Drunks Say the Darndest Things

With apologies to Bill Cosby, the adage “kids say the darndest things” is bull. Anyone who thinks that has lived a boring life. Not only are drunken people a better source of quotables, laughing at them is far more sensible than laughing at children. A child, in most cases, has no reason not to think what he or she says; a drunk, in most cases, has no reason to say what he or she thinks.

The following are some my favorite lines slurred and moments stumbled through by my friends and me over the years.

• After a long Saturday night at the bar a few years ago, I sat with Tony, K-Man, Stacy, and Bill in a Denny’s booth. The waitress brought us our drinks and then left to give us time to peruse the menu. Stacy, who had not let the fact that she was a girl stop her from keeping up a respectable pace in the booze race that night, was twisted—to put it lightly. Taking a sip from a straw, she recoiled in disgust. Angry, she looked at Bill and barked, “Why didn’t you TELL me this tea was unsweetened!”
  
  “Stacy,” I offered from across the table, “That’s water.”

• During our 2003 trip to Ocean City, my friend (“Mike P.”) found himself in an enviable position. He had landed on the radars of two females: an attractive girl (“Amazon”) in our vacationing group of PA refugees, and an equally attractive friend of a friend of T.C.’s. Mike and Amazon were amongst several of us that went to Seacrets on the final night of the trip. He left early, though, when the other girl came by and picked him up. I left not long after with another four friends, and when we arrived home Uncle Paulie was talking to two less-than-desirable randoms on the front steps of our rented condos.
  
  U.P.: “Where’s [Mike P.]?”
  Me: “He’s moved on to number two.”
  Random 1: “‘Number two’ what?”
  Me: “His number two girl for the night. He left number one at the club.”
  Random 1: “Would I be a ‘number one’ or a ‘number two’?”
  Me: *screwfaced* “You’d be a four!”

• This past New Year’s Eve, TD broke out the Jell-O shots midway through the night. About seven of us—including a girl who we’ll just call “Blonde Moment”—tossed back the first of many rounds; afterwards, however, Blonde Moment was a little confused. With complete sincerity, she leaned into TD and said, “Boy, this sure does taste different then the Jell-O I bring to work everyday!”

• During the aforementioned-Ocean City trip, my boy Nick and I were standing outside late one night talking. Our friend Heather, a 5’2” sorority girl, came bounding up to us.
  
  Heather: “Did you ever do an Irish Car Bomb? I did my first one tonight, and snnihh sevveeehh shhifff flevv!!”
  
  In unison, Nick and I looked at each other incredulously, and then back at her. “What?”
  
  Heather: “I szzshh thhtepp wwsh…*pauses, frustrated; turns to leave*…Fuck you guys!”

• One Saturday, Dupa and I spent the night drinking in Ligonier. Returning to his parents’ house at the end of the night, we decided to feast on some leftovers. After putting a plate with a healthy cut of lasagna into the microwave, I paused. Staring at it lost, I finally asked, “Hey, where’s the 'lasagna' button?”

• While sitting on the deck at an Ocean City pool bar, Uncle Paulie and T.C.’s wife (though at the time they weren’t married yet) watched T.C. (who was sporting a sunburn after a couple of days of fun in the sun) and I play Marco Polo with some children. One little girl in particular had taken a shining to T.C., and proceeded to playfully chase him around the pool.
  
  Mrs. T.C.: “I don’t know if I should be jealous of that little girl for chasing my boyfriend around.”
  U.P.: “She doesn’t know any better. He’s red and fat; she thinks he’s Santa Claus.”

• In college I was an officer in our Black Student Union. In my junior year we organized a bowling outing one Friday night. My roommate Dame and I, in full party mode, packed several cans of beer into my bookbag to take along with us. Our group climbed onto a chartered school bus parked in front of the student center, and Dame soon asked me to pass the bookbag back to him.
  
  A short while later, however, a last-minute scheduling problem arose that meant we would have to wait about an hour to leave for the bowling alley. Dame handed the bookbag back to me as we departed the bus, but he neglected to warn me that it was still unzipped. As I walked off the last step of the bus, the bag flung open, sending about 10 cans of beer tumbling to the ground. Instinctively looking up to see who was watching, we locked eyes with the Dean of Students, who was only about 40 feet away. Dame, in a moment of alcoholic ingenuity, announced unconvincingly, “Oh no—our SODAS!”

• I awoke reasonably disoriented on the third morning of a four day trip to Ocean City in 2005. Looking around the hotel room that Dupa, Eric, Nate and I were sharing, I tried to wrap my head around the situation.
  
  Me: “Wait, is today Saturday?”
  Eric: “Yep.”
  Me: *still confused* “What happened to Friday?”