Fourteen Beers at Chili's

Page 3

Beers being only a dollar a pop is irresponsibly dangerous. As much as you want a drink, you know you'll spend everything in your wallet, which is exactly fourteen dollars, on those irresistibly cheap libations. The Applebee's coupons can get you at least two drinks and an appetizer. That should be plenty to get you through the night.

"Hey guys, look at this." You hold the coupon insert out towards the frat boys. "We can go hang at Applebee's and split some wings or something."

Derek takes the paper from your hand and surveys it carefully. That comes as a surprise because, until now, you weren't sure he even knew how to read. The bros gather around him to read over his shoulder, whispering amongst themselves. You gulp nervously. What could they possibly be talking about?

Stars erupt across your vision as Derek's fist connects with your temple.

"Dude! Did you not fucking see the dollar beers at Chili's? That's clearly the superior deal!" Derek shouts at you. The frat boys yell in agreement as they surround you.

Of course you'd seen the Chili's ad, and while you agreed it was the better deal, you still aren't sure it's the best idea. The frat boys would surely demolish the establishment as they were about to demolish you. A second punch knocks you to your knees, and a kick to the ribs knocks the air out of your lungs and brings you to the ground. Hands lock around your ankles and drag you down the sidewalk.

"What the fuck! Where are we going?" you cry.

"To the basement, bro. The only thing that can fix this now is the failure stick," Derek says solemnly.

END.

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