DRUNK MADNESS ROUND 2 - THE INEBRIATED EIGHT
By Dominic Rosegarden Labels: Drunk Madness, Round 2, The Inebriated Eight
Last week we went through an action packed first round of our Drunk Madness Tournament. Eight of your friends remain at the party, power houring and flip cupping their way towards drunken glory. Before we get to round 2 action, let's welcome in our guest analysts. Here with me to my left is Hollywood actor, philosopher, and resident psycho Gary Busey. On my right we have Grammy award winning artist Celine Dion. They're here to give us their spin on first round action and a peek at what we can look forward to in the Inebriated Eight.
Dominic Rosegarden: Gary, Celine, it's a pleasure having you with us.
Celine Dion (sipping on a fruit colored cocktail): Thank you very much for having me, Dominic and it's such a wonderful honor to be here.
Gary Busey: I hope that my presence will be a cleansing experience to the dishes of your inadequecies.
DR: Ah, thank you, Gary, great to have you as always. Guys, before we talk about this week, I'm curious, what really stood out to you in our first round action.
CD: I was thrilled to see such a vocal talent as the Karaoke Girl making it through to the next round. She reminds me of myself as a Canadian youth.
DR: Interesting, Celine, but unfortunately, her singing usually reminds the rest of us of you as well. Gary, your thoughts?
GB (clears throat for twenty seconds, awkwardly glares at everyone else in the room, then begins): Allow me to start by saying this broad's Canadian accent is really off putting.
DR: I'm with you all the way, Gary, as usual. Do you think it's possible that the Nefarious Beer Mooch was intimidated and that's why he left?
GB: Fear is the dark room where the devil develops his negatives.
DR: Mmm, strong point. Celine?
CD: I could see fear playing a role here. Most people don't realize this, but when I started my singing career as a teenager from a poor family of fourteen children in Canada, I kept the strength in my vocal chords by drinking the blood of the infants from my village. Some people found that to be intimdating.
DR: I see (awkwardly squirming). How'd you, uh, how'd you get away with that?
CD: Let's just say that at one point, instead of being one of fourteen, I was one of twenty.
DR: Right. Gary?
GB: Drinking your own blood is the paradigm of recycling.
DR: Let's move on. How do you two see The Smirnoff Gentleman performing from here on. Seems like he's got a lot of enemies waiting for him out there in the bracket.
CD: When I was recording my award winning hit, "My Heart Will Go On", I struggled at points for the inspiration to go on and complete the project.
DR: Well, I think we've all had our struggles with that song.
CD (Takes another sip of her drink): When I got stuck in this rut, I found that a night of recreational heroin use and rampant, unprotected sex with many annonymous partners was just a beautiful artistic release for me and became a catalyst for me to push forward. Two days later, I completed "My Heart Will Go On".
DR: At this point, you're scaring the shit out of me. Gary?
GB: Your imagination is the hood ornament on your car of creativity.
DR: Fantastic stuff. How about moving forward, who is your money on in round two?
CD: I think one of the biggest problems today with the young people is that they're too tense while drunk driving. They clutch the wheel too tight, over focus and end up overcompensating for their hindered driving abilities. That's what causes accidents. Me, personally, I like to down a bottle of McClellan's Twelve Year Old Irish Whiskey, get behind the wheel and set it to autopilot. You know, just sit back with my thoughts and let my natural instincts take over. Sometimes, when I come back into consciousness, I'm somewhere unexpected. Maybe I'm in a mall parking lot. Maybe I'm naked in an elementary school class room. But is anyone hurt? No sir. My body's autopilot system hasn't failed me yet.
DR: Right. The authorities are on their way. Your thoughts?
CD (Takes a big gulp of her drink): This concoction I have in my hand right now is a sharp mixture of calf's blood and deck varnish. It helps me to hear things only the fairies can understand. I've also gone four days without sleep.
DR: On that note, it might be time to start this week's action. Gary, how are you feeling?
GB: My dark side, my shadow, my lower companion is now in the back room blowing up balloons for kids' parties. You, my friend, are a copper tiger.
DR: Great. Let's go back to the party!
MATCH ONE: THE BELLEGERENT FRAT GUY vs. "LET'S DO SHOTS!" GUY
RECAP: The Bellegerent Frat Guy made it past The Girl Who Talks Shit without breaking a sweat (or a bottle over his head, for that matter). Her and her meat head boyfriend are probably somewhere between comparing each other to each other's exes (always a bad choice) and having borderline dangerous yet strangely satisfying make up sex. The Bellegerent Frat Guy, meanwhile, has prepped himself for the next round by grabbing your sister's friend from out of towns ass and saying "I like the yams in that can". Don't worry, no one understood it when he said it, either. The "Let's Do Shots!" Guy has been practicing his "bitter shot" face, adding a sequence where he squints, opens his mouth wide, sticks his tongue out like a gargoyle, and then grits his teeth again. As expected, his first round opponent, the Beer Munchies Guy, has not returned from his trip to 7 Eleven, although people have tried to contact him about picking up extra slushees.
THE MATCH: This matchup could go down in history with the likes of Bird vs. Magic, Ron Burghandy vs. Veronica Corningstone, and snakes vs. possums in the realm of matchups where best friends are pitted against one another. As previously stated, they showed up together, but neither has enough respect for their fellow man to worry about leaving the other at the party by themselves. The difference here is choice of liquor. The Bellegerent Frat Guy will drink anything. And I mean anything. Especially if it's a dare, or if someone tells him he's a pussy if he doesn't do it. Beer, wine, barbecue sauce, anti-freeze - it doesn't matter, he'll hold it down and scream at you for more. This is not the case for "Let's Do Shots!" Guy, and becomes a problem as we get later into the evening. Everyone has that one beverage they just can not handle for some reason like tequila or gin or whatever. And when we drink too much, we forget that we can't handle it and it starts to sound like a good idea. "So what if the past twenty five times I drank scotch I threw up? This time will definitely be different." You know how this ends. You covering the bushes out front and your throat feeling like ragged beef for 24 hours after. Here's where this comes into play in this matchup: for some odd reason, the "Let's Do Shots!" Guy can not handle your every day, average beer. He's secretly not proud of it, but has enough dignity to refrain from drinking Smirnoffs or amaretto sours, instead sticking to shots. However, this late into the evening, he's getting drunk to the point where he thinks he can handle a beer or two. So what happens? Let's say it all together now - he boots. As he stumbles outside wiping regurgetated Schlitz from his nose, The Bellegerent Frat Guy continues to be a tour-de-force, accidentally stumbling into a wall, causing a picture frame to fall, observing what he's done, and then for no reason knocking another picture to the ground and laughing hysterically, followed by calling the inanimate picture "Bitch".
WINNER: THE BELLEGERENT FRAT GUY
MATCH TWO: THE JEALOUS FATTIE vs. "APPARENTLY IT'S KARAOKE NIGHT" GIRL
RECAP: In round one, Celine Dion favorite, Karaoke Girl moved on with an unstoppable combination of the Oh My God Face and Avril Lavigne. When asked about her performance, she simply stated, "That song is fucking awesome, I fucking loooove Avril.". Well put. Meanwhile, that blizzard of brooding, that barrage of bitchiness, that tsunami of Sour Patch Kids and Yoo Hoo, The Jealous Fattie, was stuck in the corner quietly despising her friends for enjoying themselves. Her comments on the first round victory? "Why can't I find a decent guy anywhere? All men are such assholes, seriously they're fucking useless and stupid and all they care about are boobs and can't handle a girl that's nice or a girl with a great personality." She was then approached by an unassuming male who offered her a beer, to which she responded, "Fuck off, dick." Needless to say, she's in top form tonight. And by form, I don't mean round.
THE MATCH: Karaoke Girl is biding her time, but you can tell she's ready to bust out if given the oppurtunity. She's kind of swaying back and forth in the middle of the living room, dancing with no one in particular and not making eye contact with anyone. The friends who were singing with her earlier have moved on to other activities, but she can't stray too far from the music. The Jealous Fattie has gotten up and started to make the rounds again, hovering by her friends, hemming and hawing, doing fake yawns, and basically making it clear that she's still ready to go. Unfortunately for her, her friend Vicki is ready to go in a different way and has gone upstairs with a random guy. More than being upset that she can't leave for another hour, this makes the Jealous Fattie, well, jealous. She gets lost in her thoughts for a moment, dreaming about a place where a completely submissive guy caters to her every need, loves to cuddle, and rubs the bunyans on her feet. This is the time she would delve into a sexual fantasy, but that would mean she has to picture herself naked too, and her self-loathing just won't allow for that. Fortunately for us, devestating and brutal reality comes crushing back as the Bellegerent Frat Guy bumps into her and spills a beer all over her shirt. "Sorry, babe." "Get a fucking life, loser!" She's had enough, her car is leaving with or without Vicki. "I'm leaving, I have to get up early tomorrow," she lies to Megan and Julia who both look at her blankly before launching into some routine dialogue that they're used to by now. It might look like this:
"Are you sure? Why don't you stay a little longer?" (They know she'll say no.)
"No, I just want to go home...I'm tired." (See?)
"Really?" (They'll probably stretch out like 'reeaaaalllllyyy?' The longer they stretch it, the more they mean it?)
"Yeah, call me later." (still quietly loathing Vicki, herself, and life.)
"Okay, definitely, girl. We love you." (No, they don't. They just hope they don't get into a fight now because the group's muscle is leaving.)
Karaoke Girl has taken control of the music and scrolled down on the ipod to find the perfect song to belt out just off key. There it is, perfect. Here she goes:
"DON'T YOU WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS HOT LIKE ME? DON'T YOU WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS A FREAK LIKE ME? DON'T YA? DON'T YA?"
Ahh, sure.
WINNER: "APPARENTLY, IT"S KARAOKE NIGHT" GIRL
MATCH THREE: 2 AM HEART TO HEART DUDE vs. THE HORNY ROB DEER
RECAP: 2 AM Heart to Heart Dude was last seen reflecting on how much high school rocked and how sick that party was that one time. No one else is exactly sure which party he is referring to, but they humor him and agree. At one point, he proposes a toast randomly in the middle of the hallway to "best friends and best times". Four people half-heartedly raise their glasses, while one of them is positive 2 AM Heart to Heart Dude has some sort of crippling learning disability. The Horny Rob Deer is starting to get desparate. The foreign girl who doesn't speak english has left. So did that girl he hung out with that one time, as well as the borderline statutory girl who works as a restaurant hostess. His only hope at this point is the Bumper Car. What kind of girl is this? Well, let's just say that the bumper cars are the ride at the carnival that isn't even that much fun, has been beat to shit and worn out from use, but everyone still feels obliged to give it a go. Mind you, she's not ugly... merely hoed out. Your friends won't make fun of you for riding the bumper cars, because they've done it too, but you're not gonna impress anyone with that story either. The Horny Rob Deer's friends have all had her at one point or another, and all got a strange sense of satisfaction that one day when they all realized this. They probably sat around the room laughing, going back and forth figuring out who went when, where each time happened, what nasty things they did to her, like they were discussing their first cars or something. It's the weirdest form of male bonding known, but it definitely happens. It was like they ran a train on this girl, except the train was chugging along at three miles per hour. Unfortunately, The Horny Rob Deer has never had such satisfaction. The whole time that discussion was going on, he quietly sulked in the corner knowing that he had never tasted that sour dough. Well, now is his chance, and it may mean the difference between moving on to the next round or going home to watch a crappy soft core with a name like "Seedy Pleasures" or "Desperate Desires" on Cinemax.
THE MATCH: Before this match really gets going, I know what you're thinking. Why doesn't The Horny Rob Deer just suck it up and go for The Jealous Fattie? Two people's nights could be saved by doing this, not counting the Fattie's friends who wouldn't have to put up with her depressing bullshit or the multitude of girls who had to deal with a sweaty Rob Deer awkwardly trying to hit on them. Well, here's the sad reason: They both think they're above each other. The Horny Rob Deer is thinking to himself my god, she's mean and nasty, I can't let my friends see me with her, I always get better chicks than that. No, no you don't. You, my friend, can no longer afford to be a vain douche bag. The Jealous Fattie is thinking Ugh, he's just another asshole. I would never touch him. Ah, good thing, because he just got done thinking he wouldn't touch you either. I bet if you two ever got together, you wouldn't find each other to be that bad. Maybe you'd even give birth to jealous, horny, kids. But no, let's just be miserable and continue to make those around us miserable too.
Anyway, we've gotten away from 2 AM Heart to Heart Dude, but that's when he gets ya. An arm full of dead weight drapes over your shoulder as he takes a seat on the couch next to you. Cue up the heartfelt violin music. "I just wanted to let you know, man, that this has been awesome, and...and...and you're truly a great friend. Like, I'm so lucky to have you in my life." You're borderline scared that he's about to drop to a knee and pop out a ring. He's about to continue when some of that cheap beer starts rumbling in his stomach and he lets out an uncomfortable silent burp. You know, the kind right before someone...oh shit, he better not puke on me. Fortunately, he instead looks at you as a creepy smile crawls across his face. "Just awesome," he says. Okay. Not sure what that was in reference to, or it may have been an extension of a previous thought. Great. In the kitchen, the Horny Rob Deer is basically lobbying to the Bumper Car at this point for her to go with him - upstairs, back home, the bathroom, anywhere. If a Jehovah's Witness knocked on your door and tried selling you on reasons to have sex with them rather than rejoycing for Jesus, would you go for it? Didn't think so. That's how this whole thing is going off right now. Not even the Bumper Car is impressed. "Mmmm, I don't think so," she says. However, he's reminded her that some of his friends may be around still. Time to go track them down. Why didn't they ever call her back? Oh well.
Looks like it's time the Horny Rob Deer packed up his carnival and went home.
WINNER: 2 AM HEART TO HEART DUDE
MATCH FOUR: "DOESN'T THIS SMIRNOFF GO WELL WITH MY PINK SHIRT?" GUY vs. "BWAAHHHH!" GIRL
RECAP: The Smirnoff Gentleman, who at this point is consistently being referred to as "that fag" by your friends, is still hanging out after avoiding fisticuffs with The Weird Guy Who Wants To Fight People in the first round. He got a couple girls phone numbers, and they all seem to be generally charmed by him. Maybe he's giving off an addictive scent that only women can smell, a mix of wine coolers, Berkenstocks, and hair products. He's still sipping on his malt beverages, even making a little puckered face saying "oh, I think I'm getting buzzed!" At one point, one of your friends tried calling him out on it, and he started in with some whole ridiculous argument about how drinking Smirnoffs and Zimas gets you more drunk than regular beer. The nerve of some people. You don't give a rat's ass about alcohol content percentages and ratios. All you need to know is that Irish prison guards drink ales and stouts and lagers, not fucking malties. The worst part was at the end of the argument when he dropped a bomb about them being "lower in calories, too". What in the name of Martin Van Buren's beard is wrong with this kid?
For a report on "Bwaaaahhh!", let's go to the kitchen: She's still crying, but managed to finish two martinis in the process. Good for her.
THE MATCH: It's about fucking time, but the Smirnoff Gentleman finally realizes something that should've been obvious hours ago - you guys don't want him there. He gets an uncomfortable aura about him and that cheesy smile fades into an Eeyore-like mope. That girl you wanted to talk to goes over and asks him what's wrong, and with an astonished and tortured face he whispers, "I don't think those guys like me very much." He looks legitimately hurt. He thought you guys were getting along. I guess that'll happen when you have one too many Smirnoffs. BUT WAIT! Suddenly, the kitchen is eerily quiet. You look in to see "Bwaahhhh!" heaving deeply and sniffling, waving both her hands at her face. She's trying to collect herself! She might actually be okay! Hell, you may even find out what that was all about. Still, she has a tense bomb-like quality to her, like a husband at a divorce hearing listening to detailed testimony about his wife's affair with the neighbor. Sure enough, before you can get out "are you okay" she's explodes in a burst of tears and sobbing again. "BWAAHHHHH!" But she's still not going anywhere, just standing and crying in the kitchen, waving for someone to bring her another drink. You're terrified to let her have another one, but then again, you're terrified to try and stop her. The Smirnoff Gentleman throws on his fleece vest, tightens his weaved leather belt and heads out the door wondering what could've possibly gone wrong with his new friends to make them not like him. Boo fucking hoo.
WINNER: "BWAHHHHHH!" GIRL
posted by ThanksDrinking at
11:46 AM
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