The door swung open, and Vic came stumbling through, stopping himself with the railing at the end of the porch, his head swung over the edge. He was drooling, his eyes struggling to stay open. He burped quietly, followed by a hic, and a deep swallow. Surely, he was about to lose it.
"Come on, Man!" Dave called from the door. "No barfing on the lawn!" Vic looked back, a thread of saliva still dangling from his mouth. Music was playing loudly inside, and what looked like one hell of a party was in full swing.
"Whatever." Vic replied dumbly before leaning back over the rail. Dave just laughed, before joining him, obviously not as drunk as Vic was. But hey, if anything, that's what New Years is for.
"But seriously,” Dave continued, pulling himself together somewhat, "bathroom's inside. I really don't wanna have to clean up after you tomorrow."
"Don't worry-hmph- I'm fine…"
"Well you don't look it."
"Trust me; I just need some fresh-¬hic-air."
"Dude, you've been boozin' it up all night!" Dave started to chortle again. Vic gave a loud moan, and turned swiftly and managed to fumble himself back inside.

Vic was in the bathroom for a long time, getting a nice look at the inside of the toilet bowl. When he was finished, he pulled himself back to his feet at the sink and splashed some cold water in his face. He looked in the mirror, to assess the damage. His black fur was kind of glossy; he'd been sweating for the past hour or so. His dark brown eyes were completely glazed over. The white fur on his snout and cheeks gave some indication to what he'd just been doing; he wiped it off quick with a towel. At least he felt better now.
The last thing he noted was the hair between his ears. He picked up a lock between his claws, and let it fall limply back down onto his forehead. He's died it dirty blond a few days prior, a decision he was quickly learning to regret. It stood out too much. Didn't look very natural.
He opened the door with his shoulder, and was assaulted by the blaring noise from the stereo. Furs were drinking, dancing, and eating. It was a party, alright. His stomach gurgled, and he looked down at the white fur peeking out from the gap between the bottom of his T-shirt and the rim of his jeans. His jacket had been removed shortly after arrival. He placed a paw on the belly of his shirt; it fit rather snugly over his abdomen, testament to the poundage taking residence there. His finger sank in an inch or two; further advancement blocked by what solid matter remained in his belly. He smiled in a drunken sort of way, and made his way over to the buffet table. He didn’t want to drink anymore, that part was obvious. He did want to eat, though.
He plummeted onto the couch, sending a shock wave to party-goers on either side of him. And in his hand, a plate stacked high with everybody's favorite fatty treats; mozzarella sticks, potato skins, pigs-in-a-blankets, oven baked fries, popper, etc. He picked a mozzarella stick from out of the side, and bit off half of it, the other half stretching gooey cheese out of his teeth. He was enjoying his feast, when he felt a poking at his side. He glanced over;
"You're getting fatter, you know." Meet Eric, the master of subtlety. Vic glared. The blue jay sitting adjacent to him grinned wryly.
"And you're getting dumber." And now meet Vic, the master of comebacks.
"No, you're just really drunk right now. Making harder for you to process your surroundings."
"Aaw, leave him alone, Eric!" Amy chirped from behind the couch, the cheetah probably feeling the buzz herself.
There probably would've been more, but everybody was distracted by the sudden lack of music that they had all become so accustomed to. Heads all turned to the now silent stereo, where Dave now stood, microphone in hand.
"Alright, Snitches! Let's hear some resolutions!" A roar of laughter and cheer spread like a tidal wave through the audience, hands in the air as people called out for their motives to be heard first. Dave scanned the audience like a feral predator, seeking out his pray. He smiled, finding the perfect resolution to hear; the one fur who hadn't raised his hand at all or even took notice. "Vic! How 'bout you go first?' there was some minor cheer, as all attention turned to the plump wolf sitting on the couch, popper hanging out of his mouth.
"Huh?" Vic grunted. He spit the popper out. "Oh, I don't have a resolution." People booed, and called out things like come on! Or, don't be that guy! Amy nudged him;
"Come on, just make something up!" she laughed loudly. Yep, definitely drunk. Vic rolled his eyes;
"Fine, okay!" He called, ushering in a waiting silence over the crowd. "My resolution is to… um…" Vic thought the best he could in his current 'dazzled' state, trying not to say anything stupid. Eric spoke up;
"To finally join the National-Sumo-Wrestling-League!" the bird prepared for a comeback, but rather…
"Yeah, to Hell with it! That!" the crowd roared with half laughter and half cheers, and Vic returned to his snack. The horse sitting next to him pulled out a party popper and pulled, and within a mere fraction of a second-

POP!!

The morning light hit Vic like a sack of bricks, which elaborates perfectly well how he felt. He didn't even have to think to feel the onslaught of last night's festivities raging in his head. He moaned, not wanting to move out of bed. Which reminded him… How'd he get home last night? Surely, he didn't dare drive. He looked vaguely around the room; nope. He wasn't in the hospital.
His head wasn't the only thing that was sore; his stomach had some serious bitching to do as well. Vic grimaced, reaching his paws down his now bare torso to rub his aching gut. Funny, he didn't remember striping into his underwear.
"Good party…" he muttered to himself. His paws reached his belly, and started to rub. They stopped when he felt something taped to his belly button… it felt like paper, a note, maybe. Vic peeled the tape off of his fur and brought the paper to his face. He had to readjust the distance a few times to avoid blurriness, but could eventually make out Eric's handwriting;

Vic, in the unlikely event you should wake up from hibernation- truly, this man was a wizard. -, just wanted to let you know how SUPER wasted you got last night. Eventually, Amy forced me to drive you home. Just come and pick up your car later, it'll be at Dave's still.

"Yippeeeee…" Vic said sarcastically to himself. "I have a hangover the size of Mount Atmis… had to rely on Eric- of all people- and…" he found his paws feeling over his belly, "…and feel like I gained ten pounds- holy crap!" he looked up from the pillow at his body laying broadly in front of him. Huh. He actually did look a little bigger… too much junk food, probably. WAY too much. He felt anther surge of pain from his stomach, not from fullness, the kind of feeling you get when your stomach realizes how much of a moron you are.
He forced himself to sit up, clutching his head as his brain pounded against his skull, letting out a slight whimper. He felt his tummy spill out into his lap more-so then usual, and some unwanted strain from his undergarments- looks like some of that weight went backstage, too.
'New Year’s resolution'… Vic thought to himself, I guess I could go with a die- he stopped in mid-thought, taking a moment to consider what he was thinking. He didn't need to diet. Or at least, he didn't want to…
He swayed himself out of bed and onto his feet, his head spinning as he did so.
“Alright…” Vic said quietly to himself, “Just gonna take it niiice and slow…” He inched his way out of his bedroom and down the hallway into the living room, all the while with one hand pressed onto the back of his head and his eyes barely open. He lowered himself onto the couch, leaning his head back and letting out a grunt.
Vic couldn’t remember much about last night, only a few vague details. He remembered eating like a pig and drinking like a fish, his head and stomach made sure of that. He also remembered one other little thing.
“THE RESOLUTION.” He said worriedly to nobody. He tilted his head forward. He remembered that Eric came up with his, but he couldn’t remember what it was. That’s the part that scared him. He sighed. Whatever it was, it was probably really dumb. After all, those things never last more than a week or two. But still… he couldn’t help but want to know what it was. Maybe he’d call somebody and ask- NO. There was no way in hell he was talking on the phone right now. Being hung over from a New Years Eve party is arguably the same as having pikes dug into either side of your head.
“Well,” Vic started again, this time migrating both his hands to his aching gut, which he looked at with a sense of distaste, “whatever it was, I’m sure it can’t be that bad…”


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This was my resolution; to start writing more. So here's a little something 'bout a fat, drunk wolf. IDK.

Happy New Years!!