Tales of excess (Tequila stories, particularly)
Jack
Tequila came up. And I made the observation, that for an awful lot of
stories I've heard where people are explaining how it is that they got half
a tattoo, Or that funny little scar over their right eye, or why it's no
longer safe for them to visit St. Louis again, or why they're banned from a
particular Denny's, the story frequently starts with the line, "Well,
someone said, 'Hey, wanna do some tequila shots?'"
This has been such a universal experience of mine, that I've been of the
opinion that the it's slogan should be, "Tequila: When you absolutely,
positively, have to wind up passed out naked on the bathroom floor."
So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
I won't go into details on mine own, but I will remark that that particular
night *started* with me dropping by the club briefly to see a few friends
and have a beer, and ended up with me sitting around in my underwear with a
couple of people I'd never met before, in some girl's apartment at 11am,
(Two hours before I was due at work.) still doing tequila shots. And that I
*still* can't stand the smell of the stuff.
--
-Jack- "Death, it's not just for breakfast anymore."
If you want to avoid getting lost in the spam, send
replies to jack (AT) mari (DOT) net
SLot0k
in message <70i30u$c...@enews4.newsguy.com>:
<snip all too familiar story regarding tequila>
About 10 years ago I lived in Austin. My
SO at the time brought me a fifth back from
a weekend trip to Mexico. I proceeded to
drink it over the course of a day. I didn't
bother with a glass, salt, or limes. Too much
trouble.
Upon waking the next day tied to my bed, I
was naturally somewhat curious as to what had
occured for me to end up secured in this
manner.
Apparently, we stopped off at my apartment,
and my TV and stereo were missing. I
immediately assumed that the roommate (who
wasn't the most stable of sorts[1]) had stolen it
to support a nasty coke habit. I then decided
that he must have the stuffing kicked out of
him. In order to prevent it from happening ,
the people I was with dragged me home
(my house (not the apt)) and tied me to the bed
to prevent said roomie from getting killed.
It took 4 of them to do it. At the time I think I
weighed about 118 or so.
I tend to avoid tequila based beverages these
days.
Ry
(who says vodka is another story)
[1] He OD'ed within six weeks.
--
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JeanCroix
>So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
>but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
*Sigh* Well, at least this way I shouldn't have to explain to
anyone at C5 why I don't drink tequila...
About five years ago, at the beginning of my senior year at RPI,
my friends G (I'll use initials to "protect" those with fairly
unique names) and D and I went out to celebrate D's birthday.
For some reason, D was driving. He took us to a place called the
Park V, which I had never been to before. It turned out to be
some kind of swanky upper-crust club-- jacket and tie required,
and all the women were wearing evening gowns. D had come dressed for
it, and G and I hadn't, but we still somehow got in.
D met up with some of his other friends there, and they spent most
of the rest of the night on the dance floor, while G and I
figured we might as well do some drinking. I asked him if he wanted
to do a tequila shot, and he said he'd never had tequila. This
kind of dumbfounded me; he was from Houston! So I bought us a
round, and he loved it. Over the next 45 minutes, we did 7 shots
together, and I did an 8th for good measure. I think I had a beer
or two in there somewhere as well. Our battle cry of the evening
was, "Tequila loves me!"
We finally headed out to D's car when it was time to go-- I
remember being confused at having to walk down the short flight
of steps to the door, and I couldn't stop laughing for some reason.
They dropped me off in front of my place, and I managed to get
inside and into the bathroom. I spent the next couple of hours
fading in and out of oblivion, leaning against the wall in
front of the toilet, but I never threw up. It was the worst
feeling-- the nausea, that tequila taste that defied even Listerine,
and the lack of control over my own consciousness.
I must have staggered back to my room and gone to bed at some
point, because I remember waking up at sunrise with my first-ever
"insomnia hangover." I simply could not get back to sleep; even
though my head was pounding, I was wide awake. And I still had
that gawdawful tequila taste in my mouth. So I went out and
ran a few miles.
But, since this experience, I have not been able to tolerate the taste
of tequila.
-JeanCroix, who at least kept his clothes on...
--
D a.g.s-f: Semper Monemus Sed Non Audiunt, Ergo Lartus E
http://homepages.nci2000.net/JeanCroix Keine Mitleid Fur Die Mehrheit
Only _2433554_ days until X-Day! "Oh my god, Nny killed Kenny! You bast--"
V Ordo Templi Ashus: First SubChurch of Ash, Patron of Shotgun & Chainsaw O
basilisk
>"Jack" <thri...@rocketmail.com> writes:
>
>>So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
>>but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
Well, here goes... It was a New Years party (93 to be exact). A group of
friends from a radio station i worked at (yes, several goth shows, in the
afternoon no less!), threw a party. The alcohol was flowing, people having
a good time and somehow tequila came up. Me being 20 at the time had no
experience with tequila (vodka was my drink then). Suddenly it became such
an issue that I just "had" to try it. Well, by the time i tried it I was
pretty inebriated. I couldn't really taste it all that much. I had around
9 shots (I was told). Then the night started flashing in and out, this was
my first out of body drunk experience ;). I woke up in several places,
stairway, outside, under table.. My place of rest came to the ever popular
bathroom. There I was sprawled out on the linoleum, wrestling with my shirt
that all of a sudden became too hot to bear... After around an hour of
vomiting (and boy do i bellow when i vomit), I passed out. I woke up to my
girlfriend at the time who was checking up on me. She brought me a glass of
water which i managed to sip a little. Then THAT TASTE... revolting... I
passed out again. I awake after what seemed like a few minutes to find my
girlfriend telling me she HAD to use the bathroom and that someone else was
sick in the other bathroom.. I informed her she'd just have to climb over
me because there's no way in hell i'm moving... She jokingly told me, "ok,
i'm just gonna pee on your back then...". Still being very drunk I screamed
out "NO! My God, please don't pee on me", to me it seemed she was dead
serious. She kept joking saying "here i come!" . She climbed over me,
kicking over the glass of water that was lying behind me. "MY GOD" I
thought, i just can't believe she would pee on me!!! I started screaming "I
F'n can't believe you pissed on me!", "how could you do this to me?!" "I
don't believe it!!". The whole house heard this.. I came out after my last
pass out, totally embarrassed... I was feeling quite sick and her sister
was coming to pick us up. Her sister arrived and they hauled me out to the
car. I felt ok up until i got out of the car at her house (I had only met
her parents a week before this). Her family came out to greet us.. and I
promptly threw up in their front lawn... I NEVER drank tequila (T-Kill-Ya)
again..
basilisk
Empty
spouted the following:
>So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
>but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
Tequila: I have woken up once or twice after a good solid tequila
drunk(Well, maybe more than once or twice- I love tequila, live 45
minutes away from the Mexico border).
On one of these occassions I had what I like to call that "Baby Bear"
feeling.
You know, "Who's been sleeping in my bed?"
~Empty
"Maybe if I stare at this long enough it will boil."
~Tara, looking at the fax machine
50 Ft Queenie
>
> "Jack" <thri...@rocketmail.com> writes:
>
> >So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> >but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
>
> anyone at C5 why I don't drink tequila...
I'm with you, and you'll understand why after this
story.
Near the end of my first year of university, my
cousin came to visit me and we went out drinking.
We started at a crappy cliquey dance club where I
had a beer and a rum and Coke. Then we went to a
bar called GT's, which was famous for its $1
shooters. I started by ordering 2 kamikazes and a
B52, and drank them down at once.
Then I decided that tequila was the stuff to have
and startd ordering anything with tequila, doing
two more sets of three shooters. That's 2 drinks
and 9 shooters so far. Then I ordered my final
three, and by this time I was so drunk that I
weaving back and forth in front the bar. The final
shot I drank was a Prairie Fire - tequila and
scotch. I don't remember much after that. I recall
coming to facedown in the women's washroom, being
very sick. Then my cousin and someone else leading
me out of the bar, and I was so drunk that I
couldn't see. My cousin drove me home and I puked
down the side of her parents car, which she made
me clean up the next morning.
The morning after...oh man, the pain! I dry-heaved
for an hour upon awakening, my head felt like a
jackhammer was pounding on it, I couldn't keep any
food down, and everyone in my dorm came and
laughed at me.
Oh those fond memories..;)
Steph
kb
blanket, picnic basket, tequila (and that college standby Riunite!)...and
mexican cheese dip & chips (oh how romantic!!!)...
Anyway, we started on the munchies and drinkies and after about 30 minutes
noticed an *awful* smell exuding from the blanket and the grass around us.
*SOMEHOW* we had set up camp right in the middle of a STINKBUG colony (I
didn't know they did that!)...the smell of the crushed and injured and very
pissed off stinkbugs was horrible, especially in combo with the food n drink,
so we moved the party to somebody's house...
That was when the heavy drinking began (after much handwashing and some
clothes shedding to remove stinkbug smell...
...one of the Beatles collections was playing on the stereo and after
somebody said "I dare you" I remember filling a tumbler with tequila and
downing it nearly in one go. (the beatles song was "number nine" and those
lyrics still make me feel queasy.) Before I hit the bottom of the tumbler I
was already in that tequila otherworld/netherworld...and the blanking out and
coming-to went on for quite a while. My only clear recollections were those of
the prayers to porcelain gods and the pain of falling (read sliding slowly)
down the front of the stereo cabinet, my back catching something pointy and
metallic on the way down...
...that was it until the next morning (err, afternoon!) when I awoke in my
bed, dressed only in bra and underpants, on top of rumpled covers, with a head
that felt like it had been stomped on, and a large swollen red welted scratch
down my back, that was beginning to bruise.
Needless to say, I haven't gone to the bad tequila realm since!
--Kath
Fenhrir Masquereth
> So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
May as well respond to this one. Lord knows I've been there.
Okay, I am still a sports junkie, and my friend ordered the entire
NBA playoffs this past year. Every weekend, and a good number of weekdays,
I'd go over to his house, we'd start drinking, and by the end of the game,
we'd be lit like Disney's Electric Parade. Keep in mind I'm only 5'10",
180lbs. My friend, on the other hand, is basically a Viking. 6'6", 325lbs.
He even claims direct line to Norway's throne. Anyways, this particular
night starts out with me on his computer trying to figure out a computer
game he just got that had only minimum instructions. The game is in 2
hours, I just biked over from work, I'm needing a drink. So he plops down
a very strong bourbon-and-coke. His fave drink. It's in a glass basically
the same size as a Large McDonald's drink cup. He then informs me that I'd
better hurry up with that glass, as there was much more left. Did I
mention this was a Tuesday night?
After slamming down the drink, he returns with an even stronger
drink of the same type. I'm merrily buzzing at this point, basically
having 3.5 shots of bourbon in about 5 minutes. I can still see the
screen, and am trying to colonize a world and I start drinking this newer,
stronger version of his old favorite. Okay, I can now see the screen
clearly if I close one eye.
The game is still 1.5 hours away.
This continues for two more drinks, by which time I'm grinning
like an idiot (BIG fucking drinks, I think he held the Coke bottle next to
the glass on the last two of them), and he cuts me off. Well, this lasts
until the game starts, at which time he comes into the room with a small
bottle of Tequila. Saying "My mom got this for me for my birthday, but
you're the only one I know who'll drink this nasty shit," he hands it to
me, at which point I start slugging it straight from the bottle (maybe the
size of a medium MickeyD's cup).
Elegantly wasted? We're still warming up. Some people are
practicing alcoholics, when I'm at my friend's, we're professional.
After shivering down the last of the Tequila, and wondering when a
stomach pump is on its way, one of our friends comes over with Natural
Light beer. I thought "Hey, that shit is nasty, but maybe I"m drunk enough
where I won't notice it." Wrong. Nat Light ALWAYS tastes like shit, no
matter HOW drunk you are.
My friend's wife had some liqueurs in the house: Creme de Cacao,
Frangelico, and Kahlua. Mixing the three of these with cream at the end of
the game (twice) has me to the point I can't see straight no matter what.
I can't even think. After seeing me holding on for dear life to a chair
just sitting there, my Viking friend thinks: "Hrm, this small fellow has
probably had enough. Maybe I should quit handing him drinks." Good idea.
I take a coca-cola to play some video hockey, and that's the last
thing I remember.
What I was told, however, was that while he was still mixing
bourbon for himself, I would wander into the kitchen (keep in mind I'm
totally blacked out at this point), grab the bourbon bottle and start
chugging. "Fen! What are you doing!?"
"Nothing, John, why?"
"Put that bottle down!"
"Oh, okay." He turns around.
*sound of Fen chugging the bourbon again*
"FEN! Go into the other room and get ready to play hockey again."
"Oh, okay." Repeat for another hour.
I'm soon thereafter poured into the back bedroom, and in
(relatively) short order, woken up for work. Slight problem. I'm still
blitzed beyond recognition. Let's just say after an unfortunate accident
at work, I was told to go home, as I must have a stomach virus.
(who says it ain't a great story, but I'm not tellin' the one about when I
was woken up by my mom when she found me sleeping naked kneeling by the
toilet)
Fenhrir Masquereth
=================================================================
"Kill the individual, the rest will follow automatically"
"What happens to you here is forever"
=================================================================
shadowplay
> >
> > >So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> > >but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
<sigh>
Tequila is in the main responsible for
my frequent sidewalk-naps in the french quarter.
Local hole-in-the-wall bar the Decatur House (RIP)
used to have a sunday night Margarita Special - all
you could drink for $3. Needless to say that I prided
myself on getting my money's worth. :)
Due to the tequila specials, I have:
1) passed out in the alley next to St. Louis Cathedral,
and remained there for several hours, praying that
the enormous New Orleans cockroaches would
find someone else to bother.
2) *crawled* down a long hallway, through a courtyard,
and up three flights of stairs to get to my apartment.
3) curled up on a sidewalk to pass out, later realized I
was lying on broken glass. (but it was car window
glass - didn't cause any damage)
How embarrassing.
On the bright side, I've never gotten nekkid in
public during any bouts with tequila. Fell head
over heels down the Convent's stairs several
times, but that's about it. I usually try to find
someplace out of the way in which to pass out,
else I'd never hear the end of it later on.
- Misha - who still loves tequila...but tequila doesn't love her.--
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Convergence V - New Orleans - April 2-4, 1999
official C5 website: http://www.slashpalace.org/NOLA
C5 travel and ride/roomshare: http://www.digitalangel.com/c5
New Orleans Goth Guide: http://www.blood-dance.net/~nolagoth
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
.
Ron Cecchini
slo...@aol.commapson (SLot0k) wrote:
> the people I was with dragged me home [...] and tied me to the bed
...
> It took 4 of them to do it. At the time I think I weighed about 118
You just confirmed my second favorite line regarding my favorite non-
Guinness Adult Beverage.
The first is "Tequila makes you bulletproof."
The second is "Tequila is liquid PCP."
(you can use either of those. just remember who <ahem> gets the credit.)
i, personally, don't have too many Tequila Horror Stories, 'cause, like,
i'm not a wuss like the rest of you.
However, my house once had an all-tequila party.
Once.
Brothers were jumping off the roof, flying through windows, breaking
chairs over each other's heads, etc. People (men & women alike) ran
away screaming.
i think next party was nothing but Shirley Temples...
][
(who's barely exaggerating)
Dag Wästberg
Fenhrir Masquereth <fen...@gdn.net> writes:
> On Tue, 20 Oct 1998, Jack wrote:
e. Keep in mind I'm only 5'10",
> 180lbs. My friend, on the other hand, is basically a Viking. 6'6", 325lbs.
> He even claims direct line to Norway's throne.
So does everybody in Norway. There where a couple of kings who were, shall we
say, productive back in the good old days. So everybody and their dog can now
draw lineage back to the old Royal family. The current royal family is bit
trickier to claim heritidge to however.
Dag (should be revising Math)
SLot0k
write in response:
>The first is "Tequila makes you bulletproof."
>The second is "Tequila is liquid PCP."
I actually have a T-Shirt that lists the 4 stages
of Tequila:
Stage One: "I'm rich."
Stage Two: "I'm good looking."
Stage Three: "I'm bulletproof."
Stage Four: "I'm invisible."
Ry
(who got good news today and will probably
drink in celebration, but it won't be Tokillma)
March A. Briner
>
>Brothers were jumping off the roof, flying through windows, breaking
>chairs over each other's heads, etc. People (men & women alike) ran
>away screaming.
>i think next party was nothing but Shirley Temples...
You went to Plymouth State College, didn't you?
Marc
Cassidy
>I NEVER drank tequila (T-Kill-Ya) again..
Such a common capper to tequila stories. :)
I had one _really_ bad experience with Morgan's and since then,
something deep in my subconscious has prevented me from enjoying the
taste of anything remotely resembling rum. Which tequila rather does.
Heh.
However, another point - When choosing my drink, I'd prefer to avoid
drinks which are _improved_ by the addition of a worm. :)
All this of course is made slightly irrelevant by the fact that I
_love_ margaritas and can guzzle them down at a rate _much_ too great
for my poor body to handle adequately. (My tolerance for all
psychoactives seems to be remarkably low. See my earlier post on
codeine. [Ah, codeine... :] I just don't seem to cycle them out of my
bloodstream very fast.)
However, when I first started drinking margaritas, I had no idea they
contained tequila. (I was younger then. Plus, I'm Canadian. For us,
tequila is a Strange Foreign Drink. :) So I suspect my subconscious
was silly enough to not realise I was drinking - horrors - rum and
therefore failed to wake up in time to make me hate it.
Neurotic? Me? You don't know. :)
Better stop ramblin', I guess...
--
GothCode 98: CUOfba3iaSdaqaaaHbaa55gyMSMQsj96glavbhiK1#ZF!a7k7Pci6naeainiaeg2ZIcVddkvpk6baasEbqgUXMFaaaaaabcaNB
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Better to reign in Assembly Language then serve in Structured Programming!
--- Tim Of-Angle
David Gerard
:This has been such a universal experience of mine, that I've been of the
:opinion that the it's slogan should be, "Tequila: When you absolutely,
:positively, have to wind up passed out naked on the bathroom floor."
*snatch* Got it!
--
http://thingy.apana.org.au/~fun/ AGSF Unit 0|4 http://www.netizen.com.au/
Stop JUNK EMAIL Boycott AMAZON.COM http://mickc.home.mindspring.com/index1.htm
"Tequila: When you absolutely, positively, have to wind up passed out naked on
the bathroom floor." (Jack)
Casper The BitterGoff
>
> <Snip!>
> So, please share your stories of drunken excess.
> Any will be considered, but I'm *particularly*
> interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
You Know, I've Got A Lot Of Drunken Stories.
Unfortunatly, Most Of Them Aren't Very Funny. They
Make People Cringe A Lot Though...
Let's See...
I Was With Three Friends Who Have, Over The Years, Proven
Again And Again That I Shouldn't Take Them Out In Public
When Inebriated. We'd Started Our Night Of Booze-Fueled
Mayhem Rather Early With A Case Of Beer And A Pizza.
Slightly Sloshed, We'd Decided To Head On Over To A
Downtown Pub For Some Serious Drinking And A Bit Of Music.
Stingers, Vodka, Tequila And Whiskey Later, We Were Deep
Into A Conversation (Or Rather A Shouting Match) About The
Nastiest Accidents That Had Happenned To Us. Each One Of Us
Trying To Outdo The Others, We Started Showing Off Our Scars...
None Of Us Were Very Conscious At This Point But, What The Hell,
We Were Having Fun Pointing At Scars On Our Arms And Faces.
Pretty Soon, However, All Three Of Us Had Our Shirts Off.
"That's Nothing, I Said, Look At This One On My Shoulder.
That, My Friend, Is A 3 Inch Long Cut From A Knife[1]"
Friend Proceeds To Show Me A Huge One On His Belly: "Metal Fence
Spike-Thingie".
Not One To Be Outdone, I Proceeded To Remove My Pants.
At That Point, The Doorman (who Had Apparently Been Watching
Our Debate With Growing Unease) Grabs Me & Throws Me Outside.
It's Fall, I'm Outside With No Shirt And My Pants Around My
Ankles In The Middle Of One Of The Busiest Streets In Montreal.
I Must Have Stood There, Not Moving, For A Good 4-5 Minutes,
Completly Confused, Amidst The Laughs And Wolf-Whistles Of
Onlookers Before Some Wandering Punk Said "Whoa, Nice Scar."
Feeling Vindicated, I Then Walked Over To My Friends And
Clothing Who Were Unceremoniously Being Chucked Out Of The
Pub And Started Dressing Up.
...
*That* Would Be My Least Humiliating Story.
_Casper The BitterGoff
[1]Which It's Not Really. A Woman Did It With Her Nails But
There Was No Way I Was Gonna Admit To That...
duches...@my-dejanews.com
"Jack" <thri...@rocketmail.com> wrote:
> stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
well . . . no tequila drunks. because i hate tequila.
but vodka. and mad dog. oooo yes, been there. and cider. but mostly mad dog.
one particularlily vile combination of mad dog, cherry brandy, rum, cider,
lemonade and white wine (aja magical mystery punch)led to an epic evening, a
next morning where i couldn't even keep aspirin down, and a hangover that i
had to fall down a mountain twice to shake. nothing like a tumble in the mud,
or two, to relign the pain centers.
heh that was a good night. *chuckle* the next morning me and my (male)
partner(s) in debauchery surveyed the living room and noted there was a lot of
women's underwear strewn around.
and then i said, yes, and you know what, none of its mine!
i do tend to do odd things like scrub cookers when i'm drunk. for some reason
burned on grease irritates me on a cellular level and i just *have* to scrub
it off. with a steel wool pad, if necessary.
the one thing i've managed to put myself off of is applejack brandy--after
several weeks of drinking it mixed with warm pepsi i just cannot drink it
anymore. and i'm wary of jello shots, too.
duchess owlie, back. sort of. london is a lot of fun, so far.
-----------== Posted via Deja News, The Discussion Network ==----------
http://www.dejanews.com/ Search, Read, Discuss, or Start Your Own
-Lux-
!Last night, while talking on the phone with a friend of mine, the subject of
!Tequila came up. And I made the observation, that for an awful lot of
!stories I've heard where people are explaining how it is that they got half
!a tattoo, Or that funny little scar over their right eye, or why it's no
!longer safe for them to visit St. Louis again, or why they're banned from a
!particular Denny's, the story frequently starts with the line, "Well,
!someone said, 'Hey, wanna do some tequila shots?'"
Now that you mention it..I've heard pretty much the same stories.;>
So, it was my senior trip to sunny Cancun, Mexico. I decided to go because I
figured I could brave the sun & the painfully stupid majority of my senior class
& get some awesome religious kitsch at market, while taking advantage of the 18+
drinking law [which isn't enforced as long as you can see over the bar].
The first night, a group of friends & I go to a hideous club called Top Daddy.
Yard drinks are everywhere, the Spice Girls are blaring out over the PA, and the
bronzed bikini-clad girls from my senior class are gyrating everywhere, flopping
around drunkenly while coated with glo-in-the-dark bodypaint.
I feel ill. That is, until I find out that a yard of the concoction of my choice
is only $4 american. I grin, and head for the bar.
I have two and a half yards of tequila sunrise, and generous helpings from my
friend's Blue Hawaiian yard. I giggle a lot. I goth-dance to Aqua's "Barbie
Girl". I am thoroughly intoxicated.
I only had two and a *half* yards of tequila sunrise, because midway through my
third, I get the wonderful idea to pour the rest of it all over myself and dance
in a cage above the dance floor.
I go back to our hotel, where I swim in the pool fully clothed. Someone takes me
to my room, where I vomit with a force that propels my body off of the bathroom
floor. I wake up the next morning after a blissful sleep, still clutching my
last empty yardglass.
I get on the bus, eat breakfast, and then go to the liquor store down the street
which gives free tequila shots to young ladies. I return to my hotel room, & get
ready to repeat the above mentioned process. ;>
-Lux-
[jose cuervo is not your friend]
-Lux-
random frippery: |eater of pudding - net.goth _ ,, _
www.deathsdoor.com/garmonbozia/|electric fetus - dancer of / `'=)(='` \
I _will_ be at C5, dammit! |many jigs - buyer of shoes /.-.-.\/.-.-.\
` `
Gildedbat9
>So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
>but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
>
>
Perhaps I am sick..I love tequila.
I can't get enough of it. But when
tequila first became my drink of
choice, around 19-20, I couldn't
hold my liqour really well. So the
stories I have are mostly from 5
years ago.
The best night of tequila debauchery
was New Year's eve at the end of 95'.
We had an impromptu party of sorts,
where everyone with nothing better
to do, came over and got insanely
drunk. I consumed my own big bottle
of Jose Cuervo, and began locking
people in the bathroom to sing to them.
A few people left shortly after being
tortured. Then when I actually had
to pee, I squatted over my poor kitties
litter box and soaked about half the litter.
But I did cover it up.
When my closest friend wanted to go
to her car, which was parked in a
nearby parking lot, I gladly walked
with her, and stole an ashtray from the doorway of a bank, and carried it back
to our apartment (we still have it),
singing all the way, and flashing the
passing cars.
I was rather embarassedthe next day,
when everyone who remained filled
me in on my fits of absurdity, but soon
after learned to control my drunken
madness a bit.
.....lisa (finally getting back to earth from an unexpected trip through hell)
~Erotica, Vox & Violin~
"Not ashes to ashes, not dust to dust, a beckoning bouquet of blossoming lust"
~creatures
The Evil Chemist
>
> This has been such a universal experience of mine, that I've been of the
> opinion that the it's slogan should be, "Tequila: When you absolutely,
> positively, have to wind up passed out naked on the bathroom floor."
I must be a real freak then, b/c Tequilla is my shot of choice.
I can't drink southern Comfort, Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, or Vodka
<any kind>, b/c my body has develop some sort of involuntary reaction to
it based on previous experience. I get quezzy at the mere scent of it. I
can tell you some really nasty experiences with the above.
I can inhale toxic amounts of other volatiles without reaction, but I
can't even take a small whiff of the above.
Me and tequila are old pals though.
In Mexico, they would give out shots like they were water.
One day in Mexico, I was attacked by an 11 year old with a super soaker
filled with tequila in a local pub. I was forced to drink copious
amounts, lest I go blind the bad way <from tequila in the eyes.>
Later, we went on a cruise ship where the attendents were passing out
slammers. I was in the washroom taking a leak, when I hear a loud slam,
The door swings open and a hand appears holding a fizzing shot.
This is what it was like for the entire cruise.
I ended up losing my friends and didn't have a key, so I slept in the
hotel hallway in front of our door. My friends told me they dragged me in
when they came home and were banging my head against the walls. I
not so much as stirred.
I woke up fine the next morning.
There was a pair of red lacy panties rotating on the ceiling fan and I
have no idea what transpired, but I know there was no way I could have
possibly been involved in the condition I was in.
jv
Dag Wästberg
l...@mpinet.net (-Lux-) writes:
> I feel ill. That is, until I find out that a yard of the concoction of my choice
> is only $4 american. I grin, and head for the bar.
>
> I have two and a half yards of tequila sunrise, and generous helpings from my
> friend's Blue Hawaiian yard. I giggle a lot. I goth-dance to Aqua's "Barbie
> Girl". I am thoroughly intoxicated.
/picks himself off the floor after almost falling off his chair in surprise
Um these aren't real yards are they??? as in 3 feet or 36 inches as in 3-4
pints or whatever it is (some brit goth help me out here). What do you Yanks
call a yard anyway. I sure hope it ain't the same as a British yard.
Dag (who would consider 2.5 yards of larger a an impressive enough feat)
Ron Cecchini
jver...@indiana.edu (The Evil Chemist) wrote:
> I must be a real freak then, b/c Tequilla is my shot of choice.
Me & you both.
i would've mentioned that, but i figured i made that point clear long ago...
> I can't drink southern Comfort, Jack Daniels
Interestingly enough (well, actually, not interesting at all...), but those
were my 1st 2 "drinks of choice", and in that order.
i remember *way* back, when i was in SoCo Mode, people would be like
"How the *hell* can you drink that? It's syrup!" to which i'd reply
something like "Yummmmm...", and pour it over my pancakes...
Ick. Not really, but i loved the taste of it for a year or two.
And then, one morning: *poof*. The mere taste or whiff of it made me
queasy like you were saying; and, no, it didn't involve a puke fest the
night before.
Next, a long term Love Affair w/ Mr. Daniels.
And me & Jack reached new heights together in our mutual respect.
The funny thing was that i honestly didn't have a drinking *problem*.
i just built up a tolerance to the stuff, said tolerance allowing me to
slug back 5 and 6 shot glasses of the stuff out of a glass at room temp.
[ sidenote: i hope no one thinks i'm condoning drinking, or insinuating that,
to be cool or have fun, you must drink. i totally respect those who choose
not to drink for their varied reasons. ]
Then, same thing: *poof*. The bitch dumped me.
Finally, while on a Cosmic Trip across the Cosmos, i ran into a funky
little Mexican man named Jose.
Jose showed me "The Way", as did a Giant Space Slug from the planet Mescal.
i vowed to be their disciple.
It is time to pray...
][
SLot0k
>
>][
I'm sure that prayer involves the words "Viva
El Chupe" somewhere.
Ry
(who says for more than one reason)
Jennie Kermode
>So does everybody in Norway. There where a couple of kings who were, shall we
>say, productive back in the good old days. So everybody and their dog can now
>draw lineage back to the old Royal family. The current royal family is bit
Hmm... Donald can claim this too, actually - he can trace his
line (of which he is the direct male heir) back to the Viking prince
Michael who became king of Scotland. We figure there's only a few hundred
people between him and the Scottish throne. Now if we could only get them
all in the one place at one time... ;)
Jennie
--
Jennie Kermode http://www.skinner.demon.co.uk/jennie jen...@innocent.com
Gothcode 3.0A: GoAu7$CS3 TGlTgFeNr9 PMoRSg B40/90Bk"4 cBk9 V6s
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p75765Rd D77* h7AdFeGl sF5PSrWy k7BdSMmDspFNRWT N0893NEH HfsSp10 LukGla9
Greylock
>So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
>but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
I must simply add to this thread.
For about 6 months during my 19th year on Planet Earth my preferred tipple was
Tequila.
A 375mL bottle of Tequila.
Straight.
( I was too poor to buy mixer _and_ alcohol back then).
I have _no_ horror stories about it.
Not one.
Not even one involving a worm.
This was in the days before I began to experience the dreaded hangover.
However,
I do have one slightly embarrassing story which involves
1 Open bar at a swanky function centre.
7 Glasses of cheap cask wine.
No food for the proceeding 24 hours
1 State Police Minister
20 High ranking police officers
1 Police pursuit car
1 Italian restaurant
2 Buckets.
5 Litres of water.
No hangover.
No further information will be given.
---H*ydn
--->>>> AETHER SANCTUM ISSUE SIX: http://www.goth.org.au
-Welcome to alt.gothic.We're not "most people". www.darkwave.org.uk/faq/ag
- The aus.culture.gothic FAQ at http://www.ooze.net/auscg/
catalyst
>
> >It is time to pray...
> >
> >][
>
> I'm sure that prayer involves the words "Viva
> El Chupe" somewhere.
>
i'll drink to that.
catalyst.
=-=
Marcus Pan
[snip]
> *That* Would Be My Least Humiliating Story.
Cas? PLEASE continue... :)
--
===>Papa-PAN<===A.G.S-F USE===<http://www.zenweb.com/pan>
My BabyGoths...LordBiran & Cymbeline & Hillary & Siobhan & Fuchsia
& Niles & Narnia & Necroangel & Ghoulie & Ischtar & Ivy & Porphyria &
Zoe & Rogue & Annette & Grimm & Issobella & Shahrazad & Rain!
Marcus Pan
>
> >So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> >but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
Not tequila. Camptain Morgans...here we go.
It was the 13th annual Rennassaince Festival in Sterling Forest, NY. I
had just closed the crystal shop I was helping to run. I had some Steak
on a Stake and headed back to my tent as twilight was gathering round.
It was Saturday night. Break for quick explanation...
Faire-runners would usually arrive at the staff campgrounds on Friday
nights and immediately crash because of working that day, then driving
to NY, etc. Saturday morning we'd get up, let the touristy types run
around a bit and then shut down Saturday night. This was party
night...we'd go back to the campground, set things on fire, drink a lot
and generally act all merry and stuff usually characterized by loud,
off-key singing and other items of revelry. Then we'd find our way to
our tents, sleep, wake up Sunday morning and drone through the last day
of the fair for that week while we try hard to keep our heads on
straight and the touristy types quiet so the straightness ends. Oh, and
about the party thing...I didn't know it at the time. It was a
revelation I discovered at the bottom of the hill in a prone
posistion...but I'm jumping ahead here.
Off to my tent I go only to be stopped short by Robert, a guy who did
NOTHING BUT go from fair to fair to fair. He was a gypsy, really. I
kind of admired that freedom even if I knew that lack of a permanent net
connection would drive me insane. :) "Huzzah, Marcus, 'ave a drinkey!"
"Robert, you can drop the accented things now."
"Oh, yeah. Here. Drink something."
He handed me a bottle. Now it was beginning to get dark, I couldn't
tell what it was, but it smelled GREAT. So I drank. And thusly was I
introduced to the great man we call Captain Morgan. I learned something
about spiced rum that night. I learned that it goes down real easy.
And it's one of those sneak-attack liquors. Allow me to explain...
So around the fire we sit. It was actually this night that Robert
pulled out some anti-AD&D pamphlet that got me, in my drunken stupor,
pissy enough to start Legends. Yes, Legends' womb was actually a bottle
of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum. Imagine that.
So I haven't stood in a while and just didn't realize how inebriated I
was becoming. It got late though, and I had to get to my tent. So off
I went, stumbling over everying, walking DIRECTLY THROUGH the campfire
that Robert currently had going at about knee-high (remember, he was a
pro at this fair stuff) and as I smell the odor of burnt jeans I
realize...I AM WASTED. I somehow managed to find my tent however, and
missed it. How it is possible to walk towards a big tent (there were
three of us in this one, so we had this big two-roomer) and somehow MISS
IT COMPLETELY I don't know. Unfortunately, the tent was popped up on
the crest of a rather big hill. The trail to the hill was pretty easy,
but the other three sides were not. They were also heavily wooded
hillsides...I know because I left a piece of my flesh on every piece of
wood.
I bumbled past the tent, realized I missed it but didn't have the
forethought to stop and suddenly I was rolling rolling rolling and
gathering up momentum and speed as I tore through undergrowth,
tripfalls, leaves, dirt, trees, deadfalls and fallen branches down one
of the aforementioned steep sides. And there I was...prone, bruised,
bleeding and in a bit of pain at the bottom of the hill. Against the
trunk of an oak that now had an imprint of my forehead in its side.
Somehow I managed to escape terrible bodily injury and only received a
number of lashes, bruises and scrapes...nothing terrible.
And guess what, I have a moral to this story. :) ALWAYS MOVE AROUND
WHILST YOU DRINK. Never stay seated for too long and keep drinking...a
lot of times you won't realize just how sloppy you're getting until you
get up. And by then...it's too late and the hill will swallow you.
Greylock
sigh:
> Hmm... Donald can claim this too, actually - he can trace his
>line (of which he is the direct male heir) back to the Viking prince
>Michael who became king of Scotland. We figure there's only a few hundred
>people between him and the Scottish throne. Now if we could only get them
>all in the one place at one time... ;)
And, of course, restore the Scots monarchy.
Let's just hope I'm included in the few hundred people between Donald and the
throne, should he ever decide to engage in this course of action after a few
Tequilla slammers.
Jennie Kermode
>Um these aren't real yards are they??? as in 3 feet or 36 inches as in 3-4
>pints or whatever it is (some brit goth help me out here). What do you Yanks
>call a yard anyway. I sure hope it ain't the same as a British yard.
A British yard is indeed three feet, thirty six inches or
approximately a third of a metre. In drinking terms, it's just over three
and a half pints, usually contained in a glass bubble with a long tube for
drinking through. One has to rotate the bubble whilst drinking in order to
get the beer to come out fast. Yards are for downing in one. It can take
up to a minute to do so, though.
I used to get involved in the odd speed drinking competition
(as well as the quantity ones, but they're usually a less formal thing).
My old university has a union which only strated admitting women fifteen
years ago, and in which I was still a novelty when I first visited it,
about seven years ago now. It was full of rugby players who would
perpetually yell at me to get my clothes off and that kind of thing. So I
went up against the biggest of them in a drinking competition, and downed
my pint in three and a half seconds, while he took five. Then he was sick.
How pathetic. I went on to down several more without losing a single game
or feeling the slightest bit queasy. Thereafter, when I entered that bar,
they would be silent and polite. Bunch of wusses.
It's a while since I've done it (since I only down cheap
shite, not anything I actually like), but I reckon my time is probably
still around that. I remember one time we got my friend Simon a pint of
cider for his birthday, spiked with three shots of vodka. He thanked us
for the thought, but unfortunately he was allergic to vodka so he couldn't
drink it. No-one else seemed to want it, so I picked it up and poured it
down my throat in one go. Everyone looked very worried for a while. It
didn't do me any harm, though. I had a bottle of wine later that night
too, and a couple of pints of guinness. Thing is, I'm pretty sure that I
drank it too fast to absorb all the alcohol anyway, so it wasn't a big
deal.
I can't drink large quantities of cider[1] though. It's too
acidic and gives me indigestion. The last time I had a significant
quantity was maybe four years ago, when the other student union was giving
it away for fifty pence a pint at the end of the academic year. Nine pints
I had (while I was still counting), plus a tab of the strongest acid I've
yet taken. We got outside and it was pouring with rain and then I realised
I had a problem, as my eyes insisted on focusing on the rain sixinches in
front of them and pereiving it as a solid wall. I still had sufficient
intelligence to realise what was oing on, and I got home okay, but it was
like walking into a wall the whole way. That was wierd... like being a
ghost or something. I still managed to screw all night and stagger down to
the delicatessen to get breakfast the next morning (my old mate Davey
there always knew when I needed good coffee), but the stairs were scary.
Jennie
[1] Except for some of the delicious Normandy varieties so hard to obtain
here, and maybe the odd Somerset farm's produce.
BlackIce
Ron.Ce...@GSC.GTE.Com (Ron Cecchini) wrote:
> jver...@indiana.edu (The Evil Chemist) wrote:
>
> > I must be a real freak then, b/c Tequilla is my shot of choice.
>
> Me & you both.
> i would've mentioned that, but i figured i made that point clear long ago...
I know who I'm drinking with at C5. :)
The first time I drank anything, it was tequila. All three times I've
gotten really drunk, it involved tequila. The only thing that really
bugged me was that the first time, my face felt like it was sliding off,
and people were talking too fast.
But I really do think that good tequila tastes awfully nice.
###########################
me
head in pain
>So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
>but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
I have two such stories. The first happened in July 1996, just
before I turned 20. It involved one (1) fifth of Goldschlager, and me,
who'd never tried it before that night. I sat down on a friend's patio and
proceeded to do twelve shots over the course of about 3 hours. Though I
have no recollection of the end of this night, I was told that I had
started mixing Goldschlager with Jack & Coke and then a bit later with
straight Jack Daniel's. Needless to say, a couple of friends drove me home
and carried me into my house and put me in bed. I woke up some six hours
later feeling absoltely debilitated and very dehydrated. With an effort, I
got out of bed and headed to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of
orange juice, then headed back downstairs to my room. I made it halfway
there before I *knew* that the previous night's festivities were catching
up with me. Luckily I was about 10ft from the bathroom. I _just_ made it.
Goldschlager-coloured (clear) swill issues forth from my mouth, including
flakes of gold and hardened flakes of Coke(?). The ensuing hangover lasted
for three days, during all of which I had to work. That was the worst I've
ever been off.
The second instance involved a trip to Windsor, Ontario with a
couple of friends. Living in Detoit as I used to, Windsor is a mere 15
minutes from where I lived, so frequent trips there were made before I was
21 because of the legal age of 19 there. Well, this trip was when I was
21, and it happened in Jaunary of this year. There's a club night in
Windsor (or used to be) called The Loop, and that's where we went. I spent
that night drinking bottles of Grower's Granny Smith cider. I stopped at
about five. Then last call comes around, so, deciding that I wasn't as
drunk as I wanted to be, saunter over to the bar and order four shots of
vodka. I brought them back to the table, and downed all four of them in
rather rapid succession. The club was in the basement of a building, and I
had to be helped up the stairs on the way out. After that we decided to go
sit by the Detroit River for a while, maybe to try to have the cold of the
evening sober me up a little. It didn't. On the walk to the river, I kept
staggering out into the street and dancing around, even sitting down a
couple of times. Same thing on the way back to the car. After that we had
to go through customs on our way back to Detroit. I managed to keep
conscious right up until we got in line to be questioned. The border guard
didn't seem to mind, as I was later told. I came to some 30 minutes later
as we were headed north on I-75 on our way to my friend John's house. The
very second I woke, I looked around a bit and said "John, pull over RIGHT
NOW." He did. I opened the door and evacuated some of the alcohol I'd
consumed and all of that night's dinner onto the garbage-strewn shoulder
of the road. Then I passed out again. We arrived at John's house and I was
deposited in the bathroom, where I spent an hour or so having a
conversation with the toilet. Mainly I kept insisting "AAAUGUHGHUFF"
but the toilet didn't seem to get the point, so I had to keep repeating
myself. And of course I had to work the next day... and this hangover
wasn't so bad. Not as bad as the Goldschlager incident, anyway.
Of course, probably no one needs me to explain Thursday night at
C4... anyone who was there probably saw me double-fisting whiskey sours
and bottles of beer all night. Gahd, that night was a good night. :)
- chris, fessing up.
- http://www.blood-dance.net/~zastur/
Madeline
considered,
> > >but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
>
Actually I just had tequila for the first time a few weeks ago. Wonderful
stuff, really. A group of friends were sitting around the ol' bonfire, and
out of nowhere, this bottle of Mescal appears. We opened the little packet
of salt, retrieved a squeezy bottle of lime (twas all we had) and someone
proceeded to lick their hand, when a huge bellow was heard. It was my
friend Kusar, who yelled, "What is wrong with you!! You can't lick your
own hand...you have to get someone *else* to lick it!!" It was pretty much
downhill from there, but a great deal of fun.
I discovered that I really enjoy drinking tequila. I've been drunk before,
but usually I just get fuzzy and tired. But after that night, walking was
such pure joy. I was trying to get other people to walk with me, not cause
I was unsteady, but because it was just so damn fun to walk around.
We then started playing "pass the glowstick" which is always fun, but often
misunderstood.
But as far as a true tale of drunken excess, it would have been at Pennsic
War XXVII. (yes, I'm a sca'er). My barony (St. Swithin's bog) is renowned
for their creation, called Gobi. The basic ingredients of Gobi are top
secret and are allegedly known only to the Gobi Masters. But there are
bunches of variations on Gobi (gobi on a foggy morning, gobi lager...) I
tried them all.
I couldn't even walk straight when we left for another camp. There was
some Middle Eastern Dancing at this next camp, and I wanted to dance around
the fire. But for some reason, I was shy about doing so, and felt that if
I could only have some more to drink, I would lose that last bit of
inhibition. So I chugged one more glass of Gobi. This was what did it.
I never did dance, and we left for yet another party. We were just inside
their border walls, when I felt I was going to be violently ill. So I
hunkered down right inside their gate and proceeded to vomit large
quantities of Gobi, as well as what remained of supper (Kielbasa and
parsley'd potatoes (don' think about that too much))
What was amusing was that I didn't just puke, I puked into a small plastic
cup I had acquired somewhere, out of consideration for the host camp. When
the cup became full (don't know how I knew when it did...I had some 6th
sense about it) I would calmly stretch my arm out and empty it onto the
ground. People were falling over in laughter at this.
Two wonderful friends helped me on the trek back to my tent, and fed me
water untill I passed out. I slept for a long time. I'm still being
teased. I will not drink Gobi next Pennsic, I think.
Madeline
--
"What are you going to do...suck me to death?"
"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you never wanted to boink a corpse!"
http://users.penn.com/~goddess/me.html
A Shattered KittenLady In Love's Debris
Nozeie uqaeue ir rrroxv eikfan ketta
bcm evit apey efko uem uweee
fee epit rne id!
Nzk euf iky lzed ubtam ne.
Lic dielr uupzb pbipl rllx sf
lodedi lbbea bx xt
rlfo gae afah frzo dhot
du fej yu oeft
lk wx iy aayc du
jra kjwj ldp dsor lbm
tuet kga ysbt edey ljg lur
tbiy ebi lky benoe
hmm jemriie luue mbc
dye lqugr trrdu srlk hoi leiah.
Zqetu eyh ctg el
qfe syesbx ease ild rtou ei!
Uakvia kvpcef zslzg ivid!
Ffuk yt rkbs prfig
rbaa jpe ynms zhi fo
ekbew usbbd yqauiet pke!
Ron Cecchini
Znobvd ppe oxntu ul sksa
opf shz ybew qu
cro nops ph zfkk uhbbr ejtk
lihs dvlgfd cerbk ofd vee jbps
yjqgeif blqjqyy rlu ztwui?
Ouce ti iy veln sndkm.
Irklte lleb diis flex esbndu wyet
lfekf qea veeb qnast wwlfp
jlmt of tu lupt sz.
Kbbp lffq ddui rbj awxm fzedq
kr da pfsh mht ku eeilf
etbei ilub kjkbq abq vamo?
Irio bqfyk mtzzt uss dogk rc
uzmpu yrl ary qie ubee dheh.
Ielfvr zeit oa hrae ns ci
lie iepr ttod xme dno dlp
lmkr kioxpfl yvvlv geleedy efqec nqtl!
Lmgiby udb fm utimis stpa lrs
te ere edu iifl
epeep eefey fkkxs ibev bllje ol
fcylr kiig du zdu
dvo olzu dii ohej rag
op fmpaw ee cgss hrti
aklnrs teytll oof ntf
eqzhk zrcoa kjiu wtsle
tkepc ijbe gbpoor tes elf pjg
vwf uvmph bdy noe lwge
csswq lcis efeuitq aygd ut
sfil axpzd abzb rwee lbehn!
Bvrsi mo hlf lwcme
vyzew vym zeey eprdqmm lktbd ftei
mcx reipy ptgrq duziep mnmy
fbzq udpk rer lpa ijhd
xxepg niu vjvrfp lelrpk prplds uruy
ibol vrie eaf wekq?
Dfye gyiu nfstp crp dtp
brg uieul dnmp mekki fafox
mapf pkthl rl iv
sku tak yllv eae bnee
ilakzj rpry pfxrt zehqe etyepb mgbda
hre kzks ekyy sokm errm ssc
peibw ovx kxi lhvf ki
xeeg tatey ueoklfs ocyao biefr dpvd
eti exbdul smpoi tynbh
oe ue xlle ayz
eeoea fzuon uod ekhb lsb hlq
dl re yapkea qj.
Itjlrm idl alpyita algko jeukz fe
nhfa fktd vcm ai
feo sbp emme ehl ue
kl dzqe ea secl
esrifel aptwubi det eceai pb?
-Lux-
Xsnoie oucm etsqjj erld fnnmi aym.
Fmqade nseox krgst dkisd ieucm!
Zdzeu kuva wlde tioim
fiqc fpe aulasx yws
zoi ualho bubcte gaieg
kmp lix feo rril tb?
Rtkko mrket ier mql jy
ahzh edue mebm nbipa bwf
rri eer uatk ehmbw
vk decwx srr rfu ixl ieit
kenqle bzpk bpstad dxlmevi uefjuu er
fpoenq aikq wfb esye eir pmv
tsbyu old wtebxt lcboyq pdc
epj wdzh yey fqsr
kmlt lcall ltvpt twy rohr
fcc etkyl abe nodw
hrl yhdse uxht dedsm zme
rkqed orjwa aikei ubeag
sdix lepor jlo ahz alioc yelbk
opec oeledi opae llei uvaa.
Koeslhio mmetmnl avuohg gy
ey egnp td ep?
Qjm oed eto afzu ctp ivm
gcvyb tyf er yaedw iwp
ehtl xehjr eonyrpo kl lbty aermw
ti uxx ki pb me bmezi
aidl use ieu zsu eyo
ie el iuf tdi ipog trsa
yrea vv bueh lex
wvfawsj qzjzp vw yizlw
ley tbi wdve lpyz dja al
tk pekjds lsq vy qeura
ssv bct kek doke osyc
bme kcs egbs jep elur
edeelfn eo daa oi app?
Wmeo hlgda prdp sryaz aikgm
diiua ocm ededbp lwc fphir sl
hckt xth ety reu
ipiham alxe rirs xedrmb rvet
upwsi yiha kefepw izlm bj
pei nai vgeyk emyle xeeec.
Uuaadra otjeqdq keeiyr onuls eal
awee zrr iwiiat yka ktelb tnse?
Nmtaiq pis rm ee ibas
lamvoe qxe kectw ilzl
eiae agme crne pslr kceaad frf
ovtf nekj tre awik mitfm
ptkkg cybmk ss grqor lelm afd.
Nebyu mls qbc ly foqwk tlji
euy vwqx ezmn ekuh bibu lr
lgajhky mrl epzd rllha wiihx!
Hpskx lrrj deies qqo
apfpue biimu lxib eaiec mie ai?
-Lux-
Giextge opekl sold oquxkb cof
llmdbj tiyoyx uei le
mvptla efeev om ppmm itee uiy.
Rbafz kkxdz graiye ifipse cdbxeh teyl
feff trll em hq pq tsfr
omej llzeyo fulfpe pwt dygio yuawu
gwfo fuc keh bw ld mmtnh
mfib hleel lmeob pek smo zeer.
Amkm hlvef siic pyddk
tql pvb gtw py
afwzlfo rkde aydel gsu
uaee utixvi fjau kijofr errdty iuudp
rylk kwvt cev da ebrtp.
Lmyx bhrdu jua epktp
cr lf dif fis?
Mlei epu slfl ufce rteo?
Azrdv aimm ael kd hdefo?
Glcl ikj qir pt hzxe
dl qiekky yn uyhihqw io?
Hjlrl dexm eewr les rf!
Aaic bus smaf ifot gwbe oigi
mbbdd or pk uohse vaeeu wdm?
Ktlk mle cid ueao qleou uk!
Olf diy es gkat?
Gbabo swd tewzf tujeu bbayt piaxh.
Obvfmp iedc frmdu epj ii
eaeal ocvp aml vrfaof kto
xvqfv ohs eqd eaeqyai sed oe
et aoy flmq oe?
Bqwhil velddc tfoqke elrf huuta gg.
Sfeoe waks ird kbuu
uwzm imlb zlos vlet ddzd
yeeai lsar irolo vyewyd ss
edx mlrt aob hi skxr
hdy krtdg fyl pj fr pf
eadj oslf adal peka fi
et gj ww ef ely fp
reeteg eiy mptg ogo wqnxu
sp am ge yuur?
Nyel cvsa leeyuk sefkz
li ov jur ib me bqpsr
eeo jnvu ovmgol wl ej
mim oaed duc lyfp mfji lk?
Xleiw ylcfvz ap baijwp nk
mw ot qoecea fby by
tellk fnrp oxre ce
ia ski sidu ygz lw
mnbe ryik qbi czbj kep yilim!
Qsunci ous esmz ijumq fszoia albo
fzom mw qgeki ep pe ei.
Okotneri kmoi efe uulijl nv
mfr nltjpu mkwva dtb sael.
Rxiiybje lfmqpl qxul eetroym iop
ad bldx uezypk rrev szi flb
kauskmg mz elrzzye apesik sadix fvc?
Sola
> So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
This post is made by my friend Eliza. I told her about the thread
on the way home from dinner, and she was immeidately amused. So we
decided she had to come post. Everyone say hello to Eliza. And be nice
to her for the ten minutes she's here, kay? :)
---
It was the last day of school (can't remember which year) most of us
didn't bother picking up our report cards we knew it was bad so why
torture ourselves. So these 3 guys, Charles, Rey, Lew, and me were
playing handball and this guy walks over and asks if he can play. So we
being friendly folks let him. Soon he tells us his name is Tarzan, he
used to go to our school and he's leaving for England in a couple of
days. He's also 24 and gorgeous.
So after we pop the handball he suggests we get some Tequila. The
rest of us (being 16 or so think WOW COOL!) We pitch in and send him
into the conviently close liquer store. Up to Harris Field we go.
Shortly we start playing a game in wich you have to think of a famous
person or group or something (This is where the memories get fuzzy) that
starts whith each letter of the alphabet, one letter per person in a
circle, and if you can't, you chug.
This was all well and good until Charles who was also my ex Got
SMASHED! He was falling all over the place and hugging everyone. This is
when I get smacked with the responsibility of taking him home because
everyone else was convienently going the other way.
I am now instantly sober which takes all the fun out of this whole
adventure for me. I get him on the bus much to the chagrin of the bus
driver and coax him to the very back corner while he's blurting out
stuff like "I wanna f**k you again" which coming from Mr. 2.0 blood
alchohol level wasn't very flattering.
When we got on the bus we were the only ones on it so as more people
got on I tried to get him to rest his head on my shoulder and sleep but
that wasn't working very well so I tried to at least keep his voice at a
minimum.
He keeps babbling, I keep shushing him until the bus goes past the
Bronx Zoo when at the top of his drunk little lungs he Yells "ARE WE AT
THE ZOOOO!?" I put my finger to my lips and shushed him again And he
tried to copy me but he kept missing his lips.
Eventualy he thew up on the bus and I had to remove his t-shirt and
leave it in the corner and close his flannel.( Boy did people move
then!)
When we got to his stop I helped him stumble to his house (he threw
up again on the walk) and sit him on his front porch. At this point he's
verrry sleepy and verrry smelly. I decided to program him while I could.
I told him to go upstairs get into the bathroom, turn on the shower,take
off his clothes, get in the shower , wash off get out turn of the water
and go straight to bed. I prayed that by some miracle his parents
wouldn't notice he was quite so drunk.
A few days latter I saw him and asked what happened after I left. He
told me he did everything I programmed him to do but I forgot to tell
him to put clothes on after the shower and he went to bed in nothing but
a towel and slept for over 14 hours straight!!
---
Me? I have no Tequila stories. Never tasted the stuff, nor been
drunk in my life. Antabuse reactions will do that for a person. <s>
dreams of the City,
Sola
--
"The literary vampire -- Ruthven, Carmilla, Dracula et al.,
bears little resemblance to the traditional critter, who is
more of your basic shambling incoherent corpse."
--Barbara Weitbrecht(?)
Dag Wästberg
jen...@skinner.demon.co.uk (Jennie Kermode) writes:
> On 21 Oct 1998 22:28:39 GMT, Dag Wästberg <f98...@dd.chalmers.se> wrote:
>>Um these aren't real yards are they??? as in 3 feet or 36 inches as in 3-4
>>pints or whatever it is (some brit goth help me out here). What do you Yanks
>>call a yard anyway. I sure hope it ain't the same as a British yard.
>
> A British yard is indeed three feet, thirty six inches or
> approximately a third of a metre. In drinking terms, it's just over three
> and a half pints, usually contained in a glass bubble with a long tube for
> drinking through. One has to rotate the bubble whilst drinking in order to
> get the beer to come out fast. Yards are for downing in one. It can take
> up to a minute to do so, though.
I've seen people drinking from yards, I was just having trouble imagining
people drink tequila from one.
> I used to get involved in the odd speed drinking competition
> (as well as the quantity ones, but they're usually a less formal thing).
> My old university has a union which only strated admitting women fifteen
> years ago, and in which I was still a novelty when I first visited it,
> about seven years ago now. It was full of rugby players who would
> perpetually yell at me to get my clothes off and that kind of thing. So I
> went up against the biggest of them in a drinking competition, and downed
> my pint in three and a half seconds, while he took five.
Cool, I always find this an admirable trait in women, so women can master this
noble art.
I speed drinking is the official sport at my school (we are even able to hold
champions and take official world records and stuff). I even represented my
section at the last school championship. My personal favorite event is the
1 liter mug. I'm trying to get under 10 seconds, I've seen it done in under 5.
3.5 for the pint is a damn impressive time though.
My next goal is to master the bottle.
> Then he was sick.
> How pathetic. I went on to down several more without losing a single game
> or feeling the slightest bit queasy. Thereafter, when I entered that bar,
> they would be silent and polite. Bunch of wusses.
Useless, totally useless. Rugby players, what a bunch of wusses.
> Thing is, I'm pretty sure that I
> drank it too fast to absorb all the alcohol anyway, so it wasn't a big
> deal.
I find it hits me a while afterwards. After racing three liters I can be fine
for an hour and then...whack, all of a sudden I'll be drunk.
> I can't drink large quantities of cider[1] though. It's too
> acidic and gives me indigestion.
Took me two years to get back to drinking cider on a regular basis, after
the one time I had a `bit' too much. Now I love it.
Dag
Casper The BitterGoff
My Tales Of Excess. I Have Named This Tale: The
Ditch.
This Might End Up Being A Rather Long Post (Not To
Mention UnGawth) So Skip It If You Don't Like Dumb,
Vaguely Humiliating Stories Of Drunken Mayhem.
Without Further Ado...
The Ditch.
After Weeks Of Work Without A Day Off At My Minimum-Wage
NightJob (Which Consisted Mostly Of Being Abused By
Customers And Petty Criminals), I Finally Had A Three Day
Weekend. I Was Tired, Stressed And In Dire Need Of Some
Relaxation.
So I Stopped By The SAQ[1] And Bought Myself A Nice 60 Ouncer
Of Canadian Club Whiskey And A Six Pack Of Guinness (To Wash
Down The Whiskey). I Spent The Entire Day Drinking.
Around Dinner Time, One Of My Roomates Showed Up With Some
Burgers And An Idea: "Let's Go Clubbing!"
So Off The Roomates Goes With A Shitfaced Casper In Tow.
We Spend The Night Clubbing And Carousing. Well, That's
Not Quite True. He Did The Carousing And I Sat Cross-Eyed
In A Dark Corner With An Idiotic Grin, Drinking Whatever
The Waitress Plopped Down In Front Of Me. I Had Practically
Drank Myself Into Sobriety When I Mistakenly Downed A Shot
Of Sambucca.
I Do Not Like Sambucca. In Fact, I Loathe It. The Mere
Smell Makes Me Violently Ill.
I Got Up And Ran To The Restrooms, Bumping And Pushing People
Out Of My Way. Didn't Even Make It Half-Way Before I Couldn't
Hold It Down Any Longer. I Spotted A TrashCan And, Instantly,
I Was On My Knees Filling It With A Day's Worth Of Booze.
When I Finished, I Didn't Much Feel Like Clubbing Anymore. I
Left Without Even Bothering To Tell People.
I Stumbled Outside And Hailed A Cab But Halfway Thru The Ride,
I Felt My Stomach Cimbing Into My Throat So I Paid And Got Out
In The Middle Of God-Knows-Where. I Spotted A Park Bench And
Went To Sit On It In An Attempt To Stop The World From Spinning.
Then Everything Goes Black.
Time Passes...
*Poke*
...
*Poke*Poke*
"Mmmmrph..."
Vague Consciousness Returns. I'm Lying Down. I'm Comfortable.
Something Keeps Poking Me Hard In The Ribs. It's *Really*
Annoying Me But I Don't Want To Get Up.
*Poke*
"BACK THE FUCK OFF!", I Scream While Violently Grabbing
Whatever's Been Poking Me. I'm Holding Something That I
Recognize As A Flashlight. A Big Metal Flashlight.
I Open My Eyes And Take In My Surroundings.
I'm Lying In A Ditch And Covered In Dirt. Something Smells
Horrible. Kinda Like Vomit And Liquor. God, It's Me.
Above Me, There Are Two Really Big Guys Looking At Me. Why
Do Their Clothes Seem So Familiar?
"Take It Easy, Kid. We Don't Want To Have To Hurt You."
"Fuck You. You Won't Get The Chance." I Get Up. Adrenaline's
Pumping. I Don't Feel Dizzy Or Drunk Anymore. As I Stand, I
Get A Better Look At Them.
Two Police Officers Reach For Their Pepper Sprays. I Smile
Like A Moron.
"Errr... I Believe This Is Yours, Officer."
*Half An Hour Or So Later*
"Hi Mom. I Know You're At Work And You're Busy And All That
But... Huh... I Sorta Need A Lift."
"What?"
"Well, I Need You To Pick Me Up. It's Important."
"What? Why? Where Are You?"
"Well... You See... I'm Sort Of At The Police Station."
The Words Every Parent Wants To Hear.
The End.[2]
I've Also Got A Good A Good Story About How I Got Barred
For Life From A Well-Known Mtl Jock Club.
And Then, There's The Dryer Story But I Doubt Anybody
Would Believe That One.
But, Well, I'm Too Lazy To Write 'Em And, AFAIK, This Isn't
Alt.Casper.Rambles.On.About.Dumb.Shit.That.Happens.While.Drunk.
_Casper The BitterGoff
[1]The SAQs Are Basically The Liquor Stores In Quebec.
Although You Can Buy Beer & Wine Almost Anywere, Hard
Liquor Is Only Sold At The SAQ.
[2]I Wasn't Charged With Anything, If You're Wondering.
I Guess The Fact That I Was Dressed In A Suit (Even
Though It Was Really Dirty At This Point And Smelled
Like The Place Were Alcohol Goes To Die) Helped Make
Me Look Like Something Other Than A Bum. The Cops Found
The Story Of How I Got There Pretty Amusing And Brought
Me To The Station So I Could Get Coffee And Make A Call.
Ron Cecchini
Casper The BitterGoff <casp...@total.net> wrote:
> Due To Popular Demand, I'm Gonna Post Another One Of
> My Tales Of Excess. I Have Named This Tale: The Ditch.
...
> I'm Lying In A Ditch And Covered In Dirt. Something Smells
> Horrible. Kinda Like Vomit And Liquor. God, It's Me.
This reminds me of a story (and what the fuck doesn't?) from Freshman year
involving White Russians, white Converse sneakers & the woods.
But i gotta run. Lemme know if you wanna hear it.
][
Casper The BitterGoff
> > I'm Lying In A Ditch And Covered In Dirt. Something Smells
> > Horrible. Kinda Like Vomit And Liquor. God, It's Me.
>
> This reminds me of a story (and what the fuck doesn't?) from
> Freshman year involving White Russians, white Converse sneakers
> & the woods.
<RaisesEyebrow>
I Am Now Intrigued.
> But i gotta run. Lemme know if you wanna hear it.
Post It.
If I'm Gonna Share My Drunken Stories, Other People Damn
Well Better Post Their's...
_Casper The BitterGoff
Who's Kept His Most Horrible Stories To Himself... For Now.
Cassidy
> A British yard is indeed three feet, thirty six inches or
>approximately a third of a metre.
Actually, it's about nine-tenths of a metre.
A foot is about a third of a metre.
Pick pick pick :)
--
GothCode 98: CUOfba3iaSdaqaaaHbaa55gyMSMQsj96glavbhiK1#ZF!a7k7Pci6naeainiaeg2ZIcVddkvpk6baasEbqgUXMFaaaaaabcaNB
Camarilla Member #9771-013 http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/8869/
ICQ: 5853501 Stories: http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/poe/4/
... Starsky and Hutch. In this show the heroes claimed that they did care about
people being shot, so they crashed their cars into them instead.
--- Douglas Adams
far...@tht.net
the keyboard and am back in a contributing state. I know you're all a flutter
over this. :P
In article <3630BFDF...@total.net>,
Casper The BitterGoff <casp...@total.net> wrote:
> Due To Popular Demand, I'm Gonna Post Another One Of
> My Tales Of Excess. I Have Named This Tale: The
> Ditch.
>
> This Might End Up Being A Rather Long Post (Not To
> Mention UnGawth) So Skip It If You Don't Like Dumb,
> Vaguely Humiliating Stories Of Drunken Mayhem.
Silly me I thought that this was the whole point of this thread. Vaguely
Humiliating stories of Drunken Mayhem, can't help but be long (I've never
read any good mayhem stories that were 5 lines long) and well.... vaguely
humiliating (See, it's much more than a clever name).
> Without Further Ado...
>
> The Ditch.
[snip]
*laugh*
I think I may be hard pressed to come up with a better story, only one of
mine involves cops (among other things) but I don't have the time to write it
all here. Well, I do, but I'm still not going to.
My only real problem with drinking to excess is that I know that I will
always remember what stupid things I will do and I've never felt that those
stories were good fodder for conversations. But now presented with the
opportunity to spew forth such stories to the hundreds that post and I'm sure
the hundreds more that just lurk, I finally have something valid to say.
*beam*
Untitled
(I had no idea that titles were required.)
Time Frame; about three years ago.
Setting; My house, parents gone on vacation, brother elsewhere.
Poison of choice; a bottle of smirnoff vodka and a lot less OJ.
With that said, on with the story.
It's winter I think (a good start, no?) and as I said the parents are on
vacation. Party time with all the cheesy things that go on with them. Over the
years these parties have been deteriorated to nothing more than an excuse to
drink (a lot in my case) and the listen to really crappy music at excessive
volumes.
The party starts at around 8 or 9 pm, I've been drinking for a while at this
point while preparing for the coming evening. Everyone is drinking beer,
something which I didn't care for at the time (pay attention now, this is an
important point).
The drinking starts and the party gets into full swing. Being the immature
dick that drinks too much and too fast that I am, I start to use very few
drops of OJ with every new one I make. Granted something must be said about
the glass that I had. If it were just a small glass I would have to refill
every few minutes or so and I decided that that wasn't something that I
wanted to do. I went searching through the cupboard and found this huge
glass. After cleaning it off I notice that there is a little embossed marking
on the side near the top. .5 litres and a little line. I start grinning, this
is on the level of excalibur. :)
By about my fourth of these the OJ goes from orange is a very pale yellow,
at least 80% of my glass is now vodka and I can't taste a thing. I return to
the party and have a few sips and slips as my concentration doesn't work well
at this state thinking of one thing it's just bloody well shot if I try to
think of two things. Navigating the stairs was a feat I don't remember much
about but I assume that I did it gracefully. :)
I sit down and listen to some annoying music get really annoyed and sip my
drink. Not liking the people in my house, the music they liked, and the person
that was talking to me at the time, I look around desperately for a mode of
escape. I turn back to my drink, it's still 3/4 full. Did I mention that I was
really desperate?
*chug* *dribble* *wipe*
"I have to get another drink, sorry."
Getting up the stairs was easy, getting down them was another story. Feet
went in the right direction, torso wasn't in an agreeable mood. I fall
backward and down the stairs I go hearing some nice comments on my way down.
Reach the bottom and land very gracefully. The fall and almost near
destruction of my glass doesn't phase me a bit. I get up and make my way to
the fridge. Fetch the OJ and the vodka is on the counter waiting. I finish
off the vodka and oddly enough there is a shit load of OJ still in the
container. I mix until I'm satisfied with the colour and I chuck the rest of
the OJ.
Back to the party I was so desperately trying to leave only moments ago.
More sipping and slipping (or chugging and falling as the case may be).
Again I ascend the stairs gracefully. People are still making comments of my
exit, but the music is a little less annoying and the person I was talking to
has moved on to annoy someone else. For some reason I again chug the glass of
intoxication, not realizing that I have no more booze left.
Enlightenment.
Panic.
Fear.
Action.
Solution.
I reach for the nearest beer bottle and drink that. I don't taste anything
so I start making my way around the room looking for donations. Sob stories
about my exhausted alcohol supply and the fact that they are at my house and
have more beer than they can drink works wonders and I get about two bottles.
Not the best tactic but in the situation what would you have done?
I've covered the excessive drinking part, and the only thing that counts as
Mayhem is my utter lack of appendage control. Now I've got to bite the bullet
and move onto the vaguely humiliating part don't I?
*gulp*
Okay, fine. The time is around midnight or so (I'm extrapolating here, I
may remember everything that happens, but I have no sense of time) Everyone
decides to get together for a group photo and about five people pull out
cameras. I'm usually the first to offer to take these pictures for everyone
(my sole motivation being that, the one pushing the button cannot be in the
picture) but for some reason (I have to wonder, really I do) I get in on the
fringes of the frame and find an unopened beer there. BONUS. I start drinking
that and manage to succeed in being obscured by aforementioned beer bottle in
all the pictures that were taken.
All that over with I am suddenly made aware of the utterly painful state my
bladder is in. I bolt for the nearest bathroom. Occupied. FUCK!!!!!!!!
I run about the house looking for another place of relief (yes I know it's my
house).
Paradise found.
The torrent is released. I notice that the spectrum of my vodka over the
evening almost exactly matches the progressing spectrum of my..... wait
nevermind that. I feel rather... well.... drained at the point and a little
dizzy. The smell of the room starts to sicken my and well.... I get sick.
However I am vrey clean about this and it helped that I was standing over the
toilet at the time. I still feel sick and I have to go to the bathroom again.
Wanting a little privacy I shut and lock the door. My orifices were very
active that evening, I was even picking my ear at one point and my nose was
running as well.
I guess I was in there for a while so some people decdied to come look for
me. The find my easy enough and start pounding on the door. They are
concerned, how touching. That didn't last long. After getting me to unlock
the door so that if I were to pass out or something they would be able to do
something about it, they start to take advantage of my weakened condition.
They give me water that is so bitter that it makes me puke again (which by
this point is getting hard to keep supply for the demand) then the cameras
are brought out. Snap shots are taken of me in mid swing of many activities.
All this goes on for about 2 hours and they get tired and leave. I've
regained some of my strength and am able to stand again. I stumble into my
room and fall asleep in what I thought was all my clothes, I was mistaken.
Upon waking up the next day I feel really really really shitty. Not only
because I have a small hangover, but about what I had done the night before. I
also can't find my pants.
---
Hrmmm a tad long I think. Oh well. *shrug*
That is my first submission, and I have more if this one meets your
satisfaction. I'll try to keep the next one shorter if that is the case.
Bad spelling abounds in this and I don't have the motivation to go back though
it all and change it. Suffer though.
Farmguy
-----------== Posted via Deja News, The Discussion Network ==----------
http://www.dejanews.com/ Search, Read, Discuss, or Start Your Own
Cassidy
> By about my fourth of these the OJ goes from orange is a very pale
>yellow, at least 80% of my glass is now vodka and I can't taste a
>thing.
ah yes, it's not a screwdriver - it's coloured vodka! :)
>Navigating the stairs was a feat I don't remember much about but I
>assume that I did it gracefully. :)
one guy I used to drink with used to fall up_ stairs.
really.
he'd collapse, and then gravity would do something funny, and he'd be
higher on the staircase.
it was weird.
> Upon waking up the next day I feel really really really shitty. Not
>only because I have a small hangover, but about what I had done the
>night before. I also can't find my pants.
oo, bad partygoers.
embarrassing the drunk, taking pictures, that's fine.
stealing his pants is very_ bad.
--
GothCode 98: CUOfba3iaSdaqaaaHbaa55gyMSMQsj96glavbhiK1#ZF!a7k7
Pci6naeainiaeg2ZIcVddkvpk6baasEbqgUXMFaaaaaabcaNB
Camarilla Member #9771-013 http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/8869/
ICQ: 5853501 Stories: http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/poe/4/
You haven't been here long enough. After a couple more years,
all your sense of humour is gone and all that's left is a dried
out husk that will blow away with the next good gust of wind.
--- Jay Croft, Halloween '91 to the Wench
Xandraius
>
> Last night, while talking on the phone with a friend of mine, the subject of
> Tequila came up. And I made the observation, that for an awful lot of
> stories I've heard where people are explaining how it is that they got half
> a tattoo, Or that funny little scar over their right eye, or why it's no
> longer safe for them to visit St. Louis again, or why they're banned from a
> particular Denny's, the story frequently starts with the line, "Well,
> someone said, 'Hey, wanna do some tequila shots?'"
> This has been such a universal experience of mine, that I've been of the
> opinion that the it's slogan should be, "Tequila: When you absolutely,
> positively, have to wind up passed out naked on the bathroom floor."
> So, please share your stories of drunken excess. Any will be considered,
> but I'm *particularly* interested in ones involving tequila drunks.
-=snip=-
Oh yea Gods... two AG conessionals in one night. Okay, I'll bite:
Picture a younger and much, MUCH dumber Xan. Febuary 21, 1987, at a
USMC base on the east side of Okinawa. Xan is a Marine and is about to
turn 21. This alone should have been cause for the MP's to lock me up
in a steel wall-locker. Down we all go to Gate-2 street with mucho
dinero and all of the common sense that the Gods gave a cantelope. We
were MARINES, damn it, and we were going to drink/ fight/ fuck our way
the length of the island. It started with shots of Tequila and Vodka
mixed. No ice. No mixer. Just normal size water glasses. I had a 72
hour pass. THREE WHOLE DAYS! The last thing I knew, some woman was
trying to persuade me to buy her a drink. Silly bitch! That
'Buy-Me-Drinky' scam never worked on me! I'm greedy and want to drink!
Tail can be found in abundance elsewhere... and all fades away...
-=pause as a Lucas-Film(tm) shift moves us to the southern part of the
island=-
68 hours later, Xan starts to discover existence. He ponders it. He
decides it is a bad idea. The Arabian Fifth Cavalry is camped out on
his tounge in dirty sweat socks. His stomach was borrowed whilst he
was 'OUT', and used to scour the bilge pumps of a Libyan garbage
barge. His eyes are full of salt and sand... and some asshole doing a
'Paul Bunyan' is busy hammering steelwool coated spikes into Xan's
head.
I open my eyes. Close them. Open them again and hope I'm dead, mad,
or still unconcious. I'm wearing a towel around my hips and a VERY
colorful vest... and an UGLY party hat. My best friend is next to me,
moaning softly on the bench... yes... we were on a bench somewhere in
the Far East. He was wearing his own clothes... inside out. Our
command of the language combined with our state of existence called
for the Korean authorities to talk to us. Yes, Korean. We started 68
hours before in Okinawa, Japan. To this day, no one is quite sure how
the two of us made this little excursion. I was also broke... and
sore... all over... and especially where being male counts... AND I DO
NOT REMEMBER A THING!
::sniffle::
-=Xan=-
--
-=This sig belongs to an alt.gothic net.cop=-
"It's 106 ms to Chicago, we've got a full
disk of GIFs, half a meg of hypertext,
it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."
"Click it." -- (jake_...@bluesbros.net)
Xandraius
>
> Casper The BitterGoff <casp...@total.net> wrote:
>
> > Due To Popular Demand, I'm Gonna Post Another One Of
> > My Tales Of Excess. I Have Named This Tale: The Ditch.
> > I'm Lying In A Ditch And Covered In Dirt. Something Smells
> > Horrible. Kinda Like Vomit And Liquor. God, It's Me.
>
> This reminds me of a story (and what the fuck doesn't?) from Freshman year
> involving White Russians, white Converse sneakers & the woods.
>
RON! Damnit, you fucking tease! Spill the beans, son! What happened?
Xandraius
Consummatum Est
Last Friday Night." Last Friday after work, one of my coworkers invited
me over to his house for the usual drunken debauchery. I arrive at is
house and his girlfriend hands me a glass, and points me toward the
alcohol. First big mistake. We have: Crown Royal, beer, and tequila.
As usual I am drinking my alcohol straight, on the principal that if I
can see how much alcohol I am drinking it will make my hitting on the
first female I lay eyes on less likely. And I hate beer. Big mistake
#2. I failed to realize that the glass holds the equivalent of three
shots. Big mistake #3. You can see where this is going. After one
glass of Crown Royal, I get another and squeeze lime in it. I finish
that off. Then I decide to see what tequila with lime in it tastes
like. Fill the glass to the top, add lime. Big mistakes # 4 and 5. I
finish that, and decide whiskey is better. About three more shots of
that. By this time about, 1 1/2 hours have passed. I start to enjoy
the way that the room is spinning. It seems that tequila and whiskey
mix better than I thought. Much like cyanide and say for instance,
hydrochloric acid. The 12 shots have a little party in my stomach.
About this time, I leap up to inspect the inside of their toilet. Hand
over mouth, I turn and spray his wall. Appearently, my seal was not as
good as I thought. I manage to get barf _ABOVE_ the light switch. An
interesting trick given taht I was looing at the floor ath the time. I
make it to the bathroom with out further incident. I clean up my mess.
The room has stopped spinning. I go home.
I show up for work the next day, ready for my ridicule and slow death
at the hands of his girlfriend. Big supprise. The cooks are
impressed. Appearently throwing up is their idea of fun. His
girlfriend does not want to kill me. She is supprised that I actually
cleaned up my mess. Appearently people throwing up at their house is a
frequent occurence. As usual no hangover. And the really good news is,
even though I redecorated their wall I managed to aviod hitting on
anyone.
Consummatum Est
Cassidy
>Hand over mouth, I turn and spray his wall. Appearently, my seal was
>not as good as I thought. I manage to get barf _ABOVE_ the light
>switch. An interesting trick given taht I was looing at the floor
>ath the time.
Ah yes, the noble tradition of the powerpuke.
I got stomach flu a lot in school. But anyway. :)
Once at a party, I nearly made it to the bathroom. But instead I puked
on the wall.
It was five feet in front of me.
Not a single drop hit the carpet.
Unfortunately, about two feet in front of me was the host.
You could see his outline in the splatter on the wall.
But the floor was clean. :)
--
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Pci6naeainiaeg2ZIcVddkvpk6baasEbqgUXMFaaaaaabcaNB
Camarilla Member #9771-013 http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/8869/
ICQ: 5853501 Stories: http://www.fortunecity.com/roswell/poe/4/
The light at the end of the tunnel is a body part dispenser machine!
--- Sean Jenkins, at a Dark Conspiracy game I ran
Consummatum Est
> Once at a party, I nearly made it to the bathroom. But instead I puked
> on the wall.
>
> It was five feet in front of me.
>
> Not a single drop hit the carpet.
>
> Unfortunately, about two feet in front of me was the host.
>
> You could see his outline in the splatter on the wall.
>
> But the floor was clean. :)
I feel better about it now. <*<G>*>
Consummatum Est
elena ashline
Mmkay, I'll bite.
I was in Mexico City with a university trip to Guadalajara and we went to a
club called La Boom. Oh, and for anyone who goes to Mexico, be forewarned,
if there are Goth anything, they keep it very low wraps. Bueno, back to the
story. I decided for that evening to indulge in a bit of drink, tequila,
matter of fact. Five shots of tequila, two tequila sunrises, and half a
Corona later I was wondering why I was only catching a little buzz as
opposed to praying for a quick and painful death, like my companions, who
were praying for a quick and painless death. That night I learned an
interesting fact about alcohol. Did you know that when you dance perky goff
style that you burn up alcohol? You are exausted but sober.
Later
Aladar
Who will get his e-mail in his own name one of these days.