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Your First Time
by Branden Hart
You remember it like yesterday: your lips touching the edges of that sweet, succulent hole. For some of us, it might have been a hole the size of a baseball; for others, just a small, round "O." You stick your tongue out a little bit, just to get a little taste and make sure you like what you're getting yourself into. Pretty soon, you drink of the juices, and it's good, and before you know it, you can't stop.
Yes, we've all experienced it—our first taste of alcohol.
So drinkers, prepare to reminisce, because I have some questions for you, and I need some fucking answers.
1. When was the first time you got drunk and what happened?
I was 18. Yeah, I was 18 the first time I got drunk. Look, not everyone feels the need to rebel against authority, alright? Some of us actually fucking like the rules. We know they keep us safe. And that's the way I was when I was sixteen. But then, when I turned seventeen, all of that changed. I started drinking my parents' liquor. Just sneaking shots here and there. Never getting drunk, just tasting them. One night my senior year of high school, I played piano at an event for my father's work, came home before my parents, and celebrated my first paying gig with a whiskey and coke. God, was that thing horrible. I wish I could go back to myself that night and say, "Listen dumbass, you want two or three shots in there—not five. And dammit—use some fucking ice!" But no, I fixed a shitty whiskey and coke, and couldn't even get past the first few sips.
I suppose all that makes this next bit even more pathetic. Because the first time I actually got drunk, it was off of Zima. FUCK OFF IT WAS ALL WE HAD. And this wasn't any ordinary Zima. This shit had been sitting behind a radiator for two weeks. Because that's the only place my girlfriend could hide it.
My girlfriend's mom didn't give a shit what we did, so one night we just started drinking Zima, then got naked, messed around, and watched TV. I can't explain the feeling of being drunk that night. So fun, so funny, just a wonderful time. I'll never forget that first night being drunk with my naked girlfriend. It's one of the best memories I have of that crazy whore.
2. What did you drink the most of when you started drinking?
NOT ZIMA JESUS SHUT UP ALREADY.
The answer is, anything and everything. I went through it all: vodka, tequila, trashcan punch, kegs of Keystone Light, forties of Mickey's and OE, MD 20/20, Boone's Farm, a wonderful concoction by a wonderful man named Bernard called The Gin Bucket, and Thunderbird. Well, ok, not Thunderbird—even I had enough sense not to mess with that shit.* Our favorite though was cheap beer. Which, for me, meant Old Milwaukee. Not The Beast. The Beast's older, grumpier brother. I have no idea why I drank this shit. Maybe it was because I could get a twelve-pack of tall boys for six bucks. Maybe it was because everyone else hated it so I never had to worry about anybody drinking my beer. Come to think of it, there's no maybe about it—those are precisely the two reasons I drank that beer.
*No offense meant to connoisseurs of this fine beverage.
3. What do you drink the most of now?
Miller Lite. I know—not too far from the Milwaukee's Best. But it's a gulping beer, and I like to gulp. It's perfect for my budget too. And while I love a good ale from Avery or whatever Dogfish Head has put out recently, my reliable, everyday beer is Miller Lite.
4. What is the most fun you've had while drunk?
Pecan Island—Louisiana. It was one of the best times of my life. My buddy Mule had a cabin up there, and about twenty of us drove from San Antonio to Louisiana to drink, hang out in an absolutely gorgeous spot of nature (yes, Louisiana has some gorgeous scenery), sleep, and eat. And fornicate. Which most of us were too drunk to do, but I know a couple of people… Anyway, it was a transcendental experience. I puked on a cat. Good times.
Hands down, this was in one of the first months I started drinking. I started out the day at three at a frat house. Drinking from a keg before a soccer game. We took the keg to the soccer game—drank there, got belligerent, went to the campus kitchen to get food. Went back to friend's dorm room, and started taking shots of vodka. I took at least twelve in less than three hours. We left for a party, and the last thing I remember is stepping into the backseat of my friend's car.
Here's what happened over the next five hours, according to eyewitness reports:
Back at the frat house, I play quarters and drink at least six or seven beers. Then I move on to playing Asshole. By the time I'm through, I'm falling down drunk and have to be carried into the back of a truck to be taken home. I'm walked back to my dorm room, put in bed. But I'm not satisfied—oh no. I proceed to get up and walk about two miles to a party I know about. There, I hit on every chick in sight, completely bite ass in front of everybody, and make a total fool of myself. My good buddy scooped me up and asked his friends—all women and his sister—to drive us both home. In the car, I'm singing as loud as possible, and one of the girls makes a comment to the effect of, "Man, you sure are drunk!" This part I actually remember, because I thought it would be hilarious to say something along the lines of, "Man, what do you guys know—you're just a bunch of bitches!" I thought that, at least, my friend would find it funny. And he did, but he knew better than to laugh. I didn't. I ended up getting thrown out of the car and busted my knee on the curb.
Five essential questions, ladies and gentlemen. We've all had our ups and downs with that wonderful mistress that is alcohol, with her chocolate coated breasts and minty starlight kisses. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to kick my broad's ass in Wii bowling. And drink some beer while I'm at it.
Uberchief needs some answers, and he is RUNNING OUT OF TIME.