I just returned from a short vacation. By short, I mean a day and a half. While 36 hours is usually plenty of time for me to get thoroughly blitzed, this time, as that bitch Fate would have it, I got sick. Usually when I get sick I use it as an excuse to drink heavily. After all, alcohol kills germs, so turning myself into a human oak barrel should kill the sickness-causing germs. I know this argument goes completely against science, but I maintain it anyway purely for exculpation.
As a further kick in the cherries from Fate, Murphy’s Law, or just another random evil deed done by the universe, the particular illness I was afflicted with wouldn’t allow me to keep a damn bit of anything down. In a few moments a perfectly fine shot of whiskey became nothing more than worthless puke. I hate throwing up when I didn’t drink enough to deserve it in the first place.
Being a stubborn guy with a brutish temper, I refused to give up my 36 hours of drunkenness. I assumed if I chugged large amounts of alcohol in short amounts of time, and tried to resist the tremendous urge to vomit caused by illness, I might be able to keep some alcohol in me long enough to eventually get wrecked. I was determined as hell, and gave it the old college try.
What followed was the epitome of pointless endeavors. While my spirit was more than willing, my flesh was weak and urpy (+5 cool points if you know what cartoon show I’m referencing by using the term urpy). The longest I was able to keep any amount of alcohol down was most likely under five minutes. It was a furious whirlwind of courageous drinking and projectile vomiting.
I’m not a fool, and soon realized I was fighting a losing battle and wasting perfectly good alcohol at the same time. Damn this mortal coil. All my heroic efforts were for naught and after a brief soliloquy admitting defeat, I spent the rest of my short vacation playing Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks, and watching movies. That Korean movie “Old Boy” is seriously fucked up. Seriously. If that’s not a reason to see the movie, I don’t know what is.
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6 comments:
Morb,get yourself a hooker, find a chemist, get pictures, and coerce him into transforming your whiskey into a mono-atomic , water soluble solution, with an advanced proprietay delivery system. You can hold the whisky under your tongue, still enjoy the flavor, but bypass the digestive system. It goes directly into the bloodstream. No puking required.
Or just enjoy the hooker, and give her your own water soluble solution, via the old standard delivery system.
viczilla - The game kicks ass. You should definitely check it out.
I've always believed drinking and smoking could cure just about anything. Of course, when you're throwing up constantly for no good reason, doing either is pointless. Running is an interesting idea; I suppose I'll have to run backwards next time to keep the vomit off of myself. Just like when you have to piss while running. Don't ask me why I know that.
badgerbob - Interesting solution, although I usually avoid hookers and the only "chemists" I know are actually just people making meth in their garages. I suppose I could give my college science professor a call, but she'd probably just tell me to create Bohr Models for elements scandium through ununbium.
If I would have had Old Pointy - my trusty antique syringe - I could have just mainlined the booze. Of all the fucking times to forget Old Pointy.
Good slogan. Perhaps you have a future in advertising. Actually, no. You wouldn't want that. Trust me.
willow - The running and chemist I can do without, but I'll be damned if I have to go one day without a drink and a cigarette.
Tubular bells and Devil chanting huh? I guess I could go buy a tubular bells CD, and hell, the Devil chanting in my head never stops. I'm all set.
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