you should. . .do a power hour

Apparently, Branson and I are feeling old, and desperately clinging to the last vestiges of irresponsible youth. We originally went to the saloon promising to share one pitcher of Pabst. As we finished it, I said, “We should have another one,” which is what one o fus always says on weeknights, and Branson said, “We should do a power hour.” Or at least, that’s what I think I heard him say. The waitress had already been summoned, but I sent her away, as I was inspired by the poor judgment Branson displayed.
I got up from the table, and led us to the liquor store, where we picked up the malt liquor we would need for our hour of beer shots. At home, we commenced.
We actually only drank 54 shots of beer in that hour. At around minute forty, I experienced an inexplicable sneezing fit that incapacitated me for several minutes as I spit phlegm, and dribbled snot into a nearby recycling bin. We both felt awful after our hour. We went to sleep, and I woke up for work six hours later.
At one point during the hour, Branson and I talked about one of our favorite old Saturday night live skits, a commercial for “Bad Idea Jeans” which features several small white men talking about their bad ideas (example: “Normally, I use protection, but I figured, 'When am I going to make it back to Haiti?'" and “Now that I have kids I feel a lot better having a gun in the house") before taking on a basketball team full of large, proficient-looking black men. Jimmy and I decided that we should market “Worst Idea Ever Jeans”. In the morning, I just wanted a pair of “Full-on crippling regret Jeans.” Instead I wore khakis.