"To your health and mine!" I clinked my glass with EE's and watched him drink the Spanish brandy. His eyes popped like fried eggs as esters burned his throat and held sparring practice in his nasal passages.
"Whoa Jack of all asses! This stuff has the kick of a mule," EE said.
"Fundador's what brandy should be. Not that pampered stuff that the snobs talk about. This can peel the hair off your chest, like paint remover with a touch of formal-dee-hyde."
"I like my hairy chest," EE slammed the glass onto the table. His head spun around three times in his mind. "No wait, I want a hunky hairless chest like an Olympic swimmer."
"It's laced with truth serum. Tell me, what do you think of my trunk novel?"
"Like fine wine, an amusing and fragrant..." he stopped talking and shook his head from side to side. "No, it's like using boiled boar's urine to put out a burning compost pile. Stinks beyond all reasonable description."
"Huh?" I didn't expect that.
"And that middle section where they visit the midget lap dancers. It lacks credibility. Are you perhaps a virgin at your age?" EE eyes went crazy and he licked the bottom of his glass. "Where's the rest of this booze. Once you get past the initial kick. It's really good!" He poured a double from the decanter.
"What did I do?"
"What have you written? That's what I'm asking. Does this novel auger something new or just bore into the ancient and empty rectum of the nearest weredingo? Spock Loves Kirk fanfic reads better."
"You're a monster!"
"Moi? NO, think Doubleday for publishing Brown... Hey wench! Yes you, Missus V! Bring me that slush-pile and a dozen red pens. I'm going to enjoy destroying egos and crushing dreams."