Posts Tagged ‘puke

03
Jun
11

100s Club – It’s AWN!

This weekend we man the fuck up.

 

 

We don’t sit around wrapped up in our adorable little scarves with our ironic T-shirts, skinny jeans and quaint hats, fuck no!

We don’t listen to arty-farty indie folk bands and smoke our medium shag rolleys whilst talking about some obscure bistro we found that serves the best aubergine pate we’ve EVER tasted, fuck no!

This weekend we batten down the fucking hatches with a case of quarts, that’s right, QUARTS motherfuckers, and we grow a pair of fucking huge, hairy, ugly BALLS!

So get some dirty overalls, break out the Motörhead and prepare yourselves.

We’re joining the 100s club Winking smile

 

The Rules

1. You drink one shot of beer every minute for 100 consecutive minutes
2. If you pee, it’s game over
3. If you vom, it’s game over

It’s genius in it’s simplicity, but getting this one right ain’t as easy as it sounds. Listen up, the following information will make or break your 100s club attempt, trust me, I’ve done this twice and the first attempt WAS NOT pretty.

 

Preparation

A little advice before we begin from your Tiger pal:

  • Hit the liquor store. A shot is 30mls so 30mls x 100 minutes = 3000mls = 3litres. That’s right, you’re going to drink 3 litres of beer in just under two hours. Imagine inserting a beer drip directly into your arm and letting it drip continuously into your blood stream for 100 minutes because that’s pretty much EXACTLY what 100s Club is like
  • A quart is 750mls so 4 and you’re all set, but definitely get 5 to compensate for spillage
  • Also, stock up on as many plastic shot glasses as possible while you’re there, I’d recommend at least 20 per person, I’ll tell you why later
  • Give yourself about 40 mins before you start to wring your bladder dry and DO NOT drink anything. Depending on your constitution you should be able to handle the 100 shots without chundering, but you’ll probably need to piss so bad you’ll end up tying a knot in your dick to try and relieve the strain on your internal organs
  • Get a tray, lay all the shot glasses out and start filling them up before you start. This will save your fucking life. The flatter the beer the less chance you’ll end up like me the first time I tried this. I got the 100 shots down in 100 minutes but the second the last one was down I sprinted to the bathroom and puked foam. I’ve never felt so bloated in my entire goddamn life! My stomach had turned into a gigantic, badly poured 3 litre draft because the buddy I did it with and I only had two shot glasses, don’t make that mistake
  • Appoint a referee, someone to keep time who can put up with you at your very drunkest and won’t be tempted to get hammered themselves. Without one, by the time you’re 50 shots in the game will have already degenerated into a beer-fuelled nightmare of “Whassa fuckin’ TIME man?! Aren’t we supposto havanother shot now?” and “I don’ mean thisina fucking GAY way oranything man, but I love you dude, ok?” No. Not okay. A referee is non-negotiable
  • Don’t make any fucking plans. You do not want to be seen in public once your 100 minutes are up because trust me, it will get messy and if you even CONSIDER getting behind a wheel, I will track you down and beat you so hard you’ll be shitting teeth for a WEEK

 

 

That, gentlemen, is the mission this weekend. I’m going to tell you straight up that I won’t be joining you on this one because for one I’m too fucking poor to splurge out on anything that isn’t crucial to my basic survival and for two, after getting my 100s club wings twice, I think I have sclerosis.

Good luck out there. And if you do decide to attempt it, be sure to take as many pics as possible to prove it and send them to Uncle Slick. You’ll instantly get an honourable mention on the site and all the goddamn glory you can handle.

Make me proud you sick basterds.

Make me proud Winking smile

-ST

12
Mar
10

Inappropriate Joke Friday

Hey Party People!

I didn’t get a chance to bang out another thoughtful, insightful and well written post last night because the universe didn’t want me to. Instead, the universe told me, explicitly, to go home, lie down on the couch and pass out.

Who am I to argue with such a compelling suggestion?

 

 

So I’m inviting some community participation today! Like when the teacher tells the class that today they’re doing unprepared speeches in order to ‘work on their public speaking skills’ ie. he was too drunk the night before to prepare a lesson.

I hereby declare today ‘Inappropriate Joke Friday’. The only question that you need to ask to see if your joke qualifies as ‘inappropriate’ is: If I told this to a group of complete strangers, would they ever speak to me again?

If the answer is yes, I’m sorry, but your joke isn’t quite inappropriate enough. Buy a Jimmy Carr DVD and try again next time.

So to get the ball rolling, here’s mine (courtesy of Stikey):

A serious alcoholic keeps coming home at 3 in the morning, blind drunk and covered in his own puke. After years of this, his wife finally offers him the following ultimatum:

‘If you come home like that one more time,’ she says, furious, ‘I’m divorcing you.’

That night the man tells his friends what his wife said while they’re sitting in the pub getting tanked.

 

 

‘What the fuck am I going to do?’ the man asks in desperation.

‘Easy,’ says his buddy, ‘put a R100 note in your shirt pocket. When your wife starts bitching you out for being covered in puke again, just tell her that R100’s from the guy at the bar who threw up on you. It’s to cover the dry cleaning costs. Problem solved.’

‘Fuck!’ the man replies, ‘you’re a genius! Who wants tequila? I’m buying!’

Early the following morning, the man staggers home, covered in puke only to be greeted by his wife, who is spitting mad.

‘It’s over!’ she screams, ‘I warned you about this you good-for-nothing drunk asshole!’

‘No, no, no, wait,’ the man slurs, ‘see this hunnered rand note? It’s from the guy who puked on me to get my clothes dry cleaner, um, cleaned!’

‘That’s two hundred rand. What’s the other hundred for?’ The wife asks, still livid.

‘Oh that? That’s from the guy who shat in my pants.’

Da dum.

Tsshh.

Ok, now you!

[Sound Effect: Crickets in the background]

-ST




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