What's up fuckers?
Yes, I know I have been a little bit absent again, but it's not my fault! Nothing really interesting has happened to me for a while, so I figured I'd go back a few years to a company party, and the reason I barely drink any more.
This is the story of how I pretty much gave up alcohol entirely.
I used to be a BIG drinker, I mean fucking silly amounts of alcohol, and it has led me on all manner of adventures, from wheeling a Christmas tree around Cambridge city centre to nearly getting arrested for all kinds of stupid fuckery.
I figured that seeing as it was Christmas I may as well push the boat out and have a couple of pints of cider while I waited for my colleagues to arrive at the restaurant. Well this proved to be mistake number one, because if you know me I tend to drink rather quickly. I'll down a pint in around seven seconds and used to drink 4 pints of lager straight from the jug in around a minute (I never claimed to be clever)
Well, those 2 pints of cider were gone before anybody had arrived so I figured I'd go the same again. I was now 4 pints in after maybe 30 or 45 minutes. People began to arrive and we sat down to eat, being the greedy fat fuck that I am I ordered the biggest mixed grill you have EVER seen. There was enough dead animal on that plate to feed a starving wolf pack.
I drank more cider and a few beers as we ate, and at this point I should have slowed down. When I'm headed towards drunk my gums go numb and I start talking more shit than I ever imagined possible. I was starting to slur my words, and people were beginning to ask me if I was ok......
OK? I'm fucking invincible!
After the meal we moved on to a bar and I vaguely remember ordering a tray of 20 various shots. I believe it consisted of bacon flavoured vodka, jagermeister, goldschalger and a bunch of other random shit. I also kind of remember drinking most of them myself in rapid succession.
It's at this point I get a little bit hazy.......
I think* I walked off, somebody had told me that there was a meteor shower happening that evening so I went and laid on my back in a puddle as the rain fell by the bucket load. I gazed up at the sky, the clouds peppering my face with droplets of icy cold water, and as this was going on I don't think I even questioned why I couldn't see any meteors.
I took a slow walk home, I think I was walking sideways, because it took me a good 45 minutes to complete a 5 minute wander. When I walked through the door I was full of Christmas cheer, but unbeknownst to me, a chemical reaction of epic proportions was taking place in my guts.
Kelly happened to comment that my T-Shirt was on inside out (How? Not a fucking clue) and told me that I was more drunk than she had ever seen. No problem I thought, I'll just sit on the sofa and let the effects wear off. Well I suppose I may have fallen asleep with my head facing the ceiling, because the next thing I heard was "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaave!!!!" and I opened my eyes with a startled jolt.
What's that above my face? Was it some form of spirit? Was it a portal to another dimension?
No, no it fucking wasn't, it was vomit, a lot of fucking vomit, and gravity was about to teach me that what goes up truly does come down.
SPLAT! The fucking rainbow yawn crashed down on my face with the force of 2 Hiroshima bombs, I had bacon, lamb chop and black pudding lodged in my eyes, and it burned like I'd been pepper sprayed by the police.
Bluuuuurgh! The second launch was released, I tried to move my head, but it was no good, it crashed down on my face, went up my nose, in my ears and coated the sofa and wall.
I stood up, bits of my dinner fell off me like body parts off of a leper and dropped to the floor.
'Dave, don't FUCKING move!' was Kelly's command, but I wasn't mentally or physically capable of hearing what she said, so I ran. I made it to the bottom of the stairs before the next wave of nausea hit me, I held my hands out like a fucking hungry orphan and attempted to catch the contents of my stomach as they spilled out of me, but even my massive bucket hands wasn't enough to do the trick.
I dragged myself up the stairs as quickly as I could, but it was painstakingly slow progress, and the new carpet was taking the brunt of it..... (Did I mention that the carpet was less than a week old?)
I got into the bathroom and put my head over the toilet bowl, I sat there shell shocked for a good hour before I realised I'd eventually have to move. Kelly had already told me to fuck off if I thought I was getting in bed so I came up with a genius idea.
I slept in the bath, the only problem was I'd not finished puking, there was still gallons of beer and mushrooms, sausage, chips and some form of green slime that to this day baffles me as to what it was.
Every time I did another rainbow yawn I'd turn the shower on, wash the chunks off of my clothes and go back to sleep. I did this all night and through the following morning until maybe lunchtime. When I could finally move I slowly made my way downstairs, Kelly gave me a dirty look, and refused to speak to me for two days.
I swear to god it was bliss, but the feelings of guilt knowing that she must have had to clean up all of that mess while I about died in the bathroom haunts me to this day. So, the moral of the story is this......
Don't be like Dave.
Cheers!
