You’re destined to be the one unable to handle their piss. I don’t mean to be harsh but it’s an inescapable truth; you can breathe deep, scuttle off for a tacky, have a sneaky scull of the bathroom tap, or even inhale half the room temp pizza someone forgot about – but what’s the point? Give it another 20 minutes and you’ll be semi-fucked. Room spinning, double vision, few cheeky slurs you pretend didn’t happen. At that point you’re about 15 minutes away from an in-depth discussion in how inequality, racism, and hate crimes aren’t ideal, having a heart to heart about that one cunt from high school you’re still not over, and getting a little too keen to kiss your best mate on the neck – or as I like to call it “having a couple of chill ones”.
You have a few options here:
- Wind it in and drink responsibly
- Become one of those cunts whose entire personality is based on not drinking
- Accept that you’re a liability and learn to live with your shit genetics
Personally, I opted for being an absolute useless cunt who spent a good chunk of every night power chucking Double Browns, obviously the educated decision. What’s important to understand is that I’m not here to pass on any worthwhile wisdom; I’ve got no groundbreaking secret tactics, I still feel sloshed after the second beer, and my mates still remember the night I had a single shot and fell asleep two fingers deep in one of the neighbours. Am I brave for being open about my inability to effectively partake in Hamilton’s only worthwhile pastime? No. Am I left with countless regrets that continue to haunt me well into my 20s? No doubt. I’ve already walked the path you’re stumbling down so buckle up and prepare yourself for some numbing levels of hangover anxiety.
As the useless cunt of the group there are very few things I understand – primarily why anyone invited me out, but also what life was like for those who didn’t blackout after six cans. I’d like to think that I at least provided entertainment for those around me and that my mates will one day have an onslaught of legendary anecdotes that’ll completely ruin my eventual wedding and/or funeral. However, considering the fact that I’ve absolutely demolished my gag reflex after six years of tacticals every night on the piss I think I might’ve been too preoccupied with wanting to sober up. Great, but now the question begs, will you follow suit? Of course. Maybe you won’t buy a box twice a week just to spend the night finger fucking your throat, but chances are if you’re unlucky enough to be blessed with the same affinity for ethanol as myself, you’ll be just as insignificant when it comes to the grandeur tales of student life nostalgia.
“Oh great oracle of Nexus, but what if I just keep drinking beyond my predestined capacity? Won’t I become part of the legendary anecdotes?” Hush sweet child, you’re missing the point. See there’s a difference between being the topic of the Sunday group chat and being the embarrassment who gets helped to bed before midnight. Just because you can’t handle your piss doesn’t mean that you’re a cheap drunk capable of gossip-worthy tales. Your role at parties is to provide the next segway of the evening – as you’re spotted stumbling off for a vom at 10pm, the rest of the gathering will ramp it up after the collective thought of “Fuck me I’ve gotta catch up”. So when you think about it, maybe the reason you haven’t been completely ghosted by your social circle is the subconscious understanding of your ability to improve everyone else’s
