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Introduction
Drinking - A fairly important passtime of the typical bloke. Not just because it
gives him a chance to tell lies to his mates, but also because it gives him a
chance to HEAR lies from his mates too. And all the while, getting useful and
important updates on Rugby, Rugby players and keeping the breweries in business.
A bloody noble task.
What to Drink
Beer. Got that? Don't need it repeated? A brief foray into the spirits field is
occasionally tolerated when you need to talk to Uncle Jack Daniels or Great
Uncle Jim Beam about how upset you are that someone stacked your holden in the
carpark of Taumaranui New World when you were getting the monthly load of Baked
Beans and Bog Paper.
What not to Drink
Diet BLOODY ANYTHING!
"Designer" Beers. Because you know what designers are don't you?
That's bloody right - so they've probably put dangerous additives that do
bad things to your mind.
Wine - See the The Blokes Advisor for how to avoid this at office-type functions
Anything with fruit in it. If someone at a Wedding Booze-Up offers you a
punch, offer him one back, and don't piss around waiting for an answer..
Drinks with Umbrellas, Fruit or Straws in them. If it can't be put into a
handle, it isn't supposed to be drunk. If it's got lots of extra shit in it,
it's an ashtray, full stop.
Tequila - Remember what happened the last time? The chainsaw, the tin of
paint and the outlaw's garden gnomes? JUST SAY NO! Then say "NO, YA
BASTARDS!"
Telling Lies
You have to tell lies at the pub. If you didn't tell lies, it wouldn't be worth going, because you'd run out of stories in the first 10 minutes. So, you grab an old story, add 20 km/hr, one element of risk, $50 and one engine enhancement to it and tell it again. For instance:
The Original Story
"So we were driving back from Taupo in John's V6, doing about 110
ks, when this sheep jumps out in front of the car! So John hits the
anchors and we go into this slide for about 50 metres, and only JUST clip
the sheep and he got away with about 50 bucks damage."
The Next Version
"So we were coming back from Taupo in John's V8, and you know what
a bloody madman he is, and we were pulling, oh, about 130 ks, when he sees
these couple of sheep on the road. So John hits the picks and we go into
this spin and slide about 100 meters and biff one of these sheep HEAD ON
and knock it into the ditch. His car was a bit of a mess - must've cost
him a hundred bucks or so to get the bastard fixed at mate's rates, but it
never drove the same after that..."
And the Final Version...
"So we were screaming back from Wellington in John's scummy
Cortina that he'd dropped that huge Chrysler Engine into, and we were
doing at least 160 the last time I looked at the clock, and we see this
herd of sheep and cows and horses. And a tractor. With two 44 gallon drums
of petrol on the transport tray... So John slams on the brakes but of
course with that engine in the bloody thing it's about as likely to stop
as Dave is from drinking... So anyway, we must have slid about 400 metres
- did I mention the hill? - Ah well, it was on the Kaimais because we were
going the long way, and so we slid for bloody ages - I had time to open a
beer while Dave refilled his Zippo - and then we biffed about 10 sheep,
two cows and ended up halfway into the old tractor with the farmer
shitting twinkies the whole time, especially as he could probably see Dave
thru windscreen testing the Zippo and there was those two drums of petrol
on the back.. Anyway the Cortina was a complete bloody write-off and he
did about a thousand bucks of damage to the tractor, but what the hell, we
hitched a ride back with a couple of sheilas who were passing and heading
our way... Score!"
Now maybe the handbrake might pick this juncture to say that you're just
talking through a hole in your arse, to which you should just be completely
honest and admit that the pressure of your peers has made you inflate an
event beyond what it really was and say that it is probably a reflection of
your low self esteem. Then two weeks later say "Oh, have you lost 6 kgs
overnight then dear?" when she's bullshitting her mates about what she
weighs... Fair's bloody fair, after all.
Don't be fooled - there are some serious dangers to drinking and it pays up front to realise the early warning signs.
The Dangers of Drinking - Warning Signs
Mental You know you've had too much when you start thinking:
That you really should tell: (A) The bouncer, (B) That weightlifter guy at the bar, or (C) The Rugby team that you beat 63 Nil last week (or, even worse, all three) just how girly they look in their poofy clothes.
How cool it would be to do that trick with the beer glass where you toss it up and catch it behind your back without spilling any
How you could sing much better than the singer in the band, and how much fun it would be to just grab the mike off him and prove it...
Verbal You've had too much when you hear your mouth utter:
(To the boss) YOU KNOW WHAT *YOUR* FARKING PROBLIMM IS?!! (which usually precedes 2 - 3 hours of you TELLING him/her what his or her problem, in your opinion, is; along with what the problem is with the workplace in general, how everyone else but you is a bunch of XXXXs, and how you're JUST BLOODY SAYING IT BECAUSE IT NEEDS TO BE SAID!).
(To a woman who has not previously engaged your interest) You're
beautiful, I love you And is followed shortly thereafter by you
chundering all over yourself, pissing your pants, falling asleep or all
three of the above. A classy bloke will retain sufficient control to
show his true gentlemanly nature by offering the said individual a Kebab
or Steak and Cheese pie as a gesture of his good intentions. Then piss
his pants, fall asleep etc...
(To some bastard you normally wouldn't cross the road to piss on if he
was on fire) You're my best mate! This is one of the most
dangerous situations, because you know the prick's going to remember
when you've sobered up. Slow down on the beers (Don't stop, YA BIG
JESSIE!) and get a couple Steak and Cheese Maggot Packs into you. Then
cut the prick loose ASAP.
Physical You're a little out of your alcoholic depth when you notice:
Your legs aren't working as well as they used to.
Your pint glass has been substituted by one an inch shorter which makes it difficult to ensure your glass is touching your mouth before you tip it up.
The floor between your table and the bog is deceptively flat in places, tripping you up as you make your way there.
You cut your name into the Bar/Table top with your knife because you're dead sure that every other bastard's going to want to know you "GOT PISSED HERE"
