--- @ziodynesty --- Feels like he’s been stumblin’ around for years before he finally runs into someone. All Guzma can see of them is a bunch of blurry skulls and shi---well, shit indeed! What a mighty hot coincidence he’s run into one of his own out here! They can drag his ass back to the mansion for him ‘cuz right now he ain’t even conscious enough to tell his left from his right.
Wait, could he even tell his left from his righ--ah, whatever.
“Yo, my homie!” the half-chugged bottle of cheap booze dangling from his hand is shoved against the unsuspecting dude’s chest along with most of Guzma’s weight in his endless fight to keep afloat while his entire world’s in constant rotation. “How ‘bout I let ya chuh-chuh-chuuug down the rest of this, if ya can take your boy home. Migh’ e’en throw in a pr-pro-promo . . . pro-mo-tion for ya! From rookie to Skull Enforcer, eh, fuck you think?”
