“Fuck Canada,” Joe said from the back seat as we crossed the border. “Who do they think they are, asking for ID and shit, just so I can go look at some goddamn tits? Windsor ain’t nothing but a suburb of Detroit, anyhow. Am I right, fellas?”

No one answered. It was the second time today that Joe had told that “joke”. I guess he thought we didn’t hear him the first time. I turned to Don, the driver, rolled my eyes and gave the international sign for wanker. Don responded with a grin and a shrug. Don was used to his cousin Joey. Me, personally, if the douche didn’t shut up, I was going to kill him and dump him in the Detroit River.

Our buddy Lee sat in the back seat, staring out the window, as far away as possible from Joe. “How you doing, bachelor?”

“Why am I not fucking drunk yet?” Lee answered, not even looking away from the window.

“The kid is right,” Joe said, sticking his head into the front seat. “Man, I am ready to see some motherfucking TITTIES !”

Yeah. This was going to be an awesome night.