I had an uncle who drank like Nana does. Never without a beer in his hand, always having a great time, always indulging his hedonistic impulses. Then he was felled by a heart attack, and forced to dry out in the hospital. When he came home, he was like a scarecrow. Almost unrecognizable, unsteady, with a weird horrified look on his face. By that point, he'd been soused 24/7 for a solid fifteen-plus years, and without it, he was a mere shell of himself. And people throw that expression around a lot, but it was totally apt in his case. The prospect of having to live sober was just too much for him to bear. He started drinking again shortly after, and was dead not even two years later.
Nana made major life decisions based solely on his incessant FN tweeting. He visited Greenville with his sister, had some beers in an FN-free establishment on a nice friendly FN-free street, and decided it was his Utopia, and he needed to move there as soon as possible. So he ordered Missy or whoever to "make it happen", then went back home to tweet, game and booze it up. Meanwhile, it did happen, and Nana became the proud owner of a leaky pre-fab shitbox in Nowheresville, SC. He'd probably forgotten all about it a few hours after he thought it up, but now he was screwed. So he then did what he does best, he blotted out reality with beer, tweets, and games, and made up a bunch of increasingly ridiculous excuses to avoid going there or dealing with it.