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Drinking is where the paradigm of bad decisions comes from. If it wasn't for alcohol, we'd probably be living in a peaceful society full of flying Jetsons cars and benevolent robots right now and every single one of us would have a jet pack and a machine that makes whatever food we desire, and we'd all smell really good all the time.
Swearing off drinking is so commonplace that it's a cliche, but that doesn't change the fact that, assuming you're the type who's ever engaged in a late night of binge partying, you've done it yourself, and probably more than once. Everyone with a functioning liver enjoys a night of partying up until the exact moment when the alcohol in your blood turns against you and flows, en masse, toward a free orifice, carrying with it whatever other fluids and semi-solids are inside of you. After you forcefully purge your system of Kahlua and 7-Eleven taquitos, you'll sit against the wall while the room spins and trails of drool make their way from your mouth to your chest and swear to all the things you can recall at the moment that you hold dear that you'll never, ever do this again.
Naturally this means that, once you've sobered up and someone else invites you to a party, you'll take less time than it takes for a mouse to fart to weigh the pros and cons and decide that this time will be different because you won't drink nearly so much and you'll be right as rain as long as you remember to have a glass of water and a Tylenol after you pull back on a gallon of Thunderbird mixed with Kool-Aid. Then by midnight you're crying in the arms of a person you don't know about how you write comedy articles to mask your desperate loneliness and how you're not even sure your penis works anymore, it's been so long since anyone cared about you.
"I think I slept with Adam Tod Brown last night! Good God!"
To this day, I have deep regrets of an event I only remember in hazy, vague terms of shame and degradation. I was at a woman's apartment, and she decided to put on a porno. Have you ever been at a woman's house and she turned on a porno? Like of her own volition, no prompting or even perverse suggestion on your part? And, idiot that I am, I thought, "OK, let's just sit here and watch porno." And we fucking did! I literally sat there next to her and watched porno like an idiot, like it's actually interesting or fun to watch for its artistic merits. And then she suggested we make it into a drinking game. A shot of tequila every time ... I forget. I remember that I did a lot of shots, and she made me do two shots for every one of hers, and could this not have been a more obvious ploy? A blind guy on morphine could have seen where this was going. Not me. I drank and I drank and then it hit me. I was completely shitfaced, porn was on the TV, a hot girl was next to me, and I made a break for the bathroom.
I painted the inside of her toilet bowl like a power sprayer on a mission. It throttled from my insides like a whale breaching, desperate for air. I puked and puked, an assault of tequila and lime and salt, and then I tumbled to the ground at the base of the toilet and lay there. When I woke up, it was just after 6 a.m., and she was kicking me out because she had to go to work. It was the smoothest damn moment of my life, passed out next to her toilet, my mouth tasting of bile and stupidity.
That happened years ago, and to date I have never debauched that woman, never even had the opportunity again. Because of booze. Because of stupid alcohol. But I drank again. Many times. Even though I said I never would.