Now Scott and I had spent many an hour compiling lists of things we would do if, per chance, we were ever given our very own midget. So we didn't waste any time and got right down to the activity at the top of our list: finding out just how much alcohol a midget can actually consume.
Two screwdrivers later, the midget was still ambulatory (and dancing up a storm) So we decided it was time to step things up a notch...and started buying him shots. Of Tequilla. Cheap Tequilla. Cheap Bar Tequilla...which he drank with no further prompting from us, on the dancefloor. (Note girl in white shirt in the background laughing and pointing.) Tequilla makes all kinds of people do crazy stuff. We couldn't wait to see what it would make the midget do...
Er, sort of....but he got an "A+" for effort in my book. (You should've seen his little midget legs pumping to the beat as he attempted "the scramble." Priceless.
...turns out, tequila makes midgets break dance. I shit you not, the minute he finished his first shot, this midget, this fifty-something-year-old barely-speaks-any-English, drunk, midget, starts God-honest break dancing.
