G- gas? Gas'line? No, it doesn't. [Like he's the resident expert on the matter. He oughta be.
He's fighting a battle to not drop to the floor, hunkered over the bar counter like it's the only floatie in the lake that's keeping him from sinking like a rock. To the bottom. Rock bottom. (Stupidly, a little voice in his head exclaims in wonder oh so that's why it's called what it is. It only took him 32 years.) Anyway. He's standing. Because sitting on those bar stools is for chumps and for the people who have any remnant of self respect.
Sitting at the bar means enjoying a bottle or two or five of whatever booty has been found and staked as theirs and, uh, not moving around to actively scavenge for more. Hawkeye Pierce has (had?) decided, an hour or two or five ago (who's counting?) that he wouldn't be true to him if he wasn't... actively scavenging for more booze of the-- whatever variety. He's sloshed. He's soused. The very word of 'gasoline' has him half-wince and pray he doesn't spontaneously combust but more importantly
he's taking Frank's bottle by the neck (which would be a wonderfully dirty double entendre literally any other time but this) and he does want some, thanks for offering, and he takes a healthy swig and] It's more... motor oil. Goes in the same thing but it doesn't... [He moves his hands to... fill in what he was going to say, words failing him not for the first or last time.
an anarchist and a pacifist walk into a bar
He's fighting a battle to not drop to the floor, hunkered over the bar counter like it's the only floatie in the lake that's keeping him from sinking like a rock. To the bottom. Rock bottom. (Stupidly, a little voice in his head exclaims in wonder oh so that's why it's called what it is. It only took him 32 years.) Anyway. He's standing. Because sitting on those bar stools is for chumps and for the people who have any remnant of self respect.
Sitting at the bar means enjoying a bottle or two or five of whatever booty has been found and staked as theirs and, uh, not moving around to actively scavenge for more. Hawkeye Pierce has (had?) decided, an hour or two or five ago (who's counting?) that he wouldn't be true to him if he wasn't... actively scavenging for more booze of the-- whatever variety. He's sloshed. He's soused. The very word of 'gasoline' has him half-wince and pray he doesn't spontaneously combust but more importantly
he's taking Frank's bottle by the neck (which would be a wonderfully dirty double entendre literally any other time but this) and he does want some, thanks for offering, and he takes a healthy swig and] It's more... motor oil. Goes in the same thing but it doesn't... [He moves his hands to... fill in what he was going to say, words failing him not for the first or last time.
Hey there, shit brickhouse.] Come here often?