It’s 3p on a Saturday, and you’re having the best boozy brunch ever right now. The tastiness; the booziness; the Instagrams. All choice. But you don’t like to make sweeping generalizations, so how can you be sure that this fucking opus is THE tastiest, THE booziest, THE Instagrammable…est brunch known to Man?

Glad you asked, my dude. Let’s review 8 signs that you’re having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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1. Eggs Benny Straight Into The Face-Place.

This fucking plate of food right now. Was that a goddamned hint of rosemary on this farm-to-table-to-mouth-to-toilet meatball? More importantly: was that a motherfucking meatball? Fingerling potatoes finger-blasting your tastebuds like a high-school girl in the backseat of your mom’s boyfriend’s Ford Escape. (In this analogy, your tastebuds are the high-school girl, and the potatoes are your fingers. BUT… HOW? Fucking words, kid. Read a book. Or this.) Hollandaise singlehandedly making up for how fucking worthless the Dutch are. Fingerling the dikes and shit.

Overall: fucking flavors doing perfectly tight triple backflips through your mouth. This is some motherfucking Cirque de Soleil Benny right here.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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2. Motherfucking Pour-Over Coffee! You Read About That Shit!

Yo. Yo! You read about this shit, remember? This pour-over nonsense. It was in Dealbreaker or something? Whatever. You are going to drink the fuck out of it. A regular boozy brunch/your kitchen has an espresso machine; your boozy brunch has this ginger vision doing a fucking science experiment behind the bar. That caffeine is getting bathed in a piping-hot bath of privilege, then it’s going to slip into something more comfortable (a cup) and fuck your face.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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3. Like 25 Drinks At Least, Probably.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” Uhchyeabrah. YOU WILL HAVE 17 LAGERS AND ENOUGH BLOODIES TO SINGLEHANDEDLY CAUSE A TOMATO SHORTAGE, PROBABLY. You are the Alpha and the Omega. There’s only one Highlander, and it is you. Children cower in fear. Grown women faint from persistent orgasm caused by your mere presence. Your boss just BBM’d you. He is the Omega. Fuck. BUT WAIT: He was just BBMing to let you know that he was also crushing drinks at a separate-but-awesome boozy brunch?! The Omega is dope! He’s probably going to write you a b-school rec! RE-COMMENCE PERSISTENT ORGASM!

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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4. Your BEST Bros!

It’s like that scene from Good Will Hunting. Not that sceneNo, not that one either, you fucking moron. You know: Marky, Timmy, Tommy, Jackie, Johnny, Ricky, Herb, Louis, Gayle, Phil Donahue. The fucking squad. Someone should get a picture. Don’t smile. Fucking Phil Donahue is smiling. SOMEONE TELL PHIL DONAHUE TO LOOK HARD. You’re going to hit double-digits on Instagram in record time. This is the crew.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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5. A Booth MORE KILLER Than The One That Capped Lincoln.

This table is the realness. All farms want to arrive at this table. You are watching people like the motherfucking NSA. Bottles everywhere, all empty because you are fucking crushing it today, and will probably get on eTrade when you get home just to make another couple thousand dollars just for fun. Someone’s playing footsie with you. Might be your bro, but it’s hard to be sure because of this table cloth, so basically, you’re getting laid.

You’ve been smashing glasses on the ground surrounding the table to slow down the bouncers, when they inevitably try to eject you in a few hours. THEY’LL NEVER TAKE YOU ALIVE. Phil Donahue is leaning over the back of your bench to talk to the girls behind you. You hate Phil Donahue. Who the fuck is  friends with him? Did he even graduate from Choate, or was he just post-bacc? You don’t remember. Whatever. Fuck Phil Donahue; stay focused. On this table, which is SO killer. This is the best day of your life.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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6. Classy Bathrooms? Who The Fuck?

Michael J. Fucking Fox, this bathroom is a wonder. It’s like Dubai. You sort of feel bad about taking a shit on the floor under that other table because they were being douchebags. NO YOU DON’T, IT’S JUST A TEMPORARY FLICKER OF SHITTER’S REMORSE UPON SEEING THIS PALACE. But fear not: That farm-to-table-to-toilet meatball Benny is rounding the final turn. You’ll be back soon.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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7. A Hot Waitress, ‘Cause You Aren’t Paying For Her Attitude, Alright?

Look, you’re just saying what everybody is thinking: you’re here to slay chicks because you’re fucking great-looking so it’s basically a favor to them anyway. So when this “Cassie” responsible for bringing you food starts saucing you about “sorry, the kitchen doesn’t allow substitutions” and “oh my God why the hell would you shit on the floor, we have bathrooms”, you’re not about to take it sitting down. DOESN’T SHE KNOW YOU’RE HERE FOR HER? You set her straight by ordering “ribollita” AND PRONOUNCING IT RIGHT BECAUSE YOU OCCASIONALLY WATCH BAREFOOT CONTESSA, WHAT OF IT? So yeah: she’s totally feeling you now. Eventually, she will leave a smiley face on your receipt. You will ejaculate immediately, then tipped her 55%. It’s so on.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

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8. Splitting It Evenly. (Take The Cash Off The Top.)

There is no cash. That was a joke. You don’t fucking brunch with a la carte amateurs. Phil Donahue tried to pay with a twenty and you lit it on fire. You thought about lighting him on fire. You are pretty drunk. SPLIT IT EVENLY, CASSIE.

You are having the best boozy brunch ever right now.

This story was originally published on No Grapes on Campus.

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