My best drinking story is that I had my last drink 14 years ago. ‘Nuf said.

I was at a music festival, we were camped out across from a bunch of really obnoxious frat bro types. They weren’t causing any real issues and we were an decent terms with them as campsite neighbors, they were just really loud and obnoxious and had a different sort of energy than my group.

One guy in my campsite had one of the big 1 litre German boot glasses. Frat bros found out about this and wanted to give it a try, so we let them.

We watched them pour 2 12 oz PBRs into it (it will hold about 3), and fail to chug it.

I’m a pretty proficient chugger, so I decided to show them up. Filled the glass up with a considerably heavier beer, started to walk over to demonstrate how it’s done. As I’m walking out of our site though, it dawned on my already slightly innebrated brain that it had been a while since I’d chugged a litre, so I wanted to make sure I could still do it, so I downed a full test boot, immediately filled it back up, and walked over to demonstrate how it was done for our rowdy neighbors and executed the maneuver flawlessly.

So with 2 liters of beer in my stomach, I then went into my tent to have a little power-blackout to recharge my batteries for a night of debauchery.

My best drinking story is one told to me by my parents, because I don’t even remember it. See, it was actually my birthday party in which I got very drunk. Also, I was 2

So apparently these old boomers thought “Oh it’s only one tiny sip, she’ll be fine. doesn’t matter that she’s 2”, but they all had that same idea, and after a few “one tiny sips” I was one tiny drink toddler. Thanks mom and dad. Probably didn’t help my brain develop very well :/

Anyway, that’s the best drinking story I have because I don’t drink. Not even because of this; I just don’t much care for the taste or the feeling, so yeah

I emerged from a blackout drunk sitting in a classroom; it was the last hour of the GRE (graduate record exam). I was reeking of alcohol and I remember feeling sorry for the poor bastards seated next to me. I finished and walked directly across the hallway to the bathroom and vomited a while.

I’d gone to a bar the night before for one dollar draft beer; I had $2, so 1 beer + tip. I don’t know exactly what happened but later heard people thought it would be funny to buy me drinks before the exam and I was too young/dumb not to accept.

The most bizarre part of the story is I scored a dead-average score on the exam.

So from ages 16 to about 22, I was the guy who would get blackout drunk and into wacky situations. This is one of them.

I had just moved to a little town in Ontario with some buddies from BC. We moved into our apartment on Halloween, and one of said buddy’s cousins was having a party. I tossed on my army jacket, put some blue hair gel on my head, deemed myself a punk and headed out with my 26 of Jamieson in tow.

The last thing I remember was telling the host “Nah, I don’t need a cup or chase, I’ll just keep drinking from the bottle.” Things got hazy, then suddenly I was in a holding cell.

Let’s take a step back for a moment. This wasn’t my first time inside a holding cell - but this was literally my first night as a resident of this place. I had only a vague sense of where my place was relative to the rest of the town. I did not memorize the address. I had no family or support network there, other than my two friends. And I had exactly zero knowledge of the journey from the party to the cell.

So naturally, I start screaming, asking why I was there and what I did, trying to squeeze through the bars, etc. etc. Cop comes by, says “If you don’t know why you’re here, that’s why you’re here. Just get some sleep and we’ll talk in the morning”. Still freaking out but recognizing there wasn’t much I could do, I passed out on the slab.

In the morning, the cops got me out of the cell, and explained that I had passed out on someone’s lawn on what I learned was the other side of town from the party. When they picked me up, I apparently told them I had no fixed address, and they took me in. As I was apparently very cooperative they handed me a ticket and sent me on my way.

So there I was - it’s about 7:00 AM on November 1st. I had blue-smeared, slept-on-a-concrete slab matted hair, I was in that nasty ‘still drunk but also hungover’ pocket, outside of a cop station with still no idea where I was relative to my place. So I just start walking.

Eventually, I make it to the centre of town. I notice a big gathering of people and stumble over to see what it was. Some guy sees me, and hands me a protest sign. After a few minutes, I realize it’s an anti-New World Order protest of some kind. I look around for some place to drop the sign, and see a sudden flash. Someone took my picture - and the dude was wearing one of those press passes around his neck.

My second day in town, and there was me - haggered, literal gutterpunk looking ass holding a protest sign at an unhinged protest, with a picture taken for the local newspaper. Neat.

Eventually I find my house. I walk in, and my buddies are like “Holy shit, what the fuck happened?”. Apparently, I got so drunk I fell off the porch and was just generally being a fool, and got kicked out of the party. These guys then took me to try and get some pizza in me at some place. At a certain point, I just dropped my piece on the floor, left the building, and the rest is history.

I don’t talk to those guys anymore. I don’t drink whiskey from the bottle anymore either.

What’s funny to me is that this isn’t even my first unhinged drinking story from that place - I found myself on the wrong end of a 12 v. 3 brawl at a chain pizza restaurant over someone calling my buddy a chicken nugget, the day we went to sign our lease - but that’s a tale for another day.

Weed’s soooo much better, kids.