Once, it was a stifling summer day and I inadvertently drank a quarter of a 750ml bottle of Jack Daniel's, straight. It was cold from the fridge and went down too easy. Last thing I recall was telling my friend to put a rogue cricket back outside, because I had sympathy for it. Apparently, I went down the street bumping into light poles, I dropped my take away dinner, vomited lots back home and babbled incessantly about crap. I woke at 4am, uncomfortable and disorientated. The next day was Hell. My poor friend was traumatised, but has kindly forgiven me.
The next time, I rocked up to a club with a different friend. I hadn't been there for months as I had been recovering from surgery. I notice the bouncers seemed a bit sad when I asked them if they'd missed me. They yelled "Hell yes, it's crap without you here." I was quizzical, but I quickly learned the reason behind their melancholy. I get upstairs and see that the former metal/rock haven was now being patronized by yuppies. In state of upset and anger, I downed 16 shots at $4 in one hour. I honestly didn't realise...again. The last thing I remember was happily dancing to "Master Of Puppets" by Metallica. According to amusing anecdotes by my metal buddies (who showed up 40 mins into the binge), I then threw up on the DJ (who forgave me) and went to sleep. Duh. I remember waking up outside the club and waving at my hot guy friend and wondering why he looked so concerned. I woke the next morning and asked the friend I went out with, why they didn't play the end of that Metallica song.
Don't do this...too often.