How Not to Drink
Tucker Max Drunk: "'Tucker Max' is the ultimate drunk stage. Never mind about operating heavy machinery; I have trouble figuring out door knobs. The only benefit is that I don't have to worry about driving because I can't even find my keys."
Here's my story about one of my "Tucker Max" Drunk nights in which I hope to make clear the reason not to get this absolutely ridiculously drunk, (for those unfamiliar with Tucker Max, he is a wonderfully hilarious internet writer, check it out).
The day/night begins at my friends house "Sam" at which we decided to each drink a six pack of killians before the Wilco show at 7 PM. 7 PM rolls around, we had managed to obtain quite a bit more alcohol and subsequently consume said alcohol. We decided that it'd also be a good idea to each bring along a flask of the good old Jim Beam. 7:30, we make it to the show, pretty shit faced already, and the flasks weren't even open yet, immediately head to the bathroom and chug down some straight whiskey, make it to our seats and stand, or waver perhaps would be a better description as standing was far from our capabilities at this point. Upset that our seats were not closer and seeing the large teaming mass of people gathering in front of the stage, we decide that we deserved to be there. Unfortunately, the ushers did not agree with us, having a lot of whiskey in you makes one just slightly overconfident, so I decided that I could just flirt my way into the front section. I was telling the usher, who was quite cute actually, (I think, it was dark and I was drunk so who knows) how she seemed real nice and should just let us in, I'm not quite sure what I said at that point, but it had her and her friend giggling. Fate was not smiling on us however, as they were about to let us in, another Usher, a nasty little short guy with oversized glasses stuck to his face, decided I was being rude. I declined to agree and he said that if I didn't stop harassing the girls he'd have to throw me out. Now I'm a tall guy, 6'4" at last check, and the thought of a tiny guy who came up barely to my chin physically throwing me out sent me laughing, the girls let him know we weren't harassing them but the little bastard stuck to his guns and with a rather unfriendly look demanded I leave, I made some more derogatory comments and left, thanking the girls for their company.
After the show, I realized it was the monday after easter, here in this town that means only one thing. Dyngus Day. yea, it's as crazy as it sounds. Dyngus Day occurs every year the monday after easter and is celebrated at my favorite bar by dressing up like a complete asshole and getting hammered. Perfect place for me, I already had one requirement fulfilled. At this point, in my hazy head, I'm the biggest badass in the world, and everyone should know me, so I made sure they did. Most of this point in the night is mostly me in black out drunk, so I will recount what I can recall. I remember introducing myself to every girl I saw in the bar, and by introducing myself I mean that I was walking past each of them saying "Hi" and not waiting for a response before moving on. After a while of this I had some random girl buying me drinks, which was lovely of her, really, I needed more to drink, I'm sure that was obvious. I talked to her for a while about things I have no memory of, and apparently just wandered off. I ran into a few more girls I had chatted with that night, a few of which yelled "HEY! You ditched me!" to which I responded with a confused look, shrugged shoulders, and laughter, as I had no memory of talking to them in the first place, let alone having actually taken the time to get to know them to the point where they would be angry that I "ditched" them. I ran into the girl buying me drinks again and then the bad behavior began. She decided to make out with me in the bar, a desire I happily obliged. Then I saw her: The Ex. And not just an ex, one of those bad ex's that you're still kind of pissed at. Completely happy to see her at the time however, I made friendly chat, and, my arm around this new girl, reached over, stole my ex's drink and chugged down. This did not stand well. She made nasty comments, which, as bad ass as I was at the time, I decided I was not going to have any of. I returned her graceful comments with a flip of the finger and a stare down, I win. That's the part of the night I remember, unfortunately apparently I was too wasted to remember I had a girl buying me drinks and just decided to wander home, somehow achieving the goal of my bed, however, sleeping with shoes still on is never comfortable.
The moral of the story is, too much of the drink can make for entertaining stories, but botched pick up.
Here's my story about one of my "Tucker Max" Drunk nights in which I hope to make clear the reason not to get this absolutely ridiculously drunk, (for those unfamiliar with Tucker Max, he is a wonderfully hilarious internet writer, check it out).
The day/night begins at my friends house "Sam" at which we decided to each drink a six pack of killians before the Wilco show at 7 PM. 7 PM rolls around, we had managed to obtain quite a bit more alcohol and subsequently consume said alcohol. We decided that it'd also be a good idea to each bring along a flask of the good old Jim Beam. 7:30, we make it to the show, pretty shit faced already, and the flasks weren't even open yet, immediately head to the bathroom and chug down some straight whiskey, make it to our seats and stand, or waver perhaps would be a better description as standing was far from our capabilities at this point. Upset that our seats were not closer and seeing the large teaming mass of people gathering in front of the stage, we decide that we deserved to be there. Unfortunately, the ushers did not agree with us, having a lot of whiskey in you makes one just slightly overconfident, so I decided that I could just flirt my way into the front section. I was telling the usher, who was quite cute actually, (I think, it was dark and I was drunk so who knows) how she seemed real nice and should just let us in, I'm not quite sure what I said at that point, but it had her and her friend giggling. Fate was not smiling on us however, as they were about to let us in, another Usher, a nasty little short guy with oversized glasses stuck to his face, decided I was being rude. I declined to agree and he said that if I didn't stop harassing the girls he'd have to throw me out. Now I'm a tall guy, 6'4" at last check, and the thought of a tiny guy who came up barely to my chin physically throwing me out sent me laughing, the girls let him know we weren't harassing them but the little bastard stuck to his guns and with a rather unfriendly look demanded I leave, I made some more derogatory comments and left, thanking the girls for their company.
After the show, I realized it was the monday after easter, here in this town that means only one thing. Dyngus Day. yea, it's as crazy as it sounds. Dyngus Day occurs every year the monday after easter and is celebrated at my favorite bar by dressing up like a complete asshole and getting hammered. Perfect place for me, I already had one requirement fulfilled. At this point, in my hazy head, I'm the biggest badass in the world, and everyone should know me, so I made sure they did. Most of this point in the night is mostly me in black out drunk, so I will recount what I can recall. I remember introducing myself to every girl I saw in the bar, and by introducing myself I mean that I was walking past each of them saying "Hi" and not waiting for a response before moving on. After a while of this I had some random girl buying me drinks, which was lovely of her, really, I needed more to drink, I'm sure that was obvious. I talked to her for a while about things I have no memory of, and apparently just wandered off. I ran into a few more girls I had chatted with that night, a few of which yelled "HEY! You ditched me!" to which I responded with a confused look, shrugged shoulders, and laughter, as I had no memory of talking to them in the first place, let alone having actually taken the time to get to know them to the point where they would be angry that I "ditched" them. I ran into the girl buying me drinks again and then the bad behavior began. She decided to make out with me in the bar, a desire I happily obliged. Then I saw her: The Ex. And not just an ex, one of those bad ex's that you're still kind of pissed at. Completely happy to see her at the time however, I made friendly chat, and, my arm around this new girl, reached over, stole my ex's drink and chugged down. This did not stand well. She made nasty comments, which, as bad ass as I was at the time, I decided I was not going to have any of. I returned her graceful comments with a flip of the finger and a stare down, I win. That's the part of the night I remember, unfortunately apparently I was too wasted to remember I had a girl buying me drinks and just decided to wander home, somehow achieving the goal of my bed, however, sleeping with shoes still on is never comfortable.
The moral of the story is, too much of the drink can make for entertaining stories, but botched pick up.
posted by Subhuti at 8:36 PM
1 Comments:
Sorry to use your comment form for this, but I couldn't find your email readily.
We've been hearing about your blog from some of our listeners at the Pickup Podcast (www.pickuppodcast.com) and it looks like we share similar interests and content. I'd like to set up a link-exchange so that we can drive traffic to one another's site. Let us know what you think.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
-Jordon
www.pickuppodcast.com
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