Well, this is awkward!
I apologize you’re welcome for my brief absence. Life comes at you fast, and if I had some kind of inspirational or motivational way to finish that thought in order to provoke some sort of intellectual discourse with you, I would end it that way. Alas, I do not.
But I decided (with some serious consequences on the line) to go ahead and dry out for a while. It was — and is — for the best, and honestly I feel great about it! I’ve lost weight, spent more time with the family, work is getting better … et cetera. See? I can even spell et cetera now!
So with that said, it makes it a bit difficult to be the guy in charge of writing a feature titled “Thirsty Thursday.” However, if I was able to fake it through community college, surely I can do the same here …
That being the case, I’ve decided that this week I will harken back to some of my favorite pastime beverages!
Dave’s Marine Corps Special
There were many, many, many, many, many, many … many alcoholic beverages I indulged in back in the glory days of being young enough to do so whilst also maintaining a grand physique. In fact, we used to play a game when we went out to the bars that went a little something like this:
Me and two buddies had iPhone 3’s with a bartender app installed. This app had something like 300 different shot suggestions programmed in it. At each bar, you went in a circle and picked the next guys shot — and the direction changed at the next bar, and the next, and so on.
You could be NICE, and make your buddy take something simple like a ‘Sex On The Beach’ or a ‘Surfer On Acid,’ or you could be MEAN … and we typically always chose to be mean.
So one night I’m out with my buddies Stinson and David Stout. The eve was young, and the sobriety was high, so the games begun. We started off slamming the usual 3 or 7 beers to lay the groundwork for the occasion, when Stinson piped up: “Game time, bitches!”
I’m already natural ornery, but this night I was even more so. Quick background — Stout didn’t come out drinking with us very often. This was mainly due to the fact that at the time we were consuming more alcohol than Lemmy from Motorhead, but also he was a bit more ‘straight-laced’ than we were. See where this is going?
So Stinson chooses my shot, and it wasn’t pure grain alcohol or 10W-40, so I barely winced. Now it was my turn to choose for Stout.
My options were narrowed down to two choices. The one I decided AGAINST was called a ‘Redneck Paradise,’ and the ingredients were legitimately “1) bars cheapest wine, 2) bars cheapest beer, 3) bars cheapest vodka.” I thought better of it, though. That was too easy.
So I opted for door number two: Starry Night. For those unaware, the ingredients (at the time anyway) were a 50/50 mix of Jägermeister and milk.
Needless to say, after ol’ Stout evacuated his entire stomach contents all over the bar floor, we were asked — not so nicely — to get the %$#@ out.
The Ol’ Switcheroo
The name for this prank isn’t exactly fitting, but I was young, drunk, and … well, still dumb, so this is the name it got.
After my first deployment to Iraq I became what is known in the infantry as “a senior Marine.” Basically all this meant was that the new guys (“Boots”) had to show me respect ‘as an elder.’ It’s kind of a stupid concept, but whatever.
I was also named a Squad Leader, and when we got our first “Boot Drop” (meaning the first batch of new guys joined our unit) I was assigned my Marines.
I was not a nice person back then. Don’t get me wrong, there were worse guys than me, some of MY “seniors” when I was a boot for example, but I was still learning what true leadership was. Of course, that leadership didn’t emerge until much after The Switcheroo became a thing …
So I would take my Marines out all night, buy their beers and tequila, make sure they were nice and wasted, cross-eyed, the whole gambit. I would even buy the taxi and get us all back safely on base.
All of this was done under the guise that I promised them we wouldn’t P.T. the next day. “Don’t worry, guys,” I would say, “no running tomorrow. See? I’m drinking too!”
And indeed I would drink. I’d keep up with every beer and every shot they took. I would get us back to the barracks around 3 or 4 in the morning. I would walk them to their rooms.
And then at 0500, I would be right back, banging away and shouting at them to get their asses up and in P.T. gear, it was time for a run.
I would run those boys however far and long it took until each and every one of them threw their guts up. And it was always followed by, “how are you doing this, Lance Corporal?! You drank just as much as we did!”
Here’s the trick — before we would go out, I’d slip our Corpsman $20. After I saw them off to bed at 3 or 4 in the morning, I would hop right over to his room and he would hook me up to a bag or two of saline (depending on how drunk I was) and I would snack on some crackers/pretzels while it was administered. An hour or so later, I was back to 100% normal — and the chaos would then ensue.
So for months these guys thought I was a living legend until I finally told them how I did it right before we deployed to Afghanistan. Needless to say, they did not find it as funny as I did …
What are YOU drinking tonight?