My First Drunk (Part 2)
by boh3m3 on Oct.12, 2008, under Random Thoughts
Love and kisses, Beer.
In our last post:
They agreed to have a brawl in my stomach. It became Thunderdome, but without any inclination for “one man leave.” Well… not at first.
That, for the most part, is all I can write with any sort of confidence. The rest of the night went the way of Jack Kerouac, Billie Holiday and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I had become a time traveler with no history written down to catch up on. Below is what ran through my mind the next morning.
I fell asleep on a carousel. No, no… that’s not right. Maybe if I blink I’ll understand what I’m seeing better.
Shit well that didn’t help at all. If anything, it got worse. It was bad when I felt like a dreidel, but at least the motion was smooth.
Ugh I think I’m going to be sick.
When did my legs become cooked noodles? And why is my head flopping around like a chicken with a broken neck? Oh god I have to get to that toilet faster.
Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurk. Huuuuuuuuurk huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurk.
Well I’d rather not do that again. I like to have something to show for my work, you know. This dry heaving business wont cut-huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurk.
Oh well.
What’s this stuff on the floor? I didn’t have anything to vomit!
Splashed around the base of the bowl (but none actually making it to where I assume it was directed) was something… odd. It had been liquid once, I was sure of it. But what struck me wasn’t the chunky-smooth Morse code that someone’s stomach telegraphed on the bathroom floor. It was the color.
Black.
Someone's gonna pay.
Not thick like dark chocolate syrup, but black like a monochrome Batman painting that had a bit of turpentine thrown on it out of spite. On my floor. Worse yet, trailing off out of the bathroom like the snail trail of some bile demon from outer space.
For a moment I debated whether or not I would like to find out where it led. Considering I was house-sitting for my stepdad at the time, I decided it was my duty as steward of the house to investigate.
I quickly regretted it.
It was a Tim-Burton line of twists, curls, and gothic grunge texturing leading in a staggering line down the hall. It was drunkvomit Tron with a staggering lightbike leaving a putrid trail.
Bloodhounds have to walk on all fours to follow a trail because that is their nature. I had to walk on all fours to follow the trail not because it was my nature, but because my legs hated me and wanted me to know it.
So I crawled, closer to the splattery mess than I ever wanted to be, down the hall… to my bedroom. God someone had passed out in my bedroom and got up in the night to puke, I thought.
“NOT cool, Jerry. Not cool. But you GOTTA see this. You’re like Pollack if he had been working with a new medium in an era without color. Jerry?”
Crawled around the bed like a kid with an inner-ear infection playing hide and seek. No Jerry.
“JERRY?”
“Whut man?”
Such a lovely quilt
Jerry was downstairs, having passed out on the couch in lieu of the Everest-quest up the stairs after a night of drinking that the word “heavy” just can’t describe.
Oh god. This is my doing. My runny black stomach footprints leading to my bed and-OH GOD! INto my bed. No… not my bed. My step-dad’s bed.
Sure enough, the trail ended in a small pool of what looked like the symbiote from Spiderman on the quilted wedding comforter some relative had lovingly made and given to my stepdad. Luckily, the symbiote was dead or sleepy and instead of trying to mate with my genetic structure, it opted to recline in it’s own messy way on the bedspread.
I couldn’t help but wonder how the vomit had gotten black. Had I eaten a pound of licorice that I just didn’t remember? Perhaps I munched on some charcoal briquettes in a drunken rant on Prometheus being a smug bastard.
As it stands, the only theory I found reasonable was that whatever food I ate turned full-blown Goth and bolted for the door when the international beverage conflict in my stomach reached it’s pinnacle.
Chuck is gonna kill me.
“Chuck is gonna killlllll me!“
I had found my new mantra. I practiced it a lot that day. I chanted it as I scrubbed the rug. I perfected it as I pounded my friends to the outside world with the force of my voice. I whispered it just before all the stains were gone, and I thought it right up until the moment my stepdad got back…
And didn’t notice a thing.
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October 12th, 2008 on 4:12 pm
my first drunkin experience is rather vague… but my favorite was just a few years ago. i’m a bar manager with a catering company part time …and well for our christmas party our boss took us to a victor wooten concert (if you have any interest in jazz or funk this guys money)anyways …before the concert we had drinks and booze backstage…well i remember some jager…and drinking shiraz straight from the bottle. what i don’t remember… flashing most of my co-workers and my boss… i still catch shit over that. not the first time i’ve gotten tanked and decided i should share my girls with the world…but def. the most memorable
October 12th, 2008 on 4:13 pm
Guinness, darling, guinness. Does things to vomit that really shouldn’t ever happen.
October 12th, 2008 on 8:23 pm
hehehe…We made quite a few messes that summer in your step dad’s house. And I am pretty sure that you weren’t the only one to puke in that house either. But we sure did have fun!
October 12th, 2008 on 8:27 pm
For my 13th birthday, a few of my older, “cool” friends in the 8th grade (OMG) brought me a ton of beer. Needless to say, at 13 I couldn’t hold my alcohol very well.
Never the less, it was a good present.
October 12th, 2008 on 9:49 pm
I have many tales of drunken nights, many from my high school years, many of which finish with me spewing. I take great pride in my spewing - when I spew I spew in style. One evening, I was about 16, I had a few beers ’round my brother’s place and was walking home. I felt I could probably do with a spew so as I was walking I just turned my head and had a retch, all without stopping. No mess, no fuss.
I rarely drink a lot these days as as I can never seem to stay under that point of no return. My stomach is a good friend.
October 13th, 2008 on 2:52 am
The second GIF. “Nothing like a nice warm- OH NOES!” had me laughing so hard that it felt like someone took photographic evidence of what my eyes had seen after way too many shots of Appleton 151-Proof Rum.
Usually, a good greasy breakfast and a shot of your favourite poison will bring you back to your senses.
October 13th, 2008 on 6:19 am
I was a little wiser the first time I ever got drunk. I was 18, and I stuck to one kind of drink. Sky Blue. (I probably shouldn’t have gotten drunk seeing as I was drinking because my dad had just passed away. But my friends thought it would help me. lol) It had made my stomach hurt like I was going into labor before the night was over. I wish I could have thrown up, but all I had was the dry heaves! After that I never got drunk enough that I threw up until after I was 21.
October 13th, 2008 on 10:39 am
My first drunk was at the age of fifteen(I’m 16 now), during a swedish weekend that originally celebrates some jewish/christian tradition, but now just symbolizes drinking. Me and my friends had gotten our hands on a few bottles. i think I drank about half a bottle of vodka. It’s a miracle I didn’t throw up until the day after. Since I didn’t want my parents to notice, I excused myself to the balcony(no road nuder it, luckily) and threw up of it unnoticed. It was fun.
October 13th, 2008 on 10:51 am
Ack. Throwing up is never fun. Every time I get even slightly queasy now I get really worried that I’m gonna puke, just because it’s about the worst possible thing your body can do to you!
October 14th, 2008 on 4:40 am
As i voted on the fairly ripe age of 10-16 a flash of Bud light and Ice Cream ran its course through my mind that seems to be developing Alzheimers at the grotesquely young age of 21. I was six and my parents decided it was a good idea to leave a beverage that looked more innocently disguised as Apple Juice. So a little Devin decided that he would be as cool as his parents and have some Ice Cream and ‘Apple Juice’, but even the taste didnt derive my childish sense of pride and after 3 I stumblingly decided to choke down my Chocolate Chip Ice Cream in a haze of swirling that I can only assume an anorexic six year old version of myself would experience. “Mom, Dad?. I dont feel good.” To which mom retorts “Whats the matter honey?”. “Mommy your Apple Juice made my tummy hurt.” I replied with a hurl (laughing can be heard over the phone from my parents) “Eat some toast and we’ll be home soon.”
You heard right a six year old called his parents drunk, but I’m undoubtedly sure it could have been much worse.
October 17th, 2008 on 2:55 pm
I have been lucky thus far in the fact that i have never had a hangover, and i’ve been beyond drunk many times. I think the worst i ever got was a little nauseous. My first drunk was, as is tradition ’round my friends, an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s all to myself at the ripe old age of 16.
Now that i’m 21, my drink of choice is Vodka and Lemonade. Goes down like water, and even though i’ve been drunk quite a few times since 16, i’m still a lightweight so i’m cheap at the bar. I tend to be the DD a lot more often than i get to get drunk though, and sometimes i’m grateful for that, seeing how my friends act when they’re drunk. They’re usually just really lous and boisterous, but every once in a while one will do something so stupid that i have to take them home immediately.