After a heroic night of drinking that would make a frat party look like a tea ceremony, two guys stumble out of the bar — one leaning on the other like a human crutch, both navigating the sidewalk like it’s a tightrope over lava.
“Bro,” slurs the first guy, “I think I left my dignity in the jukebox.”
The second guy, squinting at the moon like it owes him money, replies, “Forget dignity. I left my wallet, my phone, and possibly my soul.”
They attempt to hail a cab, but end up waving at a mailbox. When the mailbox doesn’t stop, they accuse it of being rude and start a heated debate about whether it’s secretly judging them.
Suddenly, one of them has a brilliant idea: “Let’s walk home. It’s only… like… five blocks.”
Three hours later, they’re in a stranger’s backyard, petting a garden gnome and calling it “Steve.”
Eventually, a kind passerby helps them find their way — not home, but to a 24-hour diner, where they order pancakes and declare it the best decision of their lives.