Sam and Dean rolled out of the smoky bar, arms slung across each other's shoulders.
"Should've stopped at seven shots," Sam slurred.
"Psshh," Dean responded. "Sheven's for losers and we…" Dean stopped cold to face his brother dead on, "we aren't looshers." With a burp, Dean contradicted himself, "I feel nauseous."
Sam laughed amidst a hiccup, "You're nauseated? I think you mean you're nauseated…actually it'sa very common mistake," Sam emphasized each word with a pointed finger, "but don't worry, s'happens all the tim—"
Before he could finish, Dean released the night's worth of fun onto the ground before them.
"Dude," Dean spit out, "I think I just nauseated all over your shoe…Shorry."