Vegas: Did I earn my Junior IRA Merit Badge yet?

I've been bombarded (and by "bombarded" I mean two people) with calls saying "Wow, that was one WILD Vegas entry there Beaver Cleaver!"

Well, the reason I cut that last entry before going into the "lost evening." When we last left off, Alaska had flown in and we sat around drinking, waiting to go out to the Irish Pub Nine Fine Irishmen at the New York, New York. I had made myself a nice little Maker's Mark and Pepsi combo that I did an effective job of spilling all over the table in our room. I made the mixed drink a little strong and drank about half of it, because the rest was just not tasty. I know, I wasted alcohol. Blow me, I was getting a nice pre-buzz on. Murdoch took a sip and cringed, but LQ too a sip and said "Wow, that's really good," so the jury is still out on how bad it was. Also, I think it should be noted that when I was living on the West Coast, the only liquor I ever drank when I went out was vodka (unless I was drinking shots - then it was mostly whatever is in a liquid cocaine and Jaeger). When I got back to the East coast, I realized there were mixed drinks and alcohol's I wasn't familiar with, and that I needed to expand my repertoire. Whiskey is one of those situations where I might not be used to it yet.

So we decided to go out and I volunteered to double back to the hotel when the Don showed up. For this, LQ decided that she would buy me a drink. Let the record state that this is the first drink I think LQ has ever bought me, so cheers to LQ. We got to the bar, and there was no cover (SCORE!). Let the record show I detest paying cover. Cover is the last refuge of the vapid and corrupt. The night was already shaping up well until... LQ asked me what I wanted to drink, and I thought "Hell, if I'm in an Irish pub, I want a damn Irish car-bomb." If you are unfamiliar with the Irish car-bomb, it's a shot of equal parts Jameson and Bailey's that you drop into a half pint of Guiness and chug. It may sound horrible, but I swear it's delicious. So LQ went to the bar to get the drink and I headed upstairs to see if there was anywhere to sit. I did a horrible job of this, only because all of the tables were full of people eating complete meals. Anyway, Jugs and co. got us seats and LQ brought me my drink. YES! I AM GOD OF THE SEA PEOPLE!

I down the first drink and ask LQ how much it was for such a wonderful glass of alcoholic goodness. She said $10.

Okay, at this point I am putting a disclaimer up. THE FOLLOWING CONVERSATION HAPPENED EXACTLY THE WAY I AM GOING TO WRITE IT.

As soon as I heard that the drink was $10 I said "shit I really didn't want to have a hundred dollar tab tonight." Jugs was seated to my immediate left on the rail looking over the floor level of the pub and said "Then don't." I replied with, "yeah, but I'll probably end up with a hundred dollar tab," to which she replied "You really aren't going to drink ten of those are you?" and I followed with "Yeah, that's about what we used to do each night in Atlanta."Jugs then rolled her eyes and said "oh Jesus Son of Geo Metro." As a joke I then said "I take that as a challenge, you don't think I can drink ten of these do you (acting all pissy, but in my head there was nothing but maniacal laughter). She tried to recover by saying "I'm not saying that at all!" but it was on like Donkey Kong (and I had antagonized for no reason at all, double point!).

So I now had a gaol for the evening. A lot of people say that there's nothing constructive about getting belligerently drunk in public. These are usually people who go knocked up at an Aerosmith concert in the 70's, were forced into a marriage they never really wanted, and then found religion later in life and blame alcohol for all the retarded decisions they made with their life that led to them needing to find God when they are miserable.; this is not me. I had a goal to reach that night, and damnit, I was going to make it happen.

I got up to number five when I had to go back to the hotel to let the Don into the room to drop his stuff off and head on out with us. I was feeling pretty darn good. I ended up having this really amazing conversation on the way back to the hotel with this guy who claimed to know Doug Chau's father back in GA and I have no clue what else we talk about but I think I can list the number of subjects: owning your own business, why people shouldn't get married, why people do get married (which was mostly this guy screaming "don't get her knocked up") how they airbrushed Toni Braxton's penis out of the giant picture of her on the Flamingo, and I'm sure he recommdedI get a hooker when I got out of the cab.

So the Don got up to the room, and it was great to see him, then he put down his bag and we briefly chatted. I need to stop here and say something: there are some things you see in life that just make you stand speechless. After we chatted the Don said "Looks like I've got some catching up to do, grabbed the bottle of Maker's Mark from the table and went vertical with it. and not just a swig either, he held it there for a good five seconds. It was one of the most impressive things I've ever seen.

So we take a cab back to the pub and I go back to getting my drink on. I think I had the next three pretty quickly when we got back. I had told the bartender about the goal for the evening, and he was doing his best to keep things going, even telling the guy sitting at the bar about my goal for the evening. The strangers were impressed, and that made my ego take the thing that's not my ego and choke that bitch out. During this time, I may have done the following: attempted to dance a half-assed jig/square-dance thing with all the dexterity of the offspring of Michael Flatley and a sumo wrestler, crashed and burned while trying to hit on the sexybusty bartender by helping her bus a table (I have to have at least one pathetic moment with a woman), screamed lines from Braveheart over our table in the back. In my defense, Braveheart was in AMC like every damn day in the month of July, and whenever my program would go to commercial, I'd throw Braveheart on. This led to me screaming "Damn the Baelialle can!"over and over in Vegas.

As a complete side-note, I used the how did they airbrush Toni Braxton's penis out of that picture a few too many times. I apologize to everyone who had to hear the joke five or six times, but I thought it was clever and I was usually somewhat inebrienated

So after the tenth car-bomb, I was happy! I'm pretty sure I celebrated like I had just defeated the Soviets in hockey or something, but that lasted all of five minutes until I went to close my tab and the bartender told me "damn, that's impressive, but I've seen a guy drink fifteen of those and still be somewhat coherent. Of course, that guy was a lot bigger than you.." Before he even completed his sentence, I had a new goal. I don't know if it was little-man syndrome, drunken belligerence, or youthful hubris, but I looked at him straight in the eye and said, "Pour me another one." After the eleventh, something in my stomach said "who keeps pouring this shit down here." Before I knew it I was bounding down the stairs towards the men's room. I bolted into the handicapped stall, and a miracle happened. I literally willed myself to feel fine. I had another goal to meet and dammit I was going to make it! I walked back upstairs and everyone started asking me how I felt. I lied and said it was all good and threw down two more car-bombs. I had bought a few for others during the night and this allowed me to announce that I had drank 16 during the night and the bartender then bought me one for my amazing feats of tolerance in the face of overwhelming odds. The final count for drinks that I actually drank was 14. I don't really remember leaving the pub. I had absolutely no recollection of the cab ride home, and had no idea how I got into bed the next morning, I only knew I was sleeping next to a trash can and there was a stain next to my face on the sheets.

The story as it was told to me was that I wasn't that bad getting out of the bar and into the cab, but once I got into the cab I got extremely sick and puked all over the side of the cab. After I had puked all over the side of the cab, and we were on the Strip a crowd started laughing and taking my picture at a red light. I responded by calling them all assholes and shouting "Fuck you!" The Don ended up jumping out of the cab and taking pictures of me (they were hilarious). The cab driver ended up getting a $20 tip so he could get his car cleaned off and apparently he told everyone "Man, I'm glad I stopped drinking years ago, because seeing this would have probably made me stop drinking for good."