You're a lifer in the swaggerless town you're from. Now, the guys who used to give you detention for eating whiskey soaked gummy bears in study hall are buying you shots. Oh no, how did this happen? You know it's time to get out of your mom's basement when you're clanking glasses with your tenth grade geometry teacher. When you're getting into drunken brawls with your high school football coach, it means you did a button-hook in life when you should have run a go route to the end zone. You need to blow the whistle on this whole situation, homie. Apply to technical school tomorrow and start drinking with some degenerates your age.