Ontopic Alcohol Blog - Post when you're drinking!
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- Start date
Valve1138
I like the AB in the GB
Jehannum
Puts the "pro" in procrastination
Jehannum
Puts the "pro" in procrastination
Jehannum
Puts the "pro" in procrastination
It's 5 o'clock somewhere!
starting my Saturday morning off right
Valve1138
I like the AB in the GB
Amstel
The Hoarse Whisperer
Does this actually count on a Saturday? Cuz for me, the weekends = noon.
on any day where you have no actual reason to wait, start drinking whenever you want. I started drinking around 1030 today, but sometimes I start when I wake up
¯\_(ツ)_/¯͡
Syrup Beaver
pants log
Precisely 5.5 oz is how much bourbon it takes to make my ears continuously hear the cantina music.
Syrup Beaver
pants log
Reflections on a 30 pack.
Post breakfast beers, 1 to 5 or so.
You think to yourself, man, this is swill, yet amusing in an ironic fashion. A massive game of frisbee begins to form, life is pretty good.
It's lunchtime, a fire is needed, trees are cut down with less than optimal implements and said fire is started.
5-10 beers later, judgement becomes slightly questionable. Somebody suggests obtaining more beer, because we're almost out (There are two of us), two more 30 packs appear and no-one quite remembers how. Somehow in the middle of that, massive quantities of burgers and chips are consumed.
10-12 beers or so.
The fire is lord, and requires more fuel, however possible. We find ourselves stuffing extra beers in our pockets and dragging all kinds of crap out of the woods. Somehow, frisbee game is still going.
13-20 beers, the womenfolk have made dinner and we've eaten more meat, we are magical, tossing frisbees with godlike precision whilst snapping logs in half with our bare hands and adding wood to our saviour the fire with lighting speed. Someone's sneaker has melted, and we can fit at least a dozen marshmallows in our mouth at once.
20-23 beers.
Things take a turn for the worse, the last glimpse of sanity left flickers through and we realize that tomorrow is going to really, really suck, things are a giant mess, and there's no more branches, leaves, or twigs within 100 yards.
24-26 beers.
Everything is like winning the lottery, we're in the woods, all we see are stars, frisbees are leaving rainbows in the air, we found wood somehow, someone is bleeding, maybe both of us are bleeding, doesn't matter, check out the cans melting in the fire.
27-30 beers.
Quiet time, the frisbees are gone, small amount of wood left, somehow we have an extra two picnic tables, out of chips, chairs, who needs chairs when these roots and rocks are so comfortable and you're so much closer to mother nature. Man, it's beautiful out, we're in the middle of like a hundred planets circling the earth, fire spirits are dancing, what time is it? I can't see, can you? Nope, lost my phone an........hour?.....ago?...No idea.
Beer 31.
Blackness.
Post breakfast beers, 1 to 5 or so.
You think to yourself, man, this is swill, yet amusing in an ironic fashion. A massive game of frisbee begins to form, life is pretty good.
It's lunchtime, a fire is needed, trees are cut down with less than optimal implements and said fire is started.
5-10 beers later, judgement becomes slightly questionable. Somebody suggests obtaining more beer, because we're almost out (There are two of us), two more 30 packs appear and no-one quite remembers how. Somehow in the middle of that, massive quantities of burgers and chips are consumed.
10-12 beers or so.
The fire is lord, and requires more fuel, however possible. We find ourselves stuffing extra beers in our pockets and dragging all kinds of crap out of the woods. Somehow, frisbee game is still going.
13-20 beers, the womenfolk have made dinner and we've eaten more meat, we are magical, tossing frisbees with godlike precision whilst snapping logs in half with our bare hands and adding wood to our saviour the fire with lighting speed. Someone's sneaker has melted, and we can fit at least a dozen marshmallows in our mouth at once.
20-23 beers.
Things take a turn for the worse, the last glimpse of sanity left flickers through and we realize that tomorrow is going to really, really suck, things are a giant mess, and there's no more branches, leaves, or twigs within 100 yards.
24-26 beers.
Everything is like winning the lottery, we're in the woods, all we see are stars, frisbees are leaving rainbows in the air, we found wood somehow, someone is bleeding, maybe both of us are bleeding, doesn't matter, check out the cans melting in the fire.
27-30 beers.
Quiet time, the frisbees are gone, small amount of wood left, somehow we have an extra two picnic tables, out of chips, chairs, who needs chairs when these roots and rocks are so comfortable and you're so much closer to mother nature. Man, it's beautiful out, we're in the middle of like a hundred planets circling the earth, fire spirits are dancing, what time is it? I can't see, can you? Nope, lost my phone an........hour?.....ago?...No idea.
Beer 31.
Blackness.
Just cracked into the small jar of Ruhlmann recipe egg nog that's been in the fridge the last two months.
Holy fuck it's good. It's definitely not the egg nog you'd serve out of a punch bowl, it's more like Baileys. Except it's egg nog.
Holy fuck it's good. It's definitely not the egg nog you'd serve out of a punch bowl, it's more like Baileys. Except it's egg nog.