Thoughts on drinking in public

by Ben

Sometimes I decide to leave the house. Rarely I even do so in the company of other people, and even more infrequently (97%) my sole purpose is to imbibe as much alcohol as I can until I die or have to go to the hospital again (joking, that totally never happened because that would be irresponsible).

Tonight was one of those nights, and I must say the urge to write about it at once overtook me as I absolutely didn’t drive any sort of motor vehicle home. Again, because that is irresponsible and I am an adult. Anyway, here are a few of my thoughts as I ignored everyone around me and powerdrank in the corner with a sullen expression and in no way didn’t not dance my nipples off. Because dancing is for idiots and lushes.

1. Money does not grow out of my peehole

Let’s be honest, I don’t make nearly enough money to be spending it on drinks at bars. Let’s be even more honest here: I’m a writer, so I don’t make any money. Unless I sell some part of my soul to corporate whores in exchange for holed condoms and rotten spaghetti (just joking again, I love corporations and publishers ha ha ha ❤ u gais). So when I ask for whiskey and/or gin (you think this beard grows itself?), I expect to pay about as much as three candy bars. Instead, it costs as much as a fill up for my imaginary automobile. I could literally walk for five minutes both ways down to the place where alcohol is sold on shelves and purchase two bottles for the price of one shitty glass.

This bottle here cost as much as all of my monthly monetary commitments combined:

It’s kind of dark, which leads me to my next point.

2. I don’t fucking have x-ray vision

If I could see in the dark, I would be a superhero and then I would have sex with thousands of naked women. Millions. But I can’t see in the dark, I’m not a superhero, and I have way more sex with my off hand than anything else. In order to actually see what someone looks like, I’m forced to facefuck their eyeballs, because it’s so dark I can’t even tell if someone is attractive or not unless our eyes are making babies. I suppose it’s fine when I’m dry humping someone who may or may not be of the opposite sex, because I probably look so awesome that if anyone could see me they would enter an orgasm coma. But when I’m trying to have a conversation, it’s frustrating.

Then again, I can’t really converse because

3. It’s so loud that if I stand next to a speaker it feels like I’m being jacked off

And this is universal no matter what kind of venue it is. McGilvery’s Pub during a spot of cards is exactly as loud as that horrible EDM club I went to where gogo dancers wore clothes and everything was stupid (read: every EDM club ever). It could be any kind of music (shit hop or rock cover bands), any kind of atmosphere (faux beach or smooth lounge), or any kind of clientele (VIP only or sandals allowed) and everyone feels the need to blast their asstastic music as loud as possible. HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO HEAR A REMIX OF GET LOW AND/OR POKER FACE AND/OR SWEET DREAMS AND/OR BODYROCKERS BEFORE I WANT TO STUFF MY OWN EARS WITH AS MANY DICKS AS I CAN LOCATE ON SHORT NOTICE?!

Which would probably be simple, because

4. Straight guys dress like they play for the other team or are auditioning for Jersey Shore

and not even for the lulz. For example, this is what I looked like tonight:

(You can thank the person who bet me I would not dress in that shirt with that hair. Because if you bet me to do something which makes me look or act like a mentally-challenged rapist from a Miami Vice porno spoof, I most certainly…well, you see. For example again, I don’t have any pants on in the above picture. And now you know what I look like, so kudos for that shit.)

Everyone else took their appearance seriously and they looked like douchebags or taint-grabbers. I forget where I’m going with this because I’m becoming progressively less conscious as I carry on.

5. Tits everywhere

Don’t get me wrong, I love boobs. I’m way more into boobies than booties so when a woman has her knockers out, I’m absolutely going to look at them. But there are some people who should keep their privates the fuck to themselves. I don’t think many people would enjoy it if I whipped my dong out and rubbed it all over everyone’s clothes and accidentally spilled drinks on it and got people to do shots off it and had wet willy contests with other dudes who had their shafts out. So why every woman feels the need to display her cans is beyond me.

Conclusion

Anyone who “ha ha let’s go out tonight and drink ha ha and post pictures on facebook and ha ha we look so stupid oh ha ha” every weekend should be shot in the head. I would much rather sit in my own house with a glass of shit-tier alcohol with my stiffy in hand and watch Deadliest Catch on JTV than go out with people I don’t even like doing things I’d rather forget when I wake up and find the photographic evidence of it splashed all over my home page. (Joking, because I always keep my full faculties about me at all times and never ever do anything in a moment that I’d regret for a lifetime.)

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