The back-slap nearly lands Jamie facedown on the table but, thankfully, does not provoke any further expulsions of whatever might still remain in his stomach. He is oblivious to the angry ranting of the man whose shoes he barfed on, the banter and laughter of the others around the table, to everything except the awful nauseous feeling still wracking every fiber of his being and the fact that Squalo just told him he did okay.

Jamie turns drunkenly in his seat to watch Squalo totter away and probably mumbles something embarrassing to the effect of "He's so coooool," before he overdoes it. He twists around a little too far trying to follow the guy's progress, loses his balance and falls over, completely off his chair. (Luckily for him, not on the side where he just puked.) He lies there for a moment or two, says "Dude, what" a couple of times and then passes out.

Clearly this drinking game was a success.