HARTFORD, Conn. — Elder millennial Thomas Sharpe is reportedly in “critical and deteriorating condition” after erroneously believing that his haggard husk of a body could handle a second of shot of Goldschlager, sources who wish they could just die already confirmed.
“Well, it looks like this is the end. I just wanted to go out for beers with the guys from my old band, Trash Cumpactor. But now I guess I’m just gonna continuously sweat and vomit myself to death in this janky hospital,” bemoaned Sharpe, while simultaneously hooked up to three different life support systems. “I wish I could say I’ve lived a good life, but that would be a lie. The only time I’ve ever been on an airplane was a family trip to Disneyland when I was 14, and I nearly puked myself to death after eating two full clouds of cotton candy. Please, someone tell my wife that I love her. And also, tell my buddy P.J. that he’s a real dick for buying me that second shot.”
Attending physician, Herdy MacMillan M.D., detailed Sharp’s remarkably grim prognosis.
“Mr. Sharpe has what we medical professionals refer to as ‘a shitty old person body.’ Unfortunately there’s not much we can do at this point but make him as comfortable as possible with intravenous Pedialyte doses,” explained MacMillan. “Frankly, telling you all this is a flagrant disregard for doctor-patient confidentiality – but hey, the guy’s gonna be dead in a few hours anyway and we are going to harvest the hell out of his organs, so fuck it.”
A bartender at The Shady Ambulance, the dive bar where Sharpe was served the second Goldschlager shot against recently imposed Connecticut liquor code regulations, shared his perspective on Sharpe’s impending death.
“Yeah, I see it every day. These old fucks come in here thinking they can still drink like the degenerate frat boys they once were, forgetting all the while that they have to drive their five-year-old to ballet class at 6 a.m. the next day,” said bartender Shep Plantina. “But hey, it’s not my problem if they can’t handle their booze – at least not until they vomit in one of the ashtrays. Then the homeless guy we give five dollars to clean up once a week has to deal with it. So it’s still not my problem!”
At press time, Sharpe had begun revising his last will and testament, emphatically insisting on the exacting wording of the phrase “P.J. gets nothing and can suck it.”