You pop the second Woodchuck open and, impatient to start feeling better, you suck it down pretty quickly. The flavor itself is welcome, but you've barely manifested a buzz, and that simply will not do.

The third Woodchuck is rapidly drained as you make a sandwich for lunch, which you accompany with the fourth. By the time your meal is done you feel a bit looser, a bit more relaxed, and a lot like you'd prefer to continue drinking.

Before you really know what's going on, you've devoted your entire day to drinking cider and occasionally making a half-assed effort to do something more productive.

When the time comes for the rally, it's obvious that the audience is in for a shit show as soon as you stagger to the front of the crowd. You ramble. You rant. You say something with an unintentional racist connotation, then dig yourself deeper trying to explain what you didn't mean. You use far more profanity than is strictly necessary. You tell those gathered that you love them all very much, and attempt to organize a mob hug. You fail. Chatters and murmurs of dissatisfaction grow to a fever pitch, and while you continue trying to make your speech, there's no audience left by the time your oratory comes to