Breather Briefing – Issue 8

Editorial

You know what I miss? Tap Beer. The liquid gold that is usually either Waikato Draught or Speights for me. Usually consumed in cheap handles at the Hillcrest Tavern on a Friday between 3 and 5pm, over some shit that with my mates who have either finished up for the week or skipped class to be there. Here’s hoping it will be open for business this week, because fuck I have missed getting blind at pre pres and stumbling back home with a box in hand. It’s the dream for some, and you can bet your left nut that I will be eating that first handle in 3 seconds flat.


Red Card: Drinks levels

This one is simple, but I’ve heard of it wreaking havoc across the board in New Zealand so why not give it a go yourself, I mean you’ll have a high alcohol tolerance after lockdown 🤥. All that you require to do this is a 12 box of your choice, and some mates who are brave enough to do it. You have a time limit of 12 minutes to drink the first vessel, 11 minutes to drink the second, 10 to drink the third, and so on. Participants who do not adhere to these strict time limits will be subject to a punishment set by the red card instigator, usually a baccy cone or not being allowed to talk to girls for the rest of the night. Whoever wins gets to golden shower the loser. 


Drink of the week: White Rhinos

There’s a select few out there who find this sugar free drink useful, and that’s for multiple reasons. The white girl who wants to save the environment because of the donation that Part Time Rangers gives, the Breather who wants to watch their weight because they’re sugar free, and that loose cunt who just loves wreaking havoc and smashing them on his head. That’s all they’re good for, just absolutely hammering them into your head and drinking what’s left. 


Sesh Wars: Dog Squad

This story begins on a Friday in March, a warm summer’s day, and with a 21st celebration on the cards. What starts out as a regular pre drinks at the Hilly, soon transpired into something that hadn’t been seen in Studentville for years. While we were floundering our way back to our flat already fairly tipsy from those handles, we stopped by the host flat and watched the birthday boy demolish his yardy. Few drinks get tipped down the hatch, we eventually make it to the flat and prepare for the party by blowing up some balloons and visiting the martians. It’s go time, we rock around with a full head of steam, deep dark rollers are rumbling through the neighborhood and the place is packed out. The party was spilling out on the street but it was fucking good for it, and it was quickly becoming the best flat party I’d been to in a long time. It must have been about 9pm and noise control rocked up, which was standard. Hang on a minute, why is there a paddy wagon here? The cops chat to one of the Flatties, presumably to ask to shut it down, but after a long convo they disappear into the night and we continue. However after a short time they return and start telling everyone to fuck off home, there’s a dog barking, they’ve brought the police dogs with them, what the fuck? We were only allowed to walk one way down the street, 3 people got arrested, there was a camera crew filming. The Cops had formed a line blocking people off from walking to Greensboro and flushed everyone out onto Cameron road. To this day I’m honestly baffled at the response. Oh, and the Breathas who hosted got a knock on their door the next Wednesday to let them know that if it happens again they’ll be slapped with a $20,000 fine. Chur.

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