"GRENADE!" you shout, jumping on the neon green, hand-grenade shaped cup. You pull the cup from under you and begin to chug its sweet alcoholic contents rapidly, stopping only to take a breath and warn the members of your squad to "Get back!"
"What the hell, Burkowski?" whines Barrett, one of your squad mates. "I was drinking that!"
Now lying on your back on the brick roadway of Bourbon Strert, you pull a credit card receipt from the last bar you left from your pocket. Extending the receipt toward Barrett, you implore him to "give this letter to my mother."
You give out a belch and pass out.