be no cigarettes. And there will certainly be no gambling.

But if you'd like to invest in copy that's an asset to your business, instead of playing all day in the paid advertising casino head here:

www.copybymccune.com/waitlist

Tyler McCune

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