Max's life sucks. His job is leading nowhere and women avoid him like the plague. On most weekends his free-time is spent drunk in bars, hitting on women that don't want his attention and ultimately passing out in some back-alley. To make matters worse, his hairline has all but receded off the back of his scalp.
So far, Tonight is no different. He had to stay back late at the plant to cover for a sick workmate and was only now, at 9pm, finally crawling back to his apartment. Wearily fumbling the key into the lock he limps into the flat and heads directly for the six-pack of beer he has stashed in the fridge. Opening the first beer can, Max walks into the lounge room and collapses on the couch.
There isn't much on television tonight, but copious alcohol consumption made that irrelevant. Max thanks god that his annoying nerdy flat-mate Oscar wasn't around to irritate him. That loser is always mocking him and pretending that he is better than him. Max had no idea why Oscar thinks he is so good. He is even more of a loser than Max is, always sitting in his room jerking off to cartoon porn of video game characters from the internet and then wondering why he never met any chicks, let alone any that would let him fuck them... or rather, 'love' them. Oscar continuously insists he is 'saving himself for the right woman' and thinks himself better than guys like Max, who apparently only want women for sex.
Hours pass by and so do the beers. Max's anger at Oscar is soon forgotten temporarily in an alcohol-fueled haze, A short time later Max is passed out on the couch, bathed in the glow of late-night informercials.
*** The Ad
It's still dark...
Max stands up but quickly lies back down on the couch again after reeling under the effects of a debilitating headache. He glances at the clock, "3:12AM," He was going to regret this latest drinking binge in the morning.
The television is still playing late-night infomercials. This one promotes the mystical powers of potions from the orient, voodoo stones and other hippy bullshit.
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