TD: “‘Za is so good!’ should’ve made it.”
Me: “Yeah, well…You had one in there.”
TD: “Yeah, I know…”
Four years ago, it occurred to me that my drunken friends say some really stupid things. …Okay, okay; my drunken friends and I say some really stupid things. I threw together six or so quick examples to prove this thesis, and posted it without much more of a thought.
Fast-forward to January 2012; after posting a fourth edition of the now annual quotes write-up, my little-sister-from-another-mother was questioning my selection. It’s not like TD opened the blog post and was angered at finding I had published a quote of hers. No, her dispute was over the choice I had made among her personal catalog of drunken quotes. She wasn’t uptight over me putting one of her goofier moments on the internet; she was critical that it wasn’t the goofiest moment of hers that I could have used.
These are my friends. And this is just one of the many reasons why I love them.
In 2011, I finally had the good sense to keep a log on my phone of specific quotes as they happened—or, to be more accurate, I tried to keep a log. The best laid plans of mice and blotto men… This past year I was much better at it, and I compiled quite the hitlist for this edition of DSTDT in the process. If you said something to me (or around me) that isn’t listed below, you probably weren’t as funny as you thought. …Or I was just a lot drunker than you thought.
Without much further ado, here are more moments of drunken brilliance and brilliant drunkeness in my crew’s endless pursuit of the perfect buzz.
- This past St. Patrick’s Day, our girl Belle was injured before a single Car Bomb had been detonated. As she bled from Eve’s wound, we did our best to make
her forget about itfun of her for it. While she and Jay Swag played against TJ and Rackt on Shannon’s W&J-Black-and-Red cornhole set, a thought came over me. “Wait…” I said, interrupting TJ’s throw. “Shouldn’t Belle be throwing the red bags?”
- One night in late summer, TJ called me to share one of his typically insane stories, the kind that only he could find himself involved in. The female antagonist in the tale, who had quite literally gone insane, was seemingly driven over the edge by Swag’s refusal to date her. A little later that night, I texted the man in question for background on this drama.
Me: “Apparently your penis is the source of much magic and sorcery.”
Swag: “lol. Just talked to [TJ] for 20 mins. Holy fuck.”
Me: “Yeah. Insanity. All caused by you not being freer with the velvet rope you call a zipper.”
Swag: “lol. She’s been avoiding me like the plague.
A) I don’t care.
B) You’re not attractive.
C) I don’t play games, I’m a grown ass man.”
Me: “LOL. The force is strong in this one.”
Swag: “She’s stupid. You boob bang someone one time and they have to catch feelings. *sigh*”
- My girl Steph came into town in late April to visit and show off her very prominent baby bump. She gathered about 12 of her friends for dinner one night, including TJ, Dupa, and me. As we all B.S.’d around the table, her friend Molly brought up a cultural difference between companies in Europe and those here in the states: some European corporations keep beds in their offices so that employees can take naps. I immediately saw the number 1 reason why this idea would never work in the US. “There are too many sexual harassment laws for me to have a bed in my office.”
- During our night of revelry in Ybor City, TK uncovered a drinking issue that seems specific to massage therapists. Rackt was trying to describe an injury she had suffered at CrossFit, and as she stumbled in detailing the location of the strain, TK began rattling off Latin-worded diagnoses. Catching himself, he stopped and explained, “When I get drunk I start naming muscles.”
- As TK and I sat taking in the scene at Gaspar’s Grotto later in the night, a fella at the other end of the bar was romancin’ and b-boy stancin’. When he walked past a cute emo girl who was standing near us, drinking from a glass of clear liquid, he stopped to engage her in small talk.
Guy: “What’re you drinking?”
Girl: “Gin & Tonic.”
Guy: *walking away* “Ah…classy bitch.”
- As I documented last summer, several of my friends took part in a kickball tournament one Saturday in August, and then hit the bar afterwards—hard. At Shady Grove, talk amongst some of the women in our group centered around Wall Street’s moment of glory, when an open bathroom door left him exposed in Alex’s glass-walled shower.
Wall Street: “I should’ve pressed my cock against the glass.”
Me: *sipping from my Manhattan* “If you had looked closely, you would’ve seen the imprints from all of the other guys who’ve pressed their cocks against the glass in Alex’s shower.”
- The following Monday, I texted Alex to ask if she had caught The Newsroom the night prior. But her hangover from Saturday’s fun, it seemed, had handicapped her well into the night. “I think right about then,” she texted back, “I was laying on my hardwood floor praying for god to just take me.”
- TK was barhopping around St. Pete and Treasure Island one night last year, and in doing so managed to spill a drink on his shirt. When he happened upon a random, unattractive chick, she called him out.
Chick: “Is that cum on your shirt?”
TK: “No, but you want some on your face?”
TK: *blank stare*
- With cold germs and flu bugs wreaking havoc on the East Coast in the month of December, all three of my team members at work were sick at different times during a two-week period. Since all four of us sit in the same small, open-plan section of the office, it was a minor miracle that I avoided coming down with something. When this fact occurred to my manager, she asked, “How didn’t YOU get sick?” With a grin, I answered, “I disinfect myself every night.”
- The Saturday before NYE found several of us at TD & Boy Toy’s house for a
nightday of boozing. During a furious game of (drunken) Catch Phrase, Boy Toy tossed out clues to try to bring his teammates closer to his given word. TD wasn’t on his team, but wasn’t about to let that—or inhibitions—stop her.
Boy Toy: “Uh…ok. When I come to something, I come…?”
- My friend Ton’s wedding was a blur of booze, dancing, lewd behavior in the photo booth, and more booze, all in the wilds of Eastern Ohio. The next morning I awoke in a room at the Days Inn—next to a pizza, courtesy of Dupa. Although my travelling companion hadn’t passed out quite as early as I had, his recollection of the previous night’s events was no less clouded. He hopped out of his bed and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. As I put the pizza box on the dresser, Dupa called out, “Apparently I ate a piece of pizza while pissing; there’s a crust in here.”
- Jay Swag’s 30th birthday was a three-day murder scene, where everyone put his or her liver in a pit and ordered it to put the lotion—and a can of Four Loko Watermelon—in the basket. As things got underway on Thursday evening, I cracked open a Loko, sat down on the couch, and snapped a picture of the can with my phone. When everyone in the room stared at me, I looked up and explained, “I’m going to want to know why tomorrow.”
- The pace of our intake hadn’t slowed down one bit by the following Saturday. Collette’s drunk wasn’t satisfied with sadistically torturing her internal organs; it even projected racist stereotypes onto her.She asked for a sip of my Loko, having never had tried it before. She smacked her lips, examining the flavor. “Is that watermelon,” she asked, “or does it just taste like that because I’m Black?”