Buffett's character's acceptance of the possibility that he bears culpability for his actions is the great turning point. This reckoning requires such an effort that he needs an instrumental break to contemplate what he has just admitted to himself and to us. During the break we are reminded just how beguiling all of this is: dissipation is fun. Laying out in the sun, with a pitcher of frozen Margaritas at your side, watching the wet brown bikinis go by, is fun.

But what are your values? Do they include "accomplishing" anything? For most Americans the answer is "yes." We aren't comfortable with a permanent subsistence existence. The only way to maintain this lifestyle is to drown the doubts in alcohol (or something). But alcohol is a poison, of which our body reminds us the next morning, every time. The only way to adddress this nagging from the body and soul is with more alcohol. Thus the cycle begins from which some never recover.

"I blew out my flip flop,
stepped on a pop top
Cut my heel had to cruise on back home
But there's booze in the blender,
And soon it will render,
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on"

This is classic self-crisis-generation to force a decision. In this case the "crisis" is comically overblown. The singer is driven back to the shelter of his shack and his alcohol, but the feeling is that it's for old times sake. He realizes the wafer thinness of his alibi du jour. He thinks it's funny that he has to resort to this sort of rationalization. He knows the end is near, but it sure has been fun, the song is a toast to his soon to be ex-lifestyle. We know that his rehabilitation is near because of the final chorus:

"Some people claim there's a woman to blame
But I know, its my own damn fault."

If the dilemma is his own fault, then only he can remedy the situation. The implication is that he will.