Rhea, bless her heart, stopped off and brought me home some sorely needed NyQuil reinforcements earlier today. You know, there are few things in life better than having someone go to CVS for you when you've got a nasty cold. Attached to her receipt was the following:
Okay, CVS, riddle me this: since I am over the age of eighteen, does that mean that I'm free to either (a) drink as much NyQuil as I can until I barf green and then pass out, hopefully in that order or (b) use the stuff to cook up as much meth as I can handle? Because you're right: those are both pretty mature, adult pursuits.
Jesus, I need to shake this cold and get back to pondering more useful things.