The Fancy Plans Guide to Binge Drinking

April 14, 2010

If you're doing it right, even the camera will be wasted!

As any panicked moralist will tell you, college binge drinking is a serious problem, one that must be dealt with in the most hysterical way possible. While they entertain the 60 Minutes camera crew with third and fourth-hand tales of Jello shots and the damage done, we’d like to take the time to give you the “straight, uncut dope” on “doing it up right,” “getting crunk,” and the myriad potential benefits of getting “totally ‘faced.”

Freeform Amateur Debates
Everything from politics to religions to pop culture to that thing your girlfriend does when she’s “down there” can be expounded upon and argued about with no regard for facts or coherence. Most debates will take the form of FOX-News programming, wherein the loudest is usually considered the “rightest.”

Some hot-button issues to consider:

Is a cousin located far enough out on the family tree branches to be considered “fair game?” Follow up: At what point did society determine this was “wrong?” Was it after the horrendous string of birth defects?

The deck has been stacked against repeat sexual offenders for far too long! Follow up: At what point did society determine this was “wrong?” Was it before or after the sign went up in my yard?

That’s what happens when you elect a black president! Follow up: As the head “man,” is he still in the position to stick to the “man?” My casual co-opting of the hip hop lifestyle has also granted me some sort of enlightenment or something in regards to our president and the plight of my brothers, who are all several shades blacker than I am.

Unless you’ve knocked up like five or six random women within the last couple of years, I don’t think you’re qualified to offer your opinion on abortion. Follow-up: Condoms just don’t feel as good. I totally had no idea that was your sister. For reals, bro.

Don't worry about not getting enough to drink. Your friends will make sure you stay hydrated.

Making Memories (for other people)
A full night of drinking and drugs (trust me, these two will be in close proximity more often than not) will often play havoc with your mind, leading you to believe you just had several beers and went quietly to bed after entertaining your friends with your racous wit. In all reality, nothing could be further from the truth, and most of your friends and acquaintances will be able to piece your night together for you. Brace yourself.

And it goes a little something like this:

It late into a full night of drinking with party moving from the local bar to someone’s house. While some people have wisely called it a night and headed home, the die-hard still remain, willing to ride their buzz right into the barrel of God’s shotgun, which he has nicknamed “Daylight” and loaded full of headaches and regrets.

The full-on party has devolved into subdued conversations, occasionally punctuated by riotous laughter/loss of consciousness. Elsewhere in the house, drunks are half-heartedly trying to get it on, despite the fact that neither partner can feel anything from the neck down or form coherent thoughts from the neck up.

At some point, someone will emerge half-clothed from a darkened room and ask if they might have an additional bump of coke, or hit of ecstasy or another Xanax or whatever and that they’re willing to OH MY GOD SHE JUST STUCK THAT BEER BOTTLE IN HER VAGINA! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

Once something like that happens, a crowd will gather. And speculation will begin.

Is this supposed to make her look sexually desirable? I mean, we all know that an entire (but miniature) human can emerge from there BUT JESUS MAN, SOME THINGS ARE MEANT TO BE A MYSTERY! CHRIST ALMIGHTY, AM I SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE I CAN EVEN COMPETE WITH THAT? I’M NOT HUNG LIKE A LOUISVILLE SLUGGER!

Soon enough, though, someone is going to take a chance on that, despite the fact that they’d need to be forearm deep before either of them felt anything. Good luck, man. That’s not for me. GOOD LORD, ONLY THE NECK IS STICKING OUT! GET SOME CLOTHES FOR HER. OR SOME COKE. DO SOMETHING, MAN! PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON! THAT’S SOMEBODY’S DAUGHTER.

Now try to match that up with how you think your night went.

  • Girl: Had some drinks. Woke up sore. Scored a baggie of coke somehow.
  • Guy: Totally got it on with this crazy chick. She was wild!

Other memories you may make for this crazy quilt we call “life”:

  • Human beer cozy
  • Sexual harassment suit
  • High-centered roommate’s Escalade on the freeway median
  • Human Sharpie canvas
  • Misplaced virginity
  • Lost job in less than 4 hours
  • The case of the mysterious and uncomfortable infection
  • Got a tattoo/joined the military

Your body’s way of telling you that you’re headed towards blood poisoning at a high rate of speed. You can’t get a much clearer sign that you should call it a night. However, this sign is often interpreted otherwise by power drinkers, usually as the following:

1. Time to get some sleep, perhaps right here on the bathroom floor.
2. Yay! I’ve got room for more drinks!

"Fuck you, buddy. I already did."

Should You Have More to Drink?
A good question, one that is usually answered with an unqualified “yes.” Listen for some of these common signalling phrases (most of which will be stumbling out of your mouth, so it may be wise to get a second party [PAAAAAAARRTTTYYYYY!!!!! – ed.] to corroborate):

I’m losing my buzz!
Unqualified yes.

Whose sister do I have to fuck to get another drink around here?
Unqualified yes. (And: Barry’s sister, actually.)

I’m going to make a booze run!
Are you driving?
– Yes. (Unqualified yes.)
– No.   (Unqualified yes. And one for the driver.)

I don’t think I can drink any more.
Unqualified yes. But have a small one, like a shot of Rumpleminze.

I can’t feel my face.
Unqualified yes + one (1) bump of coke.

I’ve got to get back and study.

I think I’m bleeding internally.
What am I? A doctor? Hell-unqualified-yes, motherfucker! (Med students are allowed to answer this question with the addition of the word “yet.”)

[Slipping into a coma]
No. (But only because it would require some sort of intravenous intervention to continue drinking. Check with the med students.)

I’m being arrested!
If you can get “one for the road,” by all means, do so.

Stop fucking my sister! Here’s your goddamned drink!
Unqualified yes. (Double up. You’ve just been through something which could be construed as traumatic if you weren’t so wasted. Get a double for your sister as well. The “sister-fucker” only needs a single.)



  1. One of the most insightful Fancy Plans Guides to date, CLT. And I’m not just saying that because I started binge drinking before it was cool. And after it was cool. Oh, and let’s not forget those six hours a night where it actually was cool.

    I think it’s safe to say I was doing it right, seeing as whenever I look back on photos of those days, I smile and say to myself, “What the hell is this?” and “Do I need glasses?” (I guess you could say it’s more of a “squinty look” than a smile.) And it isn’t until after I finish flipping through my hundreds of encyclopedia-sized photo albums, the first in a series of five boxed sets, that I realize it’s probably best I don’t know what it is.

    Like I always say, “It is better to have loved and lost time, than to have to admit that you own a pair of the worst…beer…goggles…ever.”

    Great post, CLT. Whatever the opposite of “harshing my buzz” is (Unharshing my buzz? Smoothing my buzz?), your guide totally did it.


    • Many thanks for the compliments, bschooled. I’m glad to see you blazed the binge drinking trail well before the rest of settlers even sent an older kid to pick up a keg for them. You can be proud of your legacy, most of which are still in various postions and states of undress all over the frathouse.

      A few may have succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but you have to break a few eggs to make 130-proof eggnog omelets.

      Thanks again for stopping by and squinting at our abnormally small and blurry text, bschooled. Thanks to you, we can finally get that mall kiosk up and running: Buzz Smoothies – Only Half as Nauseating as Orange Julius!

  2. Holy mother of god, this was funnier than shit! It’s times like these when I read some of our stuff that I ask myself why I even bother. When you write, you write comedy gold. No shit.

    You nailed the drinking like you nail everything else too. The one and only thing I ever miss about partying are those 6am vodka and coke fueled conversations. I can remember watching myself as if another person and thinking, “What the fuck am I talking about? It’s absolutely fucking brilliant whatever it is. I should write this down. Where’s a pen? There’s a pen. I should hollow it out to make another coke straw, that we it’ll be less likely someone will steal my rolled up twenty. Yea, fuck these people, trying to steal my shit.”

    Actually I don’t really miss it at all. I always turn into a cocky asshole.

    • Thanks for the hefty compliments, Scott. I occasionally strike the comedy gold, but usually have to use a profanity-laced pickaxe and a sexually-charged divining rod to do it. This, of course, was one of those times.

      I miss the heady days of casual drug abuse as well. I preferred acid, which allowed me to decorate road atlases and myself, as well as gave me the impetus to spend nearly 3 hours trying to assemble the needed ingredients to enjoy a cigarette.

  3. As regularly panicked moralist I’m gravely concerned about all of the behaviours you’ve identified CLT. However, I will admit that I’ve been known to have a rye or two and then sharpie the occasional sleeping widow down at the senior centre. Nothing garish, naturally, I just add a small moustache and give their moles some further definition.

    • I’d be gravely concerned as well, Don, if I weren’t so fucking hammered. Truth is, alcohol abuse will always be with us, as long as we still have college students and the state of Wisconsin. If you can’t beat ’em, grab a Sharpie and humiliate them.

      You’ve really got to upload the photos of some of your victims, Don. I could have sworn I saw some lady with a moustache being buried last Thursday, but it may have been homegrown. I wasn’t close enough to tell, as I had already been exposed as a “funeral crasher” by the attending family, who noticed my Hawaiian shirt/khaki shorts ensemble and my inappropriate laughter.

    • Funeral crasher? I prefer the term “Altruistic Griever.” (Which, by the way, was also the name of the rather cutting edge barber shop quarter I was a member of back in 52). Everyone wants big crowds at their funeral so the way I see it, I’m doing them a favour showing up. And if I go home with a few extra eggs salad sandwiches in my pockets, so be it.

    • I noticed that Don didn’t mention exactly WHERE he was drawing the mustaches… with his sharpie.

    • Altruistic Grievers Armed with Sharpies. Now there’s a band name!

      And what is it about wakes that brings the egg salad sandwich maker in all of us to the surface?

    • Altruistic Grievers Armed with Sharpies = AGAS perfect for Don’s rock band

  4. Growing up in a beach community in southern California meant POT. Not much drinking was going on, at least in my circle of friends. I been drunk twice in my life and am not sure why people do it….but they do, I did go to college you know. Still funny stuff Tamer and I no doubt believe your assessment is more accurate than one would hope.

    • Lots of pot for you, lots of booze for us in the Midwest. I’m not a big fan of getting stoned. At least getting drunk didn’t make me giggle for 15 minutes straight. Otherwise, I think they ran about even for me in terms of mental/physical capacity. The disconnect with pot always seemed a bit bigger for me.

      For instance, you can be too drunk to fuck but at least you’re trying. With pot, it’s… um… hey! When did you get here? Whoa.

      I really don’t know what point I’m trying to make. Cheers!

    • So you’re saying, wait, what are you saying?

  5. Wow you sound like someone who really knows how to party, but maybe thats up for debate. As is; when is a party no longer a party? Is sticking a bottle up your vag jay jay entertainment? And how can we measure the response to such questions in an objective way?

    • That’s up for debate much like everything else in life is once you’ve had enough to drink. Any rhetorical question can now be supplied with an answer, preferably in a loud, uninformed tone.

      To wit: a party is no longer a party once the number of people passed out > people still insisting that they are still “partying.”

      Bottle v. vagina = entertainment. Much like a Uwe Boll film, it will have its fans. Mostly Uwe Boll.

      As for measuring the response, an applause-o-meter has been installed on the sidebar.

      Thanks for the comment, Ruby. Great to see you again.

  6. Fucking hilarious.

    • Thanks, Ulysses. And like any good party, there’s plenty of hilarious fucking going on as well.

    • How CLT know Ulysses speak Tarzan? Drinking hilarious and vomiting hilarious too, if not bathroom you clean.

    • Somehow Tarzan and Yoda seem almost related…

  7. First he covers his tracks by moving. Then he’s dumping alcohol down their throats. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s relocated to Wisconsin.

  8. I really need a drink now.

    Actually, I have to stop laughing first. I had a glass of wine… I’m just supporting the store. Some nights though… I want the whole bottle, and I want it to be vodka instead of wine.

    And the Professor said: “Elsewhere in the house, drunks are half-heartedly trying to get it on, despite the fact that neither partner can feel anything from the neck down or form coherent thoughts from the neck up.” Best line EVER! The sad part is that too many people are like that when they aren’t drunk.

    Okay, I’m glad I snuck in to visit. I have to go visit some of you fellow comedic geniuses soon too. I’ve given up ever posting anything humorous again. I can’t touch you guys!

    • Claire!!

      Welcome! As you can see, thanks to the heavy drinking and Heavy Rotations, we’ve hardly done anything to the place since you’ve been gone. At least you’ve got the excuse of working 55 hours a week. I’m only putting in about 48-50. Hence, the two post/week limit.

      Anyway, thanks for the compliments and for pointing out an excellent go-to quote to use when describing the party you almost remember.

      Don’t give up on humourous posts. I wouldn’t touch us either. I don’t know where we’ve been.

    • As of Friday evening I had worked 55 hours. Add another 11 hours on Saturday and 5 on Sunday. But I get Monday off! Last Monday, I slept all day. I need heavy drinking and heavy rotation at the same time but I don’t have the time! Have a drink and a song for me.

  9. […] CLT: The Fancy Plans Guide to Binge Drinking […]

  10. […] Capitalist Lion Tamer – “The Fancy Plans Guide to Binge Drinking” […]

  11. I can’t drink; it interferes with my drugs.

    • Well, if it has to be one or the other, it looks like you’ve chosen the better path. Obviously alcohol has nothing positive going for it.

  12. Binge drinker from the get-go. Married a pharmacist at age 20 where our stash almost busted the seams of a suitcase. Clean and sober for the last (yawn) 15 or so years. Still nudging my brain to make new neuronal networks from all the short circuiting. Did 90% of my drinking/drugging ALONE. It’s a good thing too. Once woke up all black and blue with Quasimodo facial disfigurement, a 300 lb antique cash register tipped over on the floor, and an air ambulance assignment to make. Shot a hole in the bedroom wall (‘clowning around’), 2 DUIs in 2 weeks, smashed all the marble and highly collectible apothecary jars in my home one night, on and on…I SHOULD NOT BE ALIVE!! Great post, CLT! I read every intoxicating word twice. If you were on TV, your Nielsen ratings would be through the roof.

    • Wow. It’s quite the life you’ve lived, e3h. Full of bullet holes and 300 lb cash registers. It’s like a Hunter S. Thompson story, only, you know, true.

      Well, as long as you are alive, I’m glad you’re here boosting my fictional ratings. If you think I crossed a line or two with my half-assed Vagina Monologue, just wait ’til Sweeps Week!

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