Drinking stories #2

I've been debating on which drinking story to go with next. (Haven't seen the g/f all weekend, so sorry for the further delays on the hook up/meeting people posts)

After thinking about it, I decided to go old school with one of my oldest drinking stories. It is one that I have told several times over drinks with friends or new friends. I call this story, "Why I don't drink whiskey."

So, like most Saturdays for college students, I awoke early in the day ... just a bit before one in the afternoon. When I stumbled into the living room, I felt my stomach calling for for breakfast. Before rolling into the kitchen, I asked my roommate if he wanted to join me.

Of course he did.

The two of us began pounding Soco and lime shots—breakfast of champions.

Once we had a good buzz, I strolled to the couch and sat down to play a few video games. This went on for a few hours, pounding more shots every so often to ensure our buzz never died. By the time the sun began to set, my stomach grumbled. One part alcohol, the other part hunger. Even with the huge, late dinner the night before, I couldn't put the call for food on hold for much longer.

While me and my roommate drained the last of the Soco, I suggested that we head out and grab some burgers or something. He waved me off and told me that there would be pizza at the party. At this point, I had forgotten about the party, but I just nodded and went with it.

After getting dressed, we loaded into my roommates car and rolled over to the party. ... Yes, we were still a bit buzzed, but not really an issue. Though, the whole drinking and driving thing was one of the major reasons I came to Japan. I like to drink, and I hate to drive. The trains make everything easy.

We arrived at the party a bit after it started. I strode inside, thinking that the pizza would already be there. I was wrong. I figured they would order it soon, so I walked into the kitchen and began drinking on a handle of Evan with a dash of Pepsi to chase it.

Me and some random guy at the party worked through half of the handle, and there was still no pizza. I searched and found the host, but he was more fucked up that me. He told me that he had ordered Sandwiches instead, so I relented. I returned to the kitchen to finish off the handle of Evan.

I don't know about everyone else, but whiskey makes me angry-drunk. Real, real angry-drunk. So, I nearly get in a fight with the guy I was drinking with as well as several other people. At one point, I strolled outside and began peeing inside someone's car ... like on the driver's seat.

When I came back inside, my stomach growled. I remembered the lack of food. I dug through the kitchen, hunting for food. There was none. I asked around, and it turned out that the host had never ordered any sandwiches.

My drunken rage took over. The host was sitting on the couch watching a movie with some other people in the party. He was drooling on himself, drunk to the point of passing out. I called out to him. When he turned to look at me, I grabbed his expensive, porcelain lamp.

I asked, "Whose lamp is this?"

I saw the host working his mouth, but his response was too slow.

I slammed the lamp against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. I bared my teeth and shouted, "It's no ones lamp!"

After stumbling around the party, burning my anger and drinking a bit more, I found myself in the bathroom. This particular bathroom had a slight lean in it. The floor at the door was about two inches higher than by the wall. I felt sick.

The next thing I know, I hear a girl scream and then a door slamming. The door clicked open again, and I looked up at my friends. They laughed. Turns out that I'm rolling around in an inch and a half of standing puke.

Some take pictures. Some throw-up themselves. My friends undress me and throw me in the shower. They turn on the cold water and spray me down. Once they finished moping up the puke, my roommate began poking me with the mop ... he says that he was just checking to see if I were alive, but I think he was just having fun. Eventually, I took the mop and used it as a pillow.

When the morning came around, I was still drunk. My roommate had sobered up enough to drive, and we grabbed some fast-food on the way home.

I was hungover for 3 days afterwards.

Now, just the smell of whiskey makes me vomit. I tried to drink it some time later by holding my breath, but when it touched my tongue, I upchucked all over the people I was drinking with. Needless to say, I stay as far away from whiskey as possible now.


I hope you enjoyed the story.

Thanks for reading,
Travis

Next:  Halloween 2013