3hree Things: Riley vs. The Budweiser Chelada

The Aftermath: I was burping up clam farts all night, and despite attempting to vigorously brush the taste of shame out of my mouth, my lady informed me this morning that sleeping next to me last night was so repugnant that she had to deflect my warm clogged-drain-at-a-Cabo-spring-break-bar exhales with a blanket barrier and a sheet pulled over her head.

I think it's safe to say that I've had my last Chelada.

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