Im Irish and I dont get drunk

DrunkThis single phrase has caused the downfall of many peoples pride. Including my own. If you’re Irish, and you don’t get drunk, well I hate to break it to you, you’re doing something wrong. Cause I get fucked up when I drink, and I’m as close to a full Mick as it gets.

Let me take you back about 10 years, I am 16 years old and am on the straight and narrow. I don’t drink and am offended when anyone asks if I do. oh how those times have changed. It’s Christmas, now normally when you think of Christmas, you think of jingle bells, Christmas carols, and kids opening presents with smiles on there faces. Well, guess what, toss all that shit out the window cause Santa flew over and said fuck this place. Now that we know the story ends at Christmas, let’s get a back in.

Let me introduce you to the Fly. A fresh 21 year old who had never had a beer until his 21st birthday. With one single sip, he became the single greatest drinker in the history of his own eyes. We would go golfing 2-3 times a week(cause it was free, I’m not a rich man, lets get that out of the way) and he would bring his two “tall boys” with him of Coors Light. Now, when you think of Tall Boy, you think 24oz cans right? Well no, The Fly referred to his 12oz as the newly proclaimed “Tall boys”. From a logical stand point, this makes no sense whatsoever, but hey, this fucking guy is a professional now, he’s 21, who am I to question the almighty?

We play golf, week after week, sometimes accompanied by Lap Dance and Hoss and listen to this king of kings tell us stories of how the “Hops” were affecting his golf swing. Looking back at it, the only question I have is, Who the fuck says that? I mean, hops? The fucking hops are effecting your golf swing? Lets face it, this is Coors Light we are talking about here, there isn’t any hops in that shit, its someone pissing in a tank with some artificial flavoring to make it go down smooth.

As the days went on, and he upped his two beers for 18 holes to three, his head swelled beyond control. The Cloud and The Don have gotten word of this and have decided to do what they do best. The Cloud and Don are brothers, one of which is a roommate, the other is renting me his room for the time being. Separate, they are a couple sneaky fuckers when it comes to blowing a situation out of proportion, but together… best way I can say it is, don’t be in the line of fire.

We had just gotten in after the 18th and wanted to grab a bite to eat. Therapist(who happens to be my older brother) was working the counter, while Monkey, Booty, and Mango were having some pitchers. The Cloud was working the back cooking up food and his brother was over in the Pro shop. We order our food and sit down and the bullshitting begins. Mostly just ripping on each other and talking about mindless crap that in all honesty, if you have ever had the pleasure of hearing, is usually the most entertaining shit on the planet.

In between all of it, pitcher after pitcher after pitcher, it becomes more and more obvious that The Fly is starting to feel it(Must have been the 3 “tall boys” and half a cup he had over that 5 hour period) and starts to spout his mouth. This, is normally a good idea in our group, IF, and I mean this, IF you can manage to back it up or keep the ball rolling. Captain America could not. Cause once you fall behind with your mouth you’re on the dartboard for the rest of the night.

Ragging on Monkey when The Monkey is drunk, probably the best way to go about it. Simply put, he won’t remember it the next day, and alls well that ends well. BUT, it is not wise to spout at him while he is sober, ESPECIALLY with Cloud or The Don around Cause they will do, what they do best. The Fly had made one statement that was as magnanimous as JFK being shot: “I can out drink you anytime”… oops. Monkey by no means violent by any means whatsoever, and to be quite honest, he is probably the best drunk you will ever meet in your life. Once everyone has stopped laughing, and Cloud has come from running back to call his brother over. The conversation changes and it fizzles out. For everyone but two men.

A few months has passed, The Fly is on a steady diet of three “Tall Boys” a day and going strong, a hero among himself and his golf bag.(he was the 2nd best drinker of those two by the way). It’s Christmas Eve, the course has closed early, we have called in caterers so our kitchen staff could have the night off as well. Everyone is here, you got the maintenance crew, pro shop crew, snack bar crew, and the driving range crew all here with their families, we are close to about three to four hundred people.

Our normal group gathers up and snags a table right in the center of the walkway, probably close to about 30 of us. And funny enough, who happens to be sitting one right across from the other? It’s The Fly and Monkey! Cloud and The Don probably never had anything to do with this. Everyone is drinking and having a good time, the bosses, who we actually cool as fuck, came down to sit with us for a bit and have a few beers. They get up and do their duty of walking and talking when the Brothers Grim strike.

Cloud: Hey Fly, you remember when you said you could out drink the monkey?

The Don: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yehh! I forgot about that (Yeh he forgot about that as much as I forget to whip my dick out before I piss)

Fly: Ha! Yeah I do, and I stick by my statement “I’m Irish, I don’t get drunk”

ABE LINCON HAS BEEN SHOT! I think that’s the only way I can describe the people’s facial expressions after hearing that. The shock and awe written all over everybody was more than enough to remember it for the rest of my life. For the record, he’s about as Irish as a black guy wearing leopard skin hats. Cloud and The Don make quick work of the situation and go running off, while Monkey and The Fly have there little spat of who can out drink who. On the return of the brothers, they have 2 cups half full in each hand(totaling 8 for you brain surgeons out there) and lay them four on each side for the competition that was decided for our competitors without them having a say in the matter.

Cloud: Ok bitches, take a side, I present “The Tequila challenge” 1 shot each at a time, and we go till the other can’t handle it anymore.

You would think the guy would have spent a little extra cash to get some decent tequila, but no, this is not how the Cloud operates. They have sitting in front of them 4 double shots of Jose Cuervo, and if you have ever had it, well, there is nothing much else to say about it. But for our kids at home reading I’ll put it to you this way. It would most likely be in your best interest to jack off with sand paper before taking a sip. But it doesn’t matter anymore, both men are all in and the competition is about to begin.

The first shot is laid in front of them and a coin toss decides who goes first.

The Don: Ok Monkey, you’re up.

Bang, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t think it though, just drinks it, no facial expression except that of a man that was pushed a little too far. The Fly steps up to his shot and fires it down with a fury, the crowed, more than impressed as he glares into the Monkeys eyes.

Shot two: Monkey looks back at The Fly and smiles, slowly sipping down each nasty drop of the bile in front of him and gently places the cup in front of him. The Fly, with the look of a madman, powers his down and takes his seat with his arms behind his head. At this time, there is a short intermission of about 10 minutes due to bosses lingering around.(Look, they are cool people, but this is just asking for trouble).

Shot Three: Monkey steps up to the plate, doesn’t talk, doesn’t speak just drinks it down but with this time a slight cringe. A loud OHHHHH goes through the crowed as we see this. And nothing could have fired The Fly up more. He grabs his shot, throws it to the back of his throat and slams his plastic cup down cracking the sides, all while starring at the competition. Now, as you could have guessed, there is now a lot of money riding on this, people have bets going out everywhere.

The Cloud, Monkey’s cut man, settles him down and gets him to refocus. Another 10 minutes had gone by due to random shit talk and babble from the crowed. The Don had taken this opportunity to get shot 9, the tie breaker. As they stepped up to mighty number 4, there was a look in the eyes of Fly that we had not seen all night, but knew exactly what it meant. It was the glaze of a drunken man. This, in more ways than one, is a bad thing, simply because the Monkey sees this, and there is a period with him in between sober and drunk where he hits a stride that should be considered the 8th wonder of the world.

He walks over to shot 4, says hi to it, then gives it its burial in his stomach. Now The Fly is up, steady and focused, so he though…he drinks his shot, but can only get half of it down.

The Fly: I cant do it

The crowed erupts as The Monkey reaches across the table to finish The Fly’s shot and before he knew it he had killed the tie breaking number nine and laughed in his face.

The Cloud: It’s over bitches, The Fly is done, thanks for comin out.

Now, you would think that’s the end, but it just keeps getting better. As Monkey is walking around aimlessly occasionally stopping by the table to laugh at his opponent, The Fly is in a completely different state of affairs. Apparently, he had 2 full plates of food before the competition, and his head is now buried in his chest. Cloud signals me to take the Monkey to the bathroom, which I do, and laugh the entire time as he hits everything but the toilet. We come back out to see one of the greatest scenes known to man.

The Fly, can no longer hold it, he spews all the tequila, both plates of dinner all over his own jacket and pants. I mean this shit went everywhere. The table, the floor, I even think a innocent bystander was victim to this drive by. He proceeds to fall over from the chair and pass out. This, is now bad. Very bad. Here we have a guy, who decided to bite off more than he can chew at a company Christmas party in front of everyone about to choke on his own vomit. 911 was called right away, but he wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for the one know as Booty. A man among men, there is a reason why he is nicknamed Bill Bradski, he reaches with two fingers down The Fly’s throat to pull out the excess vomit. Saving a young dip shit from what would have been an embarrassing death.

I mean lets face it, Its probably a dick thing for me to say yeah, but I put that up there as being just as bad as dying while taking a shit anyways. The ambulance comes and takes The Fly to the hospital, safe and sound to a long night of thinking “What the fuck did I just do?” Unfortunately, during this ordeal, we forgot to designate someone as the Monkey watcher, he is now missing. This is bad, cause the golf coarse is about 8 miles of land, and he could be anywhere on it. So, the search beings for our missing primate.

We have people looking everywhere, from hole 1-18, though the hotels, bar, you name it we looked. Except for the one spot nobody thought he would ever be in his condition. The son of a bitch managed to get to his car, open the back door and pass out in the back of it. Luckily for us, it wasn’t any of our cars.The amount of piss he left in it would have a pain to clean up.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related Articles

Back to top button