I Salute your Disregard.

While visiting New York City over the weekend I stayed a night at my friend’s place in the East Village. (And when I say I stayed there, what I really mean is that we played Rock Band, then I passed out on the couch, and then we played more Rock Band in the morning.)
It’s a great apartment in a really fun part of town, but every time I stay over I marvel at his refrigerator. I mean, I don’t really like to cook either, but his fridge is amazing. He and a roommate have managed to fill their fridge with nothing but wine and some leftover take-out.
When I mentioned the contents of his fridge to him, I got this response, “Oh, the wine is my roommate’s.”