Drunk Folks are Fun
Something about staring hazily into a toilet bowl at three in the morning
really puts your life into perspective. Maybe it's the feeling of your stomach
tearing itself to shreds while your limbs can't keep it together long enough
to drag your sorry ass a few feet into bed. This is probably the lowest point
in your college career (aside from that time you were locked out of your room,
naked, when someone pulled the fire alarm). Within the next ten minutes you
will swear to yourself seventeen times that you will never drink another beer
for the rest of your life. But what a night before that, eh?
No denying that drinking can make you do some stupid shit. I've seen blitzed
football players belting out Ricky Martin tunes - one guy knew every word on
the album! I've seen fratboys dive two stories into a pool wearing their girlfriends'
miniskirts. I've heard trashed multilinguals freestyling in Latin and Swahili.
And yes, guys, I have seen upwards of four girls getting on each other at the
same time. And yes, the pictures will cost you money.
I'm not trying to compare my best drunk stories to anyone else's, I'm just
illustrating the often hilarious antics we get up to with a few shots of Smirnoff
coursing through our veins. We al have our infamous tales, our awful experiences,
our compromising photos posted on the internet; and somehow, each instance of
temporary insanity ends up making our lives a little bit better, giving us an
experience to remember (or at least to hear about from your friends during a
massive hangover the next day). That ill-advised naked frolic in the poison
ivy patch probably sucked for about a week (probably? Hell, I can't imagine
much worse), but these days I bet it makes a great excuse for reminiscing with
your buds, or at least a good cautionary tale around the campfire. I remember
seeing one dude hopped up on acid, everclear and some sort of fish paralyzer
running around in his skivvies screaming "BEWARE THE FERRET!" to terrified
passers-by. I created a comic book based on that one incident and sold the rights
to Marvel for a couple grand. In fact if all goes as planned, "The Scary
Shiny Ferret-Thing" will be in theaters next summer, starring Chris Tucker
and Leslie Nielsen.
That said, don't be fooled into thinking that inebriated states will always
be warm, fuzzy bubbles of comfort where everything is good and nothing can go
wrong. Shit happens, a lot. Yes, I know you've heard this before, I know you're
old enough to know better. But last weekend some girl decided she wanted to
dance on my friends' glass table and consequently broke the shit out of it (…can
I say that? "broke the shit out of"?), somehow forgetting that a glass
table is usually made out of, well, glass, which tends to break when people
dance on it. Not to mention the hundreds of drunk driving-related accidents
that happen all the time, which I'm sure you hear about. Anyway, enough of the
sermon.
The point is, drinking is fun. I'll be the first to admit it. Obviously that
should be accompanied by "in moderation", though that also goes for
pretty much every other activity on earth. You don't have to go and drink ten
shots of everclear in twenty minutes (but if you can and survive, then hey,
uh, mad props… you fucking psycho) - think of drinking more as an additive
that helps other activities seem much more fun. Drunken fishing, drunken golfing,
drunken lambada; hey, whatever you feel. Hell, even classes are more fun with
alcohol (uh… I hear). Oh, but don't go boating. Drinking and boating do
not mix. KSPC told me to say that.
It's not about being popular, drinking Natty Ice because everyone else does
(it's not by choice, believe you me) or trying to down more shots than that
dude with the massive glut at the other end of the table. It's about having
fun, going out and doing something you enjoy doing, just with a little extra
kick. So go on out, have some beers, hit on that hottie by the couch, chill
out with your friends, play some caps, go dancing, drink some more, lose your
grip on reality, wander about aimlessly making nothing even remotely approaching
any kind of sense. Then before you know it you'll be back in that familiar position,
begging the porcelain god to make your ouchie go away, promising yourself for
the eighteenth time that week that you will never even look at another beer
for the rest of your life.