The ride to your cousin’s bar on this cool Thursday evening is peaceful enough to start clearing your head. You expect the chill vibes to continue when you head inside, since your cousin only ever plays his self-incriminating sad boi tunes that turn people off, but today the bar is popping, surprisingly. Uncharacteristically raunchy music blares from speakers overhead. People are well on their way to getting wasted, and there’s already broken fragments of beer glasses lodged into the wooden floor. Your cousin is chlamydia-free and wants the world to know, apparently.

When you find an open seat at the end of the bar, he teleports over to ruffle your hair, an annoying habit he’s had since you two were kids. He offers you a shot of vodka or tequila. Go to (K) if you take the tequila or go to (L) if you choose vodka. Just kidding! That doesn’t actually matter, stupid. Go to (K) if you decide to take five shots and hum for a bit while tipsy, or go to (L) if you’re not a pussy and you take fifteen. Just kidding! Again! I’m choosing for you and I’m not letting you be a little bitch. Go to (L).