Last Drink Bird Head

Jason assigned me this exercise, which is found in Wonder Book: The Illustrated Guide to Creative Imaginative Fiction by Jeff VanderMeer. 

Who or what is Last Drink Bird Head. It can be anything as long as it's 500 words or fewer. Here is my submission: 

“Drink up, buddy. We still got a long way to go.”

The men, who once sat civilly in the matching Eames chairs in the cellar, were now spilled upon the floor, scattering dark, empty bottles at their feet whenever they shifted around the cold wall they were trying unsuccessfully to lean on.

“How many?” Guy asked after too long a pause.

“Three,” Al said. “Can you believe it? Three men in as many years. I’m such a sucker.”

“Huh? … no. I meant how many bottles are left? Jesus, Al, we’ve had at least 4 or 8 or something bottles apiece and you’re still …. Man, just enjoy this. You will never, neverever drink $25 Kayzworthuh wine again. Forget her. Jussssst…. ,” Guy trailed off.

“And forget her money!” Al hurled an empty bottle at the wine rack.

Guy erupted into a machine-gun fit of giggles interrupted by wet hiccups.

“Fuuuuuuuuget her money! That’s so rich with irony. Get it? Rich? Man, I love you. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right? I mean, here I am getting so wasted for you. Ten bottles? I could make myself very, very sick. But. I love you. You know? So please don’t throw a bottle at me when I say, ‘What were you thinking!’ It’s so stupid. Who signs a pre-nup? Especially, like, because it’s not the 90s. But also, man, doesn’t that just say, “I don’t expect us to work out? And when I get bored of you, I’ll leave you and leave you with nothing? Why were you cool with that? She … I know she didn’t love you. Why didn’t you care about the money more? That’s the only thing that heartless brat could give you.”

“I’m so stupid!” Al tried to pitch another bottle at the wine rack, but only managed to heave himself over his own knees. He chortled at his own impotence. He crawled, instead, to the wine rack and tried his luck at leaning against it. “I did it because I loved her.”

Guy picked up a bottle that had rolled into him.

“What is this shit, anyway? Some bird … head … thing. What makes it so special?”

“It’s Screaming Eagle,” Al said. “This here, this one bottle, she got it for $3500, I think.” Al threw the bottle toward the wall, two feet from where Guy slumped.

“Hey! Easy!” Guy sat a little straighter, sobered by the clatter.

A draft moved through cellar. Both men shivered despite the warmth of the wine.

“Well,” Guy continued, “I’m happy to help you in this act of spite. If she won’t give you even a parting gift, let’s drink it in kind. $25,000 of wine … .”

Al moved steadily as he uncorked the last bottle.

“Drink up, my friend. We still have a long way to go,” Al said.

Guy glanced around but saw no more unopened bottles. “How many?”

“Four, Guy. There were four. I know, Guy. I know. There were four.”