A Show For The Price Of A Shot
I have a drinking problem. My problem isn’t that I have alcoholism. I don’t feel a compulsion to drink, and I usually only go out for drinks with my friends once a month, or so. No, my drinking problem lies in the fact that once the first beverage hits my lips then I lose all ability to say “no thanks” to the next one. I don’t have an “off” switch to speak of at all, and that leads to some pretty weird situations.
I knew it was bad when I blacked out the first time. I take all of this in stride, because I know it’s not an uncommon thing for people to drink too much and then just lose track of the night’s events. It’s what I do during these black outs that causes me concern. My friends aren’t that concerned, because it seems that a new person comes out when I’ve gotten to that level of drunkenness.
Two separate creatures exist inside of me. One of them is a responsible, tax-paying contributor to society. The other is an engine of giggling destruction that runs on pure alcohol and wears funny t-shirts displaying crass humor. Neither has much control of the other, nor do they like each other very much.
The warning sign that signals when my evil twin emerges is when my eyes get crooked and float away from each other. I get so drunk, that even my eyes can’t stand each other and refuse to cooperate. The worst my behavior (reportedly) ever got was a night when I drank twelve Jagerbombs within the span of two hours.
What happened between the moment I took my last drink and was ejected forcefully through the door is as follows: I threw up on the back of a young lady beside me and spent the next 15 minutes in the restroom ruining the night of the person who has to clean it. I then proceeded from the bathroom, and fell over the top of a stool and impaled my hand on a metal dart. Screaming, I pulled it out and threw it where it promptly stuck into the shoulder of the bouncer. I drunkenly talked my way out of getting thrown out and spent my last 15 minutes at the bar losing a pool game. I then climbed atop the pool table and peed into a corner pocket. My friends actually took a picture of this and refuse to remove it from Facebook. That was when I ate a mouthful of gravel while being chunked through the door.
I have briefly considered that I should probably drink a little more often, perhaps every evening, just to raise my tolerance. I’ve also considered punching the next friend who tries to talk me into going out with them just so they can have another funny story to tell. As way of an apology, they all bought me a funny t-shirt from the Internet that says “Get Me Drunk And Enjoy The Show.” Of course, it was a double-sided gift. Now people buy me drinks at the bar for free. At least I don’t have to pay to make an ass of myself.
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