Rum, whiskey, and pot

I woke up in an alley the very next morning with no recollection of the previous eve's activities. After a few hazy minutes of contemplation, I managed to remember that my first day of campaigning went very well, and so I decided to celebrate with a lil of the ole bubbly. Being that I was well on my way to blossoming into the distinguished gentleman that I was born to become, I decided not to settle for the usual bottle of Beefeater Gin that warms my gullet during cold winter slumbers.

Instead, I opted to purchase the most expensive bottle of rum that I could find...and then several bags of marijuana, which I assure you are for medicinal purposes only. Somehow this led to several verbal disputes with men who did not appreciate my newfound political genius, and soon after to multiple physical altercations in the back alley of an establishment named The Brass Barrel.

If my memory serves me correctly, I bested every last one of my challengers, though I must be honest, my memory rarely serves me correctly. More oft than naught, it downright lies to ole Quint. Fine, I'll admit it, I'm prone to delusions of grandeur and severe hallucinations! I lost the damned fights, ya bastards! What more do you want from me?

Anyway, somehow I managed to spend all of the money I collected that first day in the Bergin Bros. parking lot, which I'm not entirely displeased with myself for doing. After all, it will help boost the moral of the crew. And anything that does such a thing can't be all bad, now can it? I don't believe that it can!

But the bad thing is that I continued along that path for several days. And by days, I mean weeks. Damn it, I spent everything that I ever collected! Fear not though, my friends and comrades, because ole Quint has finally regained composure. I realized what needed to be done. I grasped the fact that I needed to campaign and collect donations, all the while eliminating the purchase of marijuana afterwards.

Obviously, the rum would have to remain acceptable to stave off the booze shakes, and surely a fifth of Jack Daniels would be nothing but an asset to my socialiable nature, but aside from that...no wait, maybe just an eighth of canabis to calm me nerves would suffice. Yes, why a mere eighth could do no harm could it? An eighth it is!

Rum, whiskey, and pot! Quint likes them a lot!