Shot O’clock is the time in the pub when people get stupid enough to start doing regretful things to their livers in very small glasses.
My shot-o’clock is tomorrow at 14:00 in the afternoon. Not the kind that comes from the bottle, its the kind that comes with a big pointy needle that gets pushed through your muscle tissue to deposit a payload of living viruses.
I hate needles. In fact, I would rather have someone shoot me in the leg with a .45. Ever since the army used your tax dollars to turn me into a human pincushion, I have just not got along with needles. In fact, I despise them. I will undoubtedly have a fever tomorrow as my body does its best to fight off the small dose of incurable creepie-crawlies that will be coursing through my veins.
Luckily, my Typhoid and Japanese Encephalitis vaccinations are still good so I just get some easy Hep boosters and a delightful tetanus shot. I opted for the tetanus because mine is now 10 years old and after my finger cutting incident in Egypt, I decided the shot was worth it.
No doubt my buddies will be pounding away on my arm at the pub tomorrow night after reading this.