Drunks Say the Darndest Things 7

Do you really need the intro? Can’t we just skip the foreplay, like adults? Okay, not like, you know, adults who still care about things. I mean: like married people.

Look, you’re smart people. You know what this is all about. It’s the end of January—the truly savvy amongst you have probably been wondering how much longer they’d have to wait for this to be posted.

Each year I record the best drunken quotes—that I can remember—that my friends and I have slurred, and package up the crème de la blotto crème for the readers. And I usually throw in one or two that are from years past, that I hadn’t written about—or hadn’t remembered—before that posting. Because there’s nothing better than someone thinking the dumb shit they said is dead and buried, only to have it brought back up several years later and enjoyed by all.

• The Saturday dedicated to Swag’s birthday celebration in ’13 had gone pretty much how everyone had expected: Everyone got drunk, except for the man of honor, who got really drunk, and had to be taken home by his girlfriend before midnight. He had piled on multiple gin & tonics and shots at the bar, after multiple beers and shots while we all pregamed at his place. “Slow and steady” was not in his skill set that weekend. He was out to sprint the marathon.
  
  The next morning, the few of us who had crashed at his place sat around his living room, trying to steady ourselves. Swag leapt up from the couch and casually announced, “I’m getting a shot of Fireball.” JL, being the best friend that his hungover state would allow him to be in that moment, called out behind him, “Swag! Water is acceptable, too.”
  
  
• As I’ve stated before, the wild Raleigh weekend that I took part in last March involved five guys in very different places in their social lives. And the one married guy on hand wasn’t making his place look like a place the rest of us really wanted to be in. We were driving back to Raleigh from Chapel Hill, when Trip admitted that his fiancée’s sexual appetite was more than he could handle at times. T.C.’s jealousy boiled over. “Hey,” he cut in from the backseat, “I had to buy a pair of Uggs to get sex the last time!”
  
  
• Later that night, after we’d gotten rid of the two random chicks who tried trolling for out-of-town dick, we all settled in for the night. With five grown men and only two beds, MoFo was the odd man out, and forced to set up camp on the floor. Feeling bad for him, Hurley pulled the comforter off the bed he and Trip were splitting, and tossed it down to MoFo. When Trip protested because he didn’t want to be cold, Hurley countered with impassioned logic. “Trip, we have the sheet!”
  
  
• Christmas Eve, as has become our tradition, saw TD, Boy Toy, and TJ join my cousin, her husband, and I at my mom’s house for dinner, gifts, and lots of wine. While we warmed up with hors d'oeuvres—and lots of wine—in the kitchen, we somehow got onto the topic of pain meds. My mom mentioned that, after all of the cleaning and cooking that she’d done that day, she took a Vicodin to help with her back pain. TD couldn’t hold back her stream of consciousness. “You’re drinking wine and taking Vicodin? You’re a hardass bitch!”
  
  
• In case you were questioning my pedigree, my dear mother got hers later in the night. TD said she was too full to eat dessert, and with a twinkle in her eye Mom replied, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re a skinny little bitch.”
  
  
• Last week, Armo, TJ, one of TJ’s buddies from work, and I were at the Penguins/Blackhawks game, having a drink between periods. A stunning blonde standing at the bar quickly became the subject of our conversation, as she talked to her girlfriend and scrolled through her iPhone. When Armo offered, “She looks healthy,” I countered, “She looks…like she takes dicks to the face.”
  
  
• I missed the first night of Trip’s bachelor party, but from all accounts it was a night of drunken stupidity befitting a party thrown in Trip’s honor. At dinner that night, some of the bridegroom’s closest friends took turns standing in front of the room to tell a few stories about him and sing his praises. Then his old man stood up. “I went out one Saturday, got drunk while playing 36 holes, and then went home. Nine months later, this little bastard was born. The moral of the story: Play 54.”
  
  
• My Lil Sis, TD, has more game than an Xbox. One night, during a recent trip to New York City, she fell in lust with a cute brunette bartender. While telling me about it over text messages the next day, she reported, “I just texted her and said I have Molly in my tits to motorboat.”
  
  
• Under The Porch (UTP) and Four-Foot-D’s (FFDs) hit it off swimmingly at the Fourth of July party, and were all over each other at the end of the night. I was standing on the porch, doing keg stands with some guys, when we looked over and saw the lovebirds making out in a chair. “Haha,” one of the guys—who was one of FFDs’ friends—blurted at UTP, “You’ve got Chlamydia on your face now!”
  
  
• One night during my oft-referenced beach trip to OCMD in 2003, we watched as one girl’s bad decision-making imploded her vacation.
  
  A group of us had gone to Brass Balls Saloon for their beer pong night. After Armo and I finally got knocked off a table, we sat down at the bar and watched a pretty redhead flirt with our buddy as he played on his table. She was in her early 20s, like us, and she was pleasantly hammered. And she was making it very clear she wanted there to be further hammering.
  
  After 20 minutes or so of her shameless sloring, a guy in his mid-30s appeared in front of her. Without saying a word, he yanked her purse out of her hand, rifled through it, pulled out a room key, and then threw the purse back at her. Muttering, “Have fun,” he stormed off.
  
  Our friend and Little Red Riding Slore left the bar together. When the rest of us got back to the house we’d all rented, one of the bedroom doors was shut and familiar noises were coming from the other side. Uncle Paulie had been at another bar that night, and when he got back we filled him in on the story. Giggling like a schoolboy, he ripped his shirt off, flung open the bedroom door, and ran in announcing, “I’m here for the gangbang!”
  

[A bonus postscript: A couple of nights later, a few of us were in line for calzones at the pizza place around the corner from the house. We soon noticed a familiar face behind us in line, a few people back: Little Red Riding Slore. And she was with the older guy from Brass Balls. Seeing us, and the shit-eating grins on our faces that made it obvious we recognized them, they left the line and the pizza place without placing an order. I can only imagine the rest of their trip went just as well.]

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 6

Here we are again: Year Six for the DSTDT write up. As I have each of the past five years, I hereby present you with a series of drunken addendums and cloudy-brained contemplations by my blotto friends and me. It’s a magical time of year, indeed.

Yet again I’ve had to trim the fat and only use the best of the best quotes. I may not capture every single funny utterance by my friends and me in my notes, but the fact that I get as much as I do speaks volumes about the volumes we speak. And drink. As always, each of these comments is as real as the person that thought it prudent to give voice to it. Most are from this past year, but some are older; how they escaped my net before now is a mystery…though I’m guessing I forgot because I was drunk.

• As we watched last year’s Super Bowl, those of us gathered at Armo’s house worked to polish off every bottle of beer and liquor on hand. And Alex, as usual, was doing her share of the heavy lifting. By halftime, she was in the zone. She stared through the TV, entranced by Destiny Child’s performance. From my right I heard her say, “I lo__ __c.” Between my attention being elsewhere and the music from the show overpowering her voice, I suspected I didn’t quite hear her correctly.
  
  Me: “…What?”
  Alex: “I love TLC!”
  
  
• Armo’s residence is a popular site for misguided commentary, since the amount of alcohol you’ll inevitably consume during your visit is going to mercilessly twist you. One random night last spring, as he and I discussed criticisms of The Hangover Part II, I eloquently and emphatically drove my point home by saying, “…You know? Don’t break what’s fixin’…”
  
  
• One morning in the spring of 2012, Belle had a blackout night. The kind of blackout night my friends and I have, where you last remember talking to a former coworker at a bar and then wakeup butt naked in Swag’s house. You know, normal stuff.
  
  On a Saturday night last June, a few of us sat on Swag’s back porch drinking and politicking, and the topic of that night came up. And when one of us asked just what had happened between her and that former coworker, Belle took the floor: “I wasn’t sore the next day, so I figured nothing happened. But then I found a condom on the floor, soooo…” As all of us doubled over in laughter, she added, “…and that’s not a good sign!”
  
  
• A wise man once said, “Steel sharpen steel.” And when a crazy bastard like Pakistanimal—who’s accustomed to being louder and more audacious than anyone else in the bar—is wowed by an astonishing quip, some serious steel has been sharpened.
  
  One night in July he and I toured a few of Shadyside’s drinkeries, eventually finding ourselves at our beloved Shady Grove. One of my favorite bartenders, “Spice,” was behind the bar; she’s easy on the eyes, good with conversation, and packed with the energy of a Sisqo backup dancer. It was Pak’s first time meeting her, and she quickly left an impression. He had put a couple of bucks worth of songs on the jukebox, and when “Call Me, Maybe” came on I quickly cursed at him. [There’s a history to this particular song that’s really only known to my close friends and I; trust me, he did it to be a dick, not because he likes the song.] Spice, however, began, dancing to the beat, exclaiming as she mixed a drink, “Ooh! He’s making my vagina move with this song!”
  
  
• Late one night last spring, I got a phone call from Hollywood, whom I hadn’t heard from in about a year. As we caught up on the happenings in each other’s lives, our conversation drifted to a crazy chick he’d recently met. I asked about her age, but he seemed to know as much as I did. "You can't really tell how old she is, because her face is weathered. …She could be 35, she could be 25."
  
  
• My Lil Sis From Anotha Motha (TD) is a fan of the ladies. Especially when they’re hot, and especially when she’s drunk (it runs in the family). So getting her really drunk and taking her to a strip club is a formula for entertainment success. Earlier this month, that formula was put to use, as a night of drinking in the South Side somehow found TD and others downtown at Blush. Not long after they got there, a beautiful blonde dancer caught her eye. TD decided to ask for a lap dance, and was allll charm. “I want you,” she told the dancer. “I want you…privately.”
  
  
• Dupa is shocking. He prides himself on it. But he’s even more so for those who don’t know him, because they underestimate his attention to detail. The guy can spot a penny on a bar floor and formulate a comment about you picking it up with your butt cheeks while you’re still a mile down the road from said bar.
  
  One night in early 2010 we were partying at Hofbrauhaus with a large group of friends, including Yum, who was in a short denim miniskirt and looking, well…yum. She was sitting on a bench in the entryway at the end of the night, as we awaited a cab to take us back to the hotel. Dupa, lit like a rocket, walked through said entryway with his eyes on the door, when he stopped, pointed in Yum’s direction and said, “What’s up, leopard?” The immediate change of her face to flush red told me what my homie already knew: she was wearing leopard-print panties.
  
  
• Sometimes you don’t need to be blessed with hawklike vision. Sometimes you just have to look straight ahead. At Swag’s birthday party this past August, I was having a one-on-one convo with T.C. when he momentarily lost all train of thought mid-sentence.
  
  T.C.: “So then I, I…*staring off* Jesus.”
  Me: “What? What’s wrong?”
  T.C.: “Nah, it’s just…I never noticed how big TD’s rack is before.”
  
  
• From our early days in college until he got locked down by the gal who would eventually wear his ring and have his children, my homie BBB joyfully carried the reputation of being an unabashed coozehound. And there was zero shame to his game. He was the perfect wingman, because half the time he’d go after the big ugly ones even when he wasn’t wingmanning. Just because.
  
  One Friday night in early 2002, we found ourselves at Bar Pittsburgh drinking and carousing, as per usual. Our buddy Firewater eventually met a random gal of atrocious morality, and BBB dutifully swooped in to occupy her friend. The ladies invited them back to their apartment at the end of the night, and—being the odd man out—I drove BBB’s car to my mom’s house, where I was living at the time. The next day I had somewhere to be, and Mom had to leave for a hair appointment, so she put BBB’s keys in an envelope taped to the front door of the house. Upon opening up the envelope, he also found a handwritten note from my sainted mother: “How fat was she?”
  
  
• Dupa took a trip to China to start 2014, beginning with an NYE party overlooking Victoria Harbor in Hong Kong. Most people faced with a 20-hour flight would have paced their alcoholic intake, realizing the difference between a marathon and a sprint. But not Dupa. He was three sheets to the wind before boarding started. I’m not sure that the flight crew knew what they were in for when they got out of bed that morning.
  
  Hot Flight Attendant: “Drink before we take off?”
  Dupa: “You're delicious.”
  Hot Flight Attendant: *doesn't break stare*
  Dupa: “So... Coke Zero and Bourbon then?”

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 5

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 it fun 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?”
  Chick: “Yeah!”
  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 night day 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…?”
  TD: “BUCKETS!”
  
  
• 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?”
  

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 4

Oh, it’s that time again? Well then, let’s get to it.

A quick note first, though, so that I may pat myself on the back: Over the past year I’ve made a point of doing a better job at recording quotes as they happen (not that I’ve been flawless at this)—or, at least, as the stories have randomly come to mind. As such, I have kept a running journal that by now is fairly full. I actually had to pare down the list when writing out this post. Who says I’m a useless drunk? Ha! I’m a useful drunk!

• One Sunday last June, TD was scheduled to be guest-bartending at her favorite South Side watering hole, the Birmingham Bridge Tavern. When I arrived, however, I found her on the customer side of the bar, along with a grand total of six other people—four of whom were Jay Swag, Dupa, Tennessee, and Dupa’s roommate. And everyone, especially the little would-be bartender, was crushed. When we decided to relocate to Rumshakers, TD squeezed into the backseat of my two-door coupe, which apparently was in need of some detailing. From behind me I heard her scoff, "Your backseat is dusty! Don't you ever have sex back here?!"
  
  
• TK booked a hotel room the night of his going away party in July, since the lease on his apartment had ended the day before that. This only added to his one-night-in-town-break-out-or-be-clowned—“carpe diem”, for those untrained in 90’s hip-hop—sort of mood. At one point in the night, he and I stood in Sammy’s having the following conversation:
  
  TK: “I'm taking a bath tonight.”
  Me: *pause* “I've never heard a drunk person say that.”
  TK: “Well, it's the Westin. I'll probably masturbate in a pillow case!”
  
  
• Late on St. Patty’s Day—well, after 4 p.m.; keep in mind, we started around 9 o’clock that morning—in 2010, I was at Rumshakers with a cast of characters. Belle was one of said characters, as was a tall, brunette friend of hers. At some point I turned from a conversation with others to find Belle’s friend with a mouthful of Polish tongue. With a chuckle I brought this display to our friends’ collective attention. Dupa had become the day’s drunk slut, making out with random girls at the bar.
  
  A little later he pulled himself away from his disappointing public display to wander off elsewhere in the establishment. I engaged in some small talk with Belle’s friend; but, as I was easing into a brownout, I cannot say with any certainty just what we talked about. What I can say with certainty, unfortunately, is that not long thereafter she had a mouthful of half-Black-half-amazing tongue. Realizing I had become what I had just clowned Dupa for being, I shot off a text to him: “Why am I cleaning up your mess?”
  
  
• I caught up with TJ, Prince of Ligonier, and others for a Friday happy hour at Tilted Kilt to celebrate Mrs. Prince’s birthday last June. Her good friend, Danielle, was dutifully by her side in the race to go from “sober” to “hammered”. After it was pointed out that she had misread a menu item, Danielle shook her head and picked up her glass of green cocktail, resigning, "I'm going to drink until it makes sense."
  
  
• During a random email conversation with Dupa one workday this past summer, he bemoaned the effects of his recent boozing. And I, in return, was full of sympathy.
  
  Dupa: “Four Loko is ruining my insides.”
  Me: “That’s kind of like accusing Hitler of ruining Hell.”
  
  
• Our 2011 Furry Safari was our best yet, comprising a full day of drunken revelry and plush costume pageantry. The day’s festive spirit may have been best vocalized by TK (who very nearly made me spit Corona all over Tonic’s sidewalk seating area with this comment, which came forth completely unprovoked and without warning): “I'd like to get a handjob from someone wearing a stuffed animal.”
  
  
• On Baby Joey’s birthday, Esq, Tank, and I joined him for some drinks at Mario’s in the South Side. Esq’s upcoming nuptials were never far from his mind, and this showed during a discussion about some of the more scandalous moments of our pasts. After taking a long pause, Esq’s face suddenly dropped, and he exclaimed, “Oh god—the next married woman I bang will be my own wife!”
  
  
• Steph attended the Steelers’ season opener in Baltimore; and, unlike me, she was not pleased with the outcome. Piling onto her misery the next morning was a massive hangover that had resulted from a full Sunday of heavy drinking and tailgating. When I asked if she had made it home to Queens yet, she texted back, “I’m still on a bus. I need a new soul right now.”
  
  
• With plans to go to a friend’s surprise birthday party on the upcoming Saturday night, Hurley and I texted back and forth to nail down the final details one day in June.
  
  Hurley: “You bringing anything outside of your good looks and charm?”
  Me: “Nope. I figure that alone is more than most women can handle.”
  
  
• The Sunday morning after Brewski Festival 2011—just like the morning after every previous Brewski Fest—was painful. Dupa and I decompressed in my car as we buzzed through the Western PA backwoods on our way to his parents’ house for a cookout. As I went about the standard day-after mental and emotional inventory check, I mentioned my failure to make use of the bottle of 5-Hour ENERGY that I had brought with me for Saturday’s fun. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Dupa proclaimed, "One of those and a Viagra, and I'd kill a bitch!"
  

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 3

I may be the only one who loves these quote posts so much—and I don’t care. I’m totally fine with the fact that this is all for me.

Pulling these together is never as easy as it would seem. There’s a wealth of material, sure; but often I neglect to make note of quotes as they happen, and therefore don’t have it at the ready when writing out the story (it may be shocking to read, but sometimes I tend to forget things when I’ve been drinking). Of those I do remember, I try to save some for a DSTDT post, but inevitably a lot of quotes are told as parts of other narratives. Typical of this new age of social media, though, I did manage to collect a couple from my friends’ Facebook status updates (that’s right folks—nothing’s sacred anymore). And, as usual, I have also included one of the many random moments of brilliance from years past that have sat in my crew’s vault, dusty and unpublished—until now.

• During our pre-Brewski, Friday-night-on-the-town in Johnstown last April, Dupa was in rare form. He put on a one-man show, dancing with the girls, wearing Shannon’s earrings, and spitting out zingers left and right. Far more than the alcohol, though, what seemed to inspire his verbal mastery on this night was our favorite doctor’s revealing attire. During one pause in the group’s convo, he turned to Dr. Kelly and—saying, “Let’s pretend I’m an ostrich and your cleavage is a sand pit”—buried his face in her chest.
  
  The best of his best, however, came not much later. The girls and guys had momentarily dissolved into separate conversations, and during a small break in ours Dupa looked over again at Dr. By then he was merely the dummy to the booze’s ventriloquist act, and didn’t seem to realize that his thoughts weren’t being restricted to his head. Barely loud enough for her to hear, he said, “I’m BP, and you’re the Gulf Coast; wanna see my oil spill?”
  
  
• The following night at Seven Springs, after a long day of Brewski pregaming, Brewski Festing, and Brewski after-partying, our cast of characters found themselves pushed to their limits. By the end of the night we were a broken and battered platoon administering battlefield triage throughout the sprawling mountain resort. When he dragged himself over to the bar to get a beer at last call, Entertainer found LRG standing there alone, finishing a drink.
  
  Within seconds they were approached by a bouncer who was visibly unhappy. Pointing at LRG, the bouncer barked, “He’s cut off!” Entertainer, stunned, assured the bouncer that he would keep LRG from causing more trouble. “Look, it’s last call, so he’s not drinking more anyways,” he argued. The bouncer relented, and walked off. Despite the confrontation, LRG had remained decidedly unfazed.
  
  Entertainer: “What did you do?"
  LRG: “I don’t know. Kicked a table? Hit a girl? *shrug*”
  
  
• My manager may be a grandmother, but that doesn’t mean she can’t hang. I’ve seen this firsthand on a few business trips; the years, however, may finally be catching up to her. Last month her daughter got married, and among the dessert items at the reception were cannolis filled with a cream made with three different kinds of liquor. And it seems the baker used a liberal amount of each alcohol in the creation of these On the Rocks-worthy pastries, to the point where my manager told me, “I didn’t drink much at the wedding; but then when I went to bed…the ceiling fan wasn’t on, but it was moving.”
  
  
• Last Memorial Day, TD was out of hand. She bounced around without stoppage at her and Baby Joey’s annual party, dancing, yelling at people randomly, and kissing her girlfriends in true barsexual spirit. Late in the night, she and her friend Leah were the subject of a fantastic picture, in which Leah sat in shock as her friend performed an impromptu lap dance on her. Leah’s facial expression as TD’s sundress is thrust at her in the photo is priceless. After I showed them the picture, TD summed up the moment captured by the digital eye. “Everything Leah does with her face, I do with my crotch.”
  
  
• One weeknight last spring, her girl 2Ls popped up in my Facebook news feed with a quick message to a dear friend. “hangover, I'll meet you in the morning, 8am, give or take... until then, have a good night..”
  
  
• How in the name of Jack Daniels do you ever begin a serious drinking session knowing you haven’t eaten within the last several hours? I just can’t imagine another drinking rule as clear-cut and painfully obvious as “drinking on an empty stomach will destroy you”. And yet, one recent Tuesday morning I had the following conversation with a friend who had been sending me drunk texts at 6 pm the day before.
  
  Me: “So how you feeling today?”
  Him: “All good. A little lightheaded this morning, but I think that's because I haven't eaten in 24 hours. I puked twice, and I should not have driven home last night.”
  Me: “So, explain to me exactly how you say to yourself, ‘I haven't had any food all day. I should ingest some alcohol.’"
  Him: “Silly... I didn't start talking to myself ‘til drink #8 or so.”
  
  
• Pakistanimal’s birthday was last June, and we decided to keep it somewhat reserved. TJ, Dupa, and Pak pregamed at my place, and then we all hit the ‘Side to make the blurry happen. We were soon joined at the William Penn Tavern by a murderer’s row of LRG and a few of his homies, Jay Swag, and Mitch Canada. After several rounds of birthday shots and various drinks, Pak was dazed, and found himself in a moment of defiant truthfulness while staring at a random bar slore nearby. “Yeah, I’m fucked up,” he announced to her, “and I’m looking at your tits.”
  
  
• A few days before St. Patty’s Day 2010, my buddy Weatherman was looking for a pair of smiling Irish eyes on Facebook. “Any Irish girls want to hang out? I'm drunk off Captain, and we could make one hell of an Irish pirate.”
  
  
• A couple of Fridays ago, several of us took part in a bar crawl organized by one of TD’s friends. TJ and his girlfriend, who was in town visiting, were in attendance. Since “Racktacular” (TJ’s own turn of a phrase, not mine) lives in Tampa, it took until that night for her to finally be introduced to TD. It wasn’t long, though, before she and the crazy little blonde girl had become good buddies. At the second stop on the tour, a moment of beer-fueled jubilation took hold of TD, as she said to Rackt, “We just met—let’s bump boobs!”
  
  
• Tony, also taking part in the crawl (by the way: all proceeds were going to charity, so it would’ve been socially irresponsible of us to not get sloppy drunk that night), found himself engaged in conversation with two random guys at one of the bars. After he finally pulled himself away from his new fan club, Tony then had to deal with TJ, Dupa, and I, who of course made many comments and unfounded insinuations about his true sexual orientation and the intentions of the two strangers. His immediate response, though, did little to halt that line of thinking. Waving off our jokes, he countered, “Dudes fucking love me.”
  
  
• One night several years ago, BlahBlahBlah, myself, and a few others met up at Hooters in Station Square (which has since closed) for happy hour drinks and food. The Hooters Girls were running a sports trivia game, wherein each table competed against the others to be the first to correctly answer questions. Midway through the contest, the sexy waitress in charge of it read aloud a question involving Earvin “Magic” Johnson. BBB found himself unable to hold back his mouth, instantly (and quite audibly) shooting back, “I’ll give you a ‘magic’ Johnson.’”

Drunks Say the Darndest Things 2

If you think there is a limit to the amount of idiotic, ballsy, or plain-outrageous things my friends, family, and I will say when marinated in alcohol, let me reassure you: there isn’t. Last year’s posting on this subject was one of my favorites of the year, and not long after it was published I began remembering additional stories and fantastic lines that I had not included. Not to mention the new ones that we were busy living on an almost weekly basis. Many of those have been part of much larger stories, and therefore have already been told (a case of mistaken identity by “The Ex”—nee “Girlfriend”, Dupa’s testimonial to his lovemaking abilities, T.C.’s diffusion of a tense elevator ride, LRG’s dating arithmetic, etc.). But there still remain others that have been executed just as flawlessly, but have remained amongst our crew…until now.

• The day after Thanksgiving, my friend Steph invited me to a party at her house in Mt. Washington. When I arrived, though, the house was seemingly empty. I knocked on the door, but to no avail. I called her up to politely ask, “WTF?”
  
  Steph: *noticeably tipsy* “I’m at Carson City Saloon. I came down here this afternoon with some of my friends to watch the early [college football] games. We’re leaving here in like ten minutes.”
  Me: “Okay, but isn’t anyone at your place?”
  Steph: “Bill (my boy, who is also her roommate) should be there. Did you knock on the door?”
  Me: “Yeah. No answer.”
  Steph: “Well kick that fucker down!”
  
  
• When I was about ten or so, my dad’s side of the family held a 75th birthday party for my grandfather. As we all sat around a table in the private room of a nice Baltimore restaurant, some of my aunts and uncles discussed the different milestone birthdays while enjoying their pre-dinner cocktails.
  
  Someone: “Well 25th is silver, and 50th is gold. What’s 75th?”
  Uncle Red: “Marble!”
  
  
• In May 2004, Tony celebrated his birthday with a raucous cookout at the house he lived in with his boy, K-man. Late in the night—after a keg and two bottles of Jager had been polished off—we were all pretty hammered, but the birthday boy was easily the drunkest. Chief showed up with Mudd, who none of us had met before. And Mudd, who is black, was wearing a cowboy hat.
  
  Tony: “Chief—you brought me a black cowboy for my birthday!”
  
  
• One fall night in 2001, BlahBlahBlah and I were out in Shadyside with our friend, “Em”, and two of her girlfriends, “Pin-up” and “Badonk”. All three of the girls lived in The ‘Side; Em had an apartment on Walnut St., and Pin-up and Badonk lived in a large house a few blocks away with two other girls. After the bars closed we all went back to the girls’ house to continue drinking. Although BBB and I were supposed to stay at Em’s apartment that night, things were going swimmingly between Badonk and I, not to mention between BBB and Pin-up. So when Em decided to call it a night, expecting us to be rolling with her, she got two peace signs to the face. For whatever reason, though, neither of us hooked up; instead, our party of four ended up passing out in a girl-guy, girl-guy lineup in Pin-up’s bed (she had a queen-sized mattress, but quarters were still pretty cramped—if we had rolled over in our sleep, the poor lasses would’ve suffocated).
  
  Early in the morning, I felt the bed shake, and looked up to see BBB getting up and walking out of the room. I looked back down to find a sexy chick sleeping next to me in the same bed, and another one a BBB-sized space away from her. Still drunk, I shrugged it off and went back to sleep. An hour or so later, all of us were awaken by a blaring smoke alarm. Pin-up hopped up and ran out of the room to investigate; the rest of us got up, BBB and I plopping ourselves down on a couch in the middle of the bedroom. When Pin-up returned, she said that a candle had been left burning in the bathroom and the smoke from it had set off the alarm. “It was probably our roommate—she’s always lighting that fucking candle!”
  
  She left the room again and Badonk followed her. Alone for the moment, BBB started chuckling.
  
  Me: *whispering* “What?”
  BBB: *whispering* “I lit the candle!”
  Me: “Wha…Why’d you light the candle?”
  BBB: “I took a shit!”
  
  
• BBB’s confession wasn’t going to be the last great line of the morning, however. He and I walked back to Em’s place, giggling and still tipsy. When we rang the buzzer for her apartment, she came to the door and opened it, and looked up at us like a lost toddler.
  
  Em: *dejectedly* “Did you fuck my friends?!?”
  
  
• A couple of Christmases ago, several of us spent Christmas Eve Eve (the 23rd) drinking at Shadyside Saloon. At the end of what was a blindingly-drunk night for Hollywood, the last four or five of us were drinking beers in my apartment. As he perused my liquor supply, he happened upon my bottle of Glenlivet Nadurra, a 16 year old scotch.
  
  Hollywood: “‘Glen-li-vay’. Nice.”
  Me: “Thanks, but it’s ‘Glen-liv-it’.”
  Hollywood: “No it’s not; it’s ‘Glen-li-vay’.”
  Me: “It’s ‘Glen-liv-it; it’s Scottish, not French!”
  
  
• On a Friday night last November, Tony and I were sitting at a table in Shady Grove, finishing our drinks and casually watching some of the night’s talent walk past. Then a passing petite blonde with a nice bottom got Tony to thinking.
  
  Tony: “If I was Vinnie Chase, I’d pull an average chick like that, and then I’d send someone out to buy a bucket of sausage gravy, and I’d eat it out of her ass.”
  
  
• As TD and Baby Joey’s 2008 Labor Day party wound down, I received a phone call from The Ex, who at the time was still a mysterious and little-known “Lady Friend”. I answered the phone and sat down on one of the couches in the living room while I talked. 1L, as I reported once before, was confined to the other living room couch by the effects of the day’s drinking. Mind you, she was wide awake and had been involved in the conversations going on between TD, Joey, Tony, and I; she just couldn’t keep herself upright while doing so. The Ex was out of town, but wanted to call to see how my day had gone. As I was involved in the phone conversation, I was absent to the group’s discussion, and was unaware as to where it had wandered off. But I was about to get a strong idea.
  
  As I talked with The Ex, I suddenly realized 1L’s slurry voice was projecting in my direction. “Hey!” I glanced over, and saw that she was leaning towards me, stretching to show me her cell phone; on the screen was a crisp, clear photo of a well-sculpted butt (which, I’d learn later, belonged to none other than 1L herself) in pink and bluelace panties. I tried to ignore her and focus on The Ex, but 1L was determined to show off her booty to me.
  
  1L: *louder* “Hey! …I bet that girl you're talking to doesn’t have an ass like this!”
  

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?”