How Drunk Was I?

 By:  Shifty

Like most young academics I was a raging alcoholic in college. I made a sport of vomiting in the toilet.

I was so accustomed to this lifestyle that in my apartment in college we had a pillow affectionately called the rainbow pillow (it had a rainbow pillow case) stored neatly under the sink in the bathroom so I could pass out in comfort for the night, covered in towels next to the commode.

Yes, I used to feel that any night that did not end with me having sex or throwing up or both was a complete waste of my time. I have since learned to combat most urges to binge drink, and now consider myself a functional alcoholic, much like Roast, only with more self control. However, every so often I will get the itch to drink way more than I should and it behooves me to recall those evenings when I was most drunk and the memory is usually enough to get me to say, “no more bartender.” 

Scene 1: We started the evening drinking in my dorm room Roast and I, and then headed out to find the party. We accomplished this by driving around (I know we were stupid) and seeking out houses with many people inside. We found one at an apartment complex and proceeded to sit and drink and socialize for several hours.

 Finally I had to take a piss. Low and behold the line for the bathroom was much to great, and I decided to clamber down the fire escape into the back alley and relieve myself against the building. Maybe it was the moonlight, maybe it was the crisp winter air.  Maybe it was the self-satisfaction at my clever alley toilet escape, whatever it was it proved enough to distract me from the task at hand, because in my haste to pee I only managed to unzip and pull back my pants. 

This accomplished, I began to urinate in my underwear.  I continued to pee until I felt the warm soak along my thigh at which point I realized I was pissing myself, but was unable to stop peeing. 

With a quick hand I pulled my junk free of the pee soaked drawers and finished the last few trickles against the frosted brick building.  Now is when a panic sets in, fortunately I had on a long winter coat, but the stench of urine is hard to disguise. I quickly made my way into the apartment, told Roast he could stay as long as he liked but I had to leave right now, and as I made my shameful exit I pondered briefly, how drunk was I?

 Scene 2: I was having another typical bender, maybe it was tequila Tuesday or wild turkey Wednesday, I don’t exactly recall the particulars, but what I do remember is that when I awoke at 6am the next morning I thought I felt pretty good.

So good in fact that I decided to take a shower.  I hadn’t thrown up the night before (unfortunately I hadn’t had sex either), but now in the shower hangover free I felt the day was off to a good start. Then as I stood there soaking I began to feel a little gassy.

No big deal right, but as I relaxed the old butt cheeks my bowels released way more than my brain (obviously still severely hampered from intoxication) was expecting or aware of, and in that moment there in the shower I took a full standing shit. It was a mixture of diarrhea, and some semi-firm stuff, with some corn mixed in for color.

I think as I was standing there shitting I honestly imagined I was on a toilet.  Then when I was finished I reached around for the toilet paper and all I could find was hot water. It’s like waking up in a nightmare, standing in the shower facing a huge dump at your feet. Even though I was still a little foggy, I began to erase the evidence...

Using my feet I began to push my own feces through the small holes in the shower drain one solid chunk at a time. The event took me maybe 5 minutes, but it felt much longer.  I finished with a thorough cleaning of myself and as I lay back in bed I wondered, how drunk was I? 

Obviously these are only two examples, but they seem to be the ones I recall most readily when I start to cross the line between drunk and hammered drunk, or as I like to say "shitting in the shower drunk".

 

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