>>> Thank Me Later April 7, 2008
By staff writer Casey Freeman
Weekly Drunk Text:
Im too drunk to jack off.
You 21-year-olds are so cute with your Jager-bombs, drinking games and pimp chalices. I bet all your buddies think you’re pretty cool because you think you can drink a lot. Here’s a little truth: I’ve been drinking since you were 9 years old. I’ve spilled more booze than you’ve consumed. I was once the hardcore drinking champion—and I’m man enough to admit that I’m not any more, but I’ll still guzzle, shoot and chug more than you little showboats.
I’m not going to tell you to respect your elders, because once somebody utters that phrase it’s open game to ridicule their ultra-high pants, corny haircut, liver spots and ancient morals. You are not the first pioneer of alcoholism. Not even close.
You see, class, alcohol was invented 164 years ago by a young Cartesian Coordinate monk named UltraNinja Steve. He learned that every time he stabbed a dinosaur, magical malt liquor shot out of the wounds. This is how the mystical lizards disappeared and how modern alcohol was born. UltraNinja Steve discovered the sauce made him better at everything he did, not to mention funnier and cooler. Let his sweetness speak through me….
“Beer pong would be a lot cooler if you tossed full cans of beer at your partner.”
Somebody bragged to me about shooting 21 kamikazes. Wow. I’m amazed. In total, you took about seven shots of vodka, five shots of triple sec (which is like diet alcohol) and nine shots of sweet & sour juice. I’m not impressed by your alcohol tolerance, I’m surprised you don’t have Type A diabetes and don’t need a helmet when you walk around campus.
Unless you’re a girl, if your shot consists of more than one ingredient, you’re a pussy.
Here are some amazing shots I invented when I was in college: cheap whiskey, rail vodka, Jagermeister, something green, rot gut whiskey, Southern Comfort and tequila. When we couldn’t slug down ounces of booze, we snorted it. And it hurt. Then we cried—not because of the pain, but because, well…I don’t know why. Maybe it activates your tear ducts or something. If I cared about anatomy I wouldn’t be stuffing poison in my nasal cavities.
I think it’s precious you and eight buddies killed a keg together. You deserve an extra bathroom break and a bigger helping of strawberry shortcake tomorrow in preschool. When you want to grow chest hair (that you’ll shave off anyway) try downing a liter of liquor with just one friend. It’s kind of like parachuting: you have a high chance of dying, but it’s still fun.
Beer pong just annoys me. All you Beirut aficionados are probably thinking, “You’re just saying that cuz you suck.” Well, you’re right. But I don’t see the point in competing in something where drinking beer is punishment. This game would be a lot cooler if you tossed full cans of beer at your partner, and they had to catch them in their teeth. Also, I hate always looking for the ping pong ball. It’s always behind the couch in a puddle of mystery liquid.
Also, what’s the deal with writing with permanent markers all over the weak-livered kids after they’ve passed out? That’s just…a really good idea that I wish I thought of in college. Instead, I filled my camera with photos of my balls, cock and ass all over my friends’ unconscious needledick faces.
I think we can all agree that the aluminum beer can is the coolest invention ever, especially when you poke a hole in the side, turn it rightside up and open the top, creating the “shotgun effect.” This combines some of my favorite things: beer, knives, getting covered in beer, stabbing stuff, calling my friends bitches, throwing cans, saying “shit that sucked” and hoping my competitors shiv their own hands in the process.
I will admit the youth of today can recover from a hangover better than any seasoned veteran drinker—which is probably the most overlooked portion of your drinking career. When I wake up at the crack of noon after a long night and morning of drinking, I want to give up. If my mouth wasn’t so dry I’d try to bite off my own tongue.
Just thinking of some of the weddings, breakups, concerts, random Wednesdays, college football games and tomorrow morning gives me a flashback hangover. Once you hit about 25 years old, your hangovers get so bad you need post-traumatic stress treatment to overcome them.
If you’re hardcore, you suck it up with the hair of the dog and have a beer or bloody mary. However, a true champion drinks all of his alcohol and can’t function well enough to make a cocktail when he wakes up so he has to take a cab to the nearest bar for a drink. This is a huge risk though, because sometimes if you barf in the taxi they just throw you out. Other times they make you pay double. Unfortunately, I usually can’t just stiff and ditch the driver because A) he knows where I live and B) I can’t run very fast because I’m wearing flip flops, long underwear bottoms and a towel as a cape.
Alright my young apprentices, go forth and use this wisdom for honor and bragging rights. Maybe someday you can be like me.