We slept at the club, and the next morning around 10 a.m. Smelly discovered that they didn’t lock the bar. He grabbed a bottle of Jägermeister, said, “This is MY breakfast!” and downed half the fucking thing before we even loaded into the van. He went from lucid to plowed in about ten minutes. Three hours later, we pulled into Amsterdam and everyone got out of the van. Smelly sat down on the curb, then slowly lay down, and then passed out. He had laid his head in a pile of dog shit.
