May
27
2011

Drunk personality types: Part I

—Josey

Some people say that the way you act when you’re drunk is a reflection of your true personality. Partially repressed parts of your soul bubbling to the surface of your booze-addled brain. In vino veritas, and all that. Whether that’s totally accurate, or 90% accurate and really hard to admit, one thing’s for sure: Anyone who drinks has a drunk personality type. Your drunk personality may just be a louder, more naked, and less funny version of sober-you. Or maybe you’ve got some intense Jekyll and Hyde shit going on. Either way: your drunk personality emerges when you’re maximally inebriated, oft-blacked out, and it’s the heart and soul of your drunken self.

Here are some of the most common drunk personality types (and when you’re done reading this, check out Part II):


The Big Spender.
He’s not just getting rounds for the table—he’s buying shots of Patron for the whole bar. And then he’s buying everybody lap dances at the Gold Club. In the VIP room. With bottle service. Sure, his internship in the mail room of the insurance company doesn’t exactly pay well, and he’s only on a three-month contract—but he’s got tomorrow’s due rent in cold, hard cash, some almost-maxed out plastic for “emergencies only,” and he knows how to use it. What could be more important than treating his new, best friends to a night on the town they’ll never forget? Suite at the W? Where else would we have the afterparty? Limos home for everyone? So much better than cabs or walking! Plane tickets to Jamaica for all the mailroom interns? I’ve always wanted to go there! The Big Spender can be easily spotted: He’s the guy screaming, “what have I done? What have I done??” in the lobby of the W any given Saturday morning.
Read more »


Jun
24
2010

An Enthusiast’s guide to drinking in public

 

Waking up to the hot-ass sun painfully penetrating one’s hung-the-fuck-over frontal lobe is enough to make any Enthusiast want to start throwing sheets to the wind. It’s summer, and street fairs, parks, playgrounds, public beaches, marathons, county fairs, and the slightly-less urine-soaked bus stop in front of your girlfriend’s stepmom’s apartment complex are looking ripe for the boozing in.*

In a pinch, any alcoholic substance within grabbing distance can (and should) be consumed outside—but there are certain hassles and risks involved when said outdoors is in what the courts define as “public.” So, if  you have some imbibe-preparation time, here are a few insights to help your load stay light and legal record squeaky clean:

1. A 16-hour supply of beer is bulky as FUCK. For the Enthsiast on the go, that backpack of beer is your cross to bear. Same problem with bottles of wine, and the bladder from the Franzia box is a tad too conspicuous.

2. Liquor is quicker—but let’s face it: flasks don’t hold enough booze. Even the stylishness of this sneak-a-swig doesn’t compensate for the fact that you’re going to be out of Early Times before your first funnel cake.  And you have to suspect that around each woven-goods stall in Anytown Main Street Fair USA a cop could be waiting—waiting—for you to pull that bottle of Taaka out of your bag so he can escort your enthusiastic ass across the car-blocking barricades in full view of curious, face-painted children and/or tipsy adults, uncomfortably waiting for Porta Potties.
Read more »


Jun
11
2010

4 incredibly assed-out things that I do when I’m drunk

 

#4: Try to get your dog drunk.

Look, this one’s horrible. You should never give a dog alcohol. But when I get rippin’, I will try. (I could include high, but that takes a little work and let’s face it; if you are going to work that hard to get a dog to inhale a popper or swallow some X, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that you intend to fuck it. Good pet owners, shit, even bad ones—the kind they arrest on “Animal Cops”—have the foresight to remove their animal from your vicinity before said fuckage occurs.)

Anyway. Somehow cats have the foresight to get themselves the hell out of these situations, and go knock around the mouse turds on the top of your fridge, but dogs will walk into any goddamn room with people in it and start eating and drinking anything at their eye level. Ashtrays. Bongwater. And oh yes, that dish of Mickey’s I just poured.

Fucking relax. This is a close up of Joan Rivers trying to kiss her own reflection. In some bongwater I spilled.

Before you go call PETA, I should let you know that I have never successfully pulled this off. Apparently, dogs don’t like the smell of shame or failure, both of which emanate strongly from me and have permeated my clothing.

“I don’t love them clothes.”

See?
 

#3: SHOUT EVERY SINGLE THING I SAY.

Like:

“BRO! BRO-BRO! CHECK OUT YOUR DOG! DUDE! MAN! HE’S SO FUCKING WAAAAAYSTED!”
“…the fuck, man…My dog isn’t moving, dude! What’d you do to him?

“SO LIKE, WHAT? YOU AND YOUR MAN HAVIN’ TROUBLES? YOU NEED TO TALK? YOU SHOULD COME OVER AND CHECK OUT MY STEREO…MY DAD GOT IT FOR ME…YEAH, HE OWNS A DEALERSHIP…”
“Dude. Why are you talking to my girlfriend?”

“…BUT I’M LIKE, COOL WITH IT, ‘COS IT’S NOT GAY IF YOUR BALLS DON’T TOUCH, RIGHT?? RIGHT??”
“Um, yeah, man. It kind of is.”

“HELL YEAH I’LL DRINK PAINT THINNER!! THINNA!! YEEEEEAH! THINNA FO DINNA! THINNADINNA! THINNAMADINDIN!! WHOOOOO!”
“Hey, can you chill out just a bit? You need to calm down.”
 

#2: Find a way to sing “Baby Got Back.”

I LIKE BIG BUTTS ON A CAN OF FLIES! YOUR OTHER BROTHER MOTHER AND MINE!

The kitchen was packed a moment ago….bitches can’t handle my hand of conga…

I’m not sure I need to elaborate on this much more…
 

#1: Piss everywhere BUT the toilet.

I don’t know what makes me think I am clever when I stumble into your bathroom and pee on every roll of toilet paper in there, but I gotta say, it’s funny as shit when I’m doing it.

In hindsight, I’m pretty sure that nothing puts a woman in a throat punching, stiletto heel heart stabbing, testicle crushing, murderous rage than having your skirt around your waist and grabbing a handful of piss sopped pulp to wipe with. Fortunately, you can gratify those throat-punchy, heart-stabby, ball-crushy urges practically instantly, because I’ll just be in the next room telling my “secret” to the dudes.

By shouting it.

DUDE, DUDE! DON’T SAY ANYTHING BUT I JUST PISSED ALL OVER THE PLACE! I DECIMATED EVERY ROLL KEVIN HAS, MAN! DUDE! NO ONE CAN TOP THAT!!

Oh, wait.

(This may explain the sexual “Dry Spell” I went through from 1989-2009.)
Wipe that fucking smirk off your face. 2010 ain’t over yet.

 
—Jason

Dog photo courtesy of Mike Fischer,  flickr.
Snoop photo courtesy of chicagofabulous,  flickr.
Drunk dancing photo courtesy of melle oh, flickr.
R Kelly photo courtesy of andrew steinmetz, flickr.
Joan Rivers photo courtesy of david shankbone, flickr.