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The Drinkers – Issue 5

Listen, we all know one of these battlers. Someone either way too straight-edge through school or someone who has been running it straight since Year 11 and hasn’t slowed down one bit. If you’ve ever hosted a party or even just been to one before, you’ve no doubt bumped into one of these cunts. Often having consumed their own body weight in the substance of alcohol (that’s the only substance, I swear) these munters will seek you out and chew your ear off as if their life depended on it. 

 

Count yourself lucky though, this level of shit talking still sits on the more tame end of the spectrum compared to some other creatures. If they weren’t absolutely hammered you’d be asking them “G, were you microwaved as a baby?” due to the pure volume of spit projecting from their mouth and landing in places where spit has no business being spat. At least for me of course, unsure about any of you freaks. 

 

Whenever you see them at a party, they’re a bare minimum 25 standards deep just because they can. One of the most common words I use to describe them is ‘weapon’. They show up, fuel up, bark up and straight up, we can’t tell you what else because it wouldn’t be suitable for publication. Their night goes one of two ways – they’re either passed out in an uncomfortable place by 10pm or still drinking a beer at 7am the next day without a single crumb of kip.

 

The sheer idiocy of these creatures has not gone undocumented or unnoticed- truth be told it’s

pretty enjoyable to witness. These types of drunks take it upon themselves to do the most crooked stuff you’ll never be able to tell your parents about. I’m going to go ahead and rattle off some of the more impressively dumb things I’ve seen my mates do who fall into this category. 

 

And the nominees are: Burn a couch on Greensboro Street; put an Avocado seed up one’s rectum and shit it out onto a pizza box; and of course, punch each other in the face until one sacks it (nearly resulting in a broken nose). I could go on all day- it’s the type of stuff where you just stand back, beer in hand, and watch the beautiful carnage unfold.

 

You never want to be at the centre of it of course- almost all of these activities would land you in hot water. Oftentimes I wonder how these people manage to fit into society considering the toll it takes on their body and the number of dry cleaning bills as a result of piss-stained bed-linen every single weekend. 

 

Despite what I say about them, they’re a special breed and should be preserved at all costs. They make our nights entertaining and fuel infinite amounts of laughter and chat on the weekends. Imagine how boring it would be to attend drinks without one these God-tier fuckwits around to headbutt drywall? Call me desensitised but we all need some fucked up shit to happen to really spice up a night.

 

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