Confessions of a Third-Rate Drunk - Part II
By: Gringo

A NOTE FROM JOE: If you have not read Part I of this smart, smart article machine by Gringo I suggest you go here and read it now. Then come on back.


4. Criminal Activity

No formative drinking years are complete without a run-in with the law. Unfortunately, mine happened on one of the first nights that I decided to try the nasty thing called alcohol. I was wandering from the comfort of a bar to a club VERY FAR AWAY for no reason other than my friends had no sense when all the drinks I'd been consuming decided they wanted out of my body. I needed to pee rather badly, and when you're on the main street of a city, what jumps naturally to mind as the first place to find a toilet? A train station platform, of course!

I staggered into the deserted train station (I may have done a twirl like a sissy Mary) and then found a dark corner of the platform and relieved myself. While smirking at the thought of peeing on the city I was living in, I noticed a shadowy figure approach. The figure stopped and said nothing till I finished peeing, so I was still hopeful that maybe it was some perv that would pay me a bit of cash to keep on peeing in front of him. Instead, it turned out to be a policeman.

Said policeman then asked if I'd been drinking. I said both no and yes within the same sentence. He asked for my address and phone number, which rather dimly I made no attempt to keep secret. It was at this point I noticed my two friends, who had been waiting in the main concourse of the station, fleeing like fairies into the night and leaving me to deal with the long arm of the law. By the way, the phrase long arm of the law is a DUMB one. Thank you.

I could have got a criminal record for the peeing, but instead all I got was a caution, and to be honest it stopped me peeing in public. There was one possible way the evening could have been worse: after being told off, I was walking my separate way to the policeman when I felt a bundle of cash notes in my pocket. I was very, very close to handing him the cash and saying "Let's forget about this, eh?" Yeah, that's the level of logic I achieve when drunk. Kids, it's not a wise idea!

5. Personal Injury (Self-Inflicted)

Being intoxicated leads to personal injury. It's that simple. To elaborate, being drunk has caused me to fall over and hit the floor in no less than two nightclubs. It caused me to land face-first in the gutter outside a third nightclub and walk around with sludge smeared down my face for most of the evening, with my oh-so-kind friends not informing me of the fact I looked like I'd gone bobbing for feces until we left the club. It solved the question of why no-one really wanted to talk to me (well, for that night, at least, I can't speak for the others).

But believe me, I've taken a tumble that often from alcohol I know it's just a matter of time before my brain goes on the fritz and explodes on me. One person's head can only get battered so much. Blame vodka. Blame wine. Blame beer. Blame any drink, but rest assured if you start drinking - especially binge drinking - regularly, you will get hurt. But the worst is probably when you're not the one inflicting the pain on your own body.

6. Personal Injury (Friend-Inflicted)

The birthday party. Oh my. That was perhaps the lowlight of my drinking. I had gone to one of my friend's parties to celebrate in a big marquee on a field in the middle of nowhere. There was a lot of free alcohol, and also a lot of obnoxious people. My most regular drinking buddy (the one who observed the girl slapping me) and I hate being around obnoxious people other than ourselves, so we drank. A lot. Pretty soon we weren't really aware of our surroundings.

Now, bear in mind this party had gone to excess. They had tables for serving a three-course dinner, huge amounts of food, a band, the works. The evening pretty much went downhill when they served the main course. I decided that the greasy turkey dish didn't deserve to be on anyone's plate and instead made the wise choice of smothering it all over my friend. In return, he waited until the cake was served for dessert and decided to add that to my wardrobe for the evening.

So far, so childish. Then my friend and I went to see what else we could destroy. Soon enough, we found a circle of cheese. It was as big as a car wheel. My friend and I observed this monster fromage for a moment, before my friend decided to pick it up, shout "CHEEEEEESE" and then hurl it at my head. Mercifully, it missed, and even more mercifully, it broke into pieces, making it a lot less frightening to look at. To retaliate, I threw more turkey and cake at my friend. To retaliate, he picked up a garden chair and raced after me.

Now, this was just a plastic garden chair, so it wouldn't have hurt if he just threw it at me. But I'm a pussy, so I ran like a fairy, inspiring him to chase me. When I turned round, he was wielding the chair like some circus bozo would when doing tricks with a tiger in a big top. That's when he lunged forward. The chair caught my forehead, ripping flesh from it, making me bleed. A lot. And then I went home disgraced. Joy! I told my parents I'd fallen over (tee hee! I was lying like a battered housewife!) and to this day still have a small scar. MORE THAN FIVE YEARS LATER. I hope that's the biggest lesson I can tell you: the things you do drunk stay with you for years, not just the duration of a hangover.

In my mind, I think those six categories, if you can fulfill each one, pretty much sums up most people's experiences of being drunk. It really does get old after a while. Seriously, if you're curious about what it's like to be drunk, just read and reread those six examples. Hell, steal them and use them as your own stories if you'd like, so you've got an excuse to not drink under peer pressure.

After all, now that I've managed to tick all six categories off, I feel like singing that Weezer song "Why Bother?" when it comes to drinking. But then I remember that Weezer started to enjoy the company of other men a bit too much, wrote some very lame songs and then the sneakrobots replaced Rivers Cuomo with a clone that looked like Rivers, tasted like Rivers, but had an IOU note left in the musical talent part of the clone's brain. The sneakrobots must take the blame!


PS: Please don't drink.

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