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"I'm very straight, you're very not, and I got manhandled by a Cockatoo-man. I am currently the serial killer of Joy." Tully grumbled, drinking some more beer. "And you're the one who brought up blow jobs. And there weren't any girls involved in that discussion."

He sighed, tapping his lower lip with the mouth of the bottle, and sighing, which made an gusty little note as the air passed the mouth of the bottle.

"I'm not in the mood, Con ... blame the bird brain."

So he was pretty upset... fine, he'd admit it. Connor he'd gotten used to on some level, the arguing, cursing, and throwing of TV guides was par for the course, but a twentyish guy with feathers had him totally thrown for a loop.

"I don't want coco, I want my beer back!" Tully demanded, though it was a futile argument and he already knew it. Connor would have most of it poured down the drain before he made it to the kitchen.
"I don't steal your froofie champagne on New Years." He pointed out, standing up and wandering toward the kitchen doorway after Connor, albeit with a slightly over careful navigation around the coffee table.

Hm. OK maybe he'd drunk slightly more than he remembered drinking. Damn. Well, he wasn't planning on admitting that Con might have been right.

"...Fine. Dark." He conceded. At least Dark wasn't as sweet, though he couldn't imagine that any of them were going to taste great as a chaser to beer.

"...Anyway if I'd probably be puking a lot sooner than tomorrow morning. I do still remember those uh... "Good Ol': college days."

He'd certainly done his share of stupid things then, and that was probably one of the reasons he stayed with Connor now. Con had his faults but he was decidedly steadfast.

Tully made another face at Connor, glancing vaguely at his own bangs and then snorting with scorn.
"Yeah right. No I'm keeping my hair cut. We've got enough oddballs across the street without making the customers wonder if I'm having a midlife crisis."

Although it would be fun to own a sports car, there wasn't a practical place to put it, and he'd spend the entire day wondering what was happening to it instead of getting work done.

...And the very fact he was thinking of the practical issues around a sports car also probably meant he was secretly one of the most boring men alive, since the nature of Sports Cars was, to large degree, their impracticality.

"Sounds like a waste of a good paring knife." Tully pointed out. "I mean geeze we gotta use those things in the kitchen."