copyright © 2004 Matt Perry

Why Am I Never Too Drunk to Remember?

(Anne walks slowly onstage, holding her head and moaning. It is obvious that she has a hangover. She sits in a chair and looks at the audience in contempt.)

Oh, Jesus Christ. God damn. Holy shit, and all those other little sacrileges that I can’t even think of right now. Yes, I’m hung over. I’m dehydrated, my appendages are cold, I’m nauseous, and it feels like a hedgehog just crawled down my throat and is now attempting to burrow its way through the top of my head. But you’ve all been there, right? No need to tell you guys.

It was a fun party, though. I can remember everything. Alcohol does everything it’s supposed to do for me except take away my memory. No, I can remember everything crystal-clearly. Including. . . Oh, what’s his name again? We’ll just call him Fuck-For-Brains.

Why do I always get drunk and hit on the worst guys? Last night, I’m not sure how, but I managed to find the guy with the smallest dick there. Revision: He is no longer Fuck-For-Brains, we’ll now call him Weenie Weenie. I distinctly remember asking him if his favorite band was Three Inch Nails. I get witty when drunk, don’t I?

Well, he’s just the latest chapter in a long, long book of guys I courted when drunk. I can remember each and every one of them, like walking down a big Hall of Fame of Asshole Rejects. Let’s see, before Weenie Weenie, there was Jake, this ugly kid who talked way too much. I think I passed out in the middle of making out with him. . . Wait, no, I threw up, then he dropped me, then I passed out. Not my proudest moment, I can assure you.

Moving on from that slightly embarrassing situation, at the party before that I met this freshman who thought he was drunk after two beers. A high school freshman. Who wanted to see my tits. Well, I was tipsy, but not THAT tipsy. I told him if he did a beer bong he could look for as long as he wanted. Well, some friends and I kept cramming beers into that funnel, and that guy was drinking like a dehydrated fish. I think we let him stop after about five or so. So I grab my shirt and get ready to lift it up, and the guy drops like a rock. Started vomiting on my shoes and everything! We had to spend the next few hours keeping the guy alive by sticking him in a cold shower. And all that for one look at my tits, which he never got, by the way!

Well, I guess I couldn’t blame him for wanting to see these, right?

However, all that pales in comparison to my first experience. I was a sophomore in high school and my friends invited me to a college guy’s party. I thought it was going to be cool and all, right? Well, I suppose my first clue to the contrary was that there were no hot guys at the party. None at all. My second clue should have been all the posters for N’SYNC and the Spice Girls.

So we had lame guys and lame music, but I have to give it to those socially inept fuckers, they had good alcohol. I don’t know why ugly guys always seem to have the best taste in beer; maybe it’s because they spend so much time drinking alone? So I keep slamming them back, and keep in mind, I had never had a lot to drink before this, so I didn’t know my tolerance or my limits. Unlike now, when I just ignore them.

Needless to say, I was drunk within an hour, and everybody else was only getting started. The guy who was throwing the party started coming on to me, and looking back I realize it was a mistake, but in my drunken stupor then I thought that his five foot ten, 250 pound body looked pretty good. Yes, even with the acne, and the thick glasses, and the sweatshirt that had a very peculiar scent and oddly-placed stains. We started making out in front of everyone, and they’re laughing at us, because I guess we were getting pretty sloppy.

So after God knows how long, he says he’s going up to his room, and I can meet him there in five minutes. My friends proceed to spend the next five minutes attempting to pull me out the front door and walk me back home, but I wanted some that night, and let me tell you, when I’m drunk, I get what I want. So I fight all my friends off and head upstairs.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering what all of that guy’s friends were doing, they were all huddled around the computer playing some game over the internet.

So I get up to his room, and he’s there waiting for me; he’s got the lights down low, some candles lit, various toys spread around the bed, and he’s lying there in the middle of them all in this leopard print thong. By the way, even when I was drunk and horny, it still looked like he was smuggling a baby carrot in the wrong place. So I laughed at him, and I just couldn’t stop! I actually collapsed to the ground, laughing so hard I was crying! So he gets offended and tries to pick me up and have a talk with me or something, and that really sobered me up right there. I found myself pressed against this gigantic mass of bodily acne and horrible hygiene, and I realized that I made out with him. It was around then that I realized that I needed to throw up.

So I bolt into the bathroom and he chases me in there, and he’s all giving me a massage and trying to talk to me, and I get so pissed off that he can’t even let me throw up in peace that I start to storm out of the bathroom. Well, he calls me a bitch, and that pissed me off. I grabbed this bottle of nasty cologne on the rim of the sink and I hurl it at him. He had surprising agility for someone whose tits rivaled me, and he ducks just in time.

Well, the bottle explodes all over this picture on the wall that I had never noticed. I didn’t get a good look at it before it fell off the wall and straight into the toilet. So that guy, he looks at the toilet in shock, then he looks at me, then back at the toilet, and falls to his knees and cries out "Mom!" I found out later that his mother had died, and that was her portrait that he had hung in the bathroom. Don’t fucking ask me why he had hung it in the bathroom. All I knew was that I was still sick, so I walked over to the toilet and puked, right on the picture.

Needless to say, we got kicked out of that party pretty quickly. But my friends helped me walk home, and on the way, we had a good laugh, about how bad the party was, and what had happened. . . Yeah, it was a real bonding experience. Plus, now I can say that puking all over somebody’s dead mother set my precedent for unruly drunken behavior. God bless those geeks, wherever they are.


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