So I think this is fairly straight forward: I like to drink. But what got this little gem going was that years back when I was “at my prime” of drinking (read: weeknights were no longer discernible from weekends) I thought I had the king shit cure for the bubbly guts the next day. All you had to do was puke before you finished the night of and you’d feel right as rain the following day (with the slight exception of feeling a bit fuzzy…but I’d take that over stomach knots and headaches any day). I felt infallible, because as ridiculous as it sounded it totally worked for me. So every night that I had “a few too many” (every night) I would muster up the chunks from within the churning melt pot of brew and bile and unload woes of a harder tomorrow. This of course was a terrible path to take as not only is it a prime way of rotting your esophagus with acid, but it also inevitably lead to facilitate far easier proactive puking (you know that “well now that I have room for more..” response….no?, you don’t know that?), which made me black out more often. After awhile of losing vast portions of the night and, more specifically, having to toil the next day to find out if I owed anyone mentally-baseless apologies…I grew tired of all the hub-bub, and decided in favor of a more socially acceptable form of drinking….trying not to puke like every other respectable chap in the joint. Does this make me a better person? probably not…but it does save me the time and effort of having to play Sherlock Holmes the next day….also I insult less of my lady friends…”that’s because you don’t have any more” Well aren’t you just a mean sunovabitch spreading true rumors like that.

26 May This entry was written by CatastroFUCK and published on May 26, 2013 at 1:12 PM. It’s filed under Story Time and tagged blowing chunks, getting hobo-drunk, high class, like a champ, not a quitter, typical CF. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.