Bugs and Wile E.: Retirement.

Passed out on the couch, Bugs shifted, dropping the near-empty whiskey bottle.
Wile E. snapped at attention in his chair, almost dropping his own. “Jesus, Bugs..”
The rabbit wiped drool from the side of his mouth, “Wh.. whah? what happened?”
“Ya dropped your goddamned bottle,” Wile E. waved an absent finger.
“What time is it, Doc?” Bugs looked for his watch, usually under his fur. It wasn’t there.
“2 in the P.M. Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” asked the Coyote.
“I can’t remember.” Bugs turned to Wile E. “Did you put roofies in my booze last night? Man..” Bug stood on shaky legs, scratching at his cotton-tail, “I feel like shit.”
“Between you and Sam, you finished off the Gin and Jager-bombed through a six pack of Red Bull,” Wile E. shifted in his chair and contemplated another sip of whiskey, and thought better of it.
“Retirement’s great, isn’t it?” Bugs offered an empty smile.
“No, my good bunny, it sucks. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride home!”
“ON that Acme Rocket? No way! I’ll risk the left at Albuquerque.”

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