The Struggles Of Being A Lightweight

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I’m not a big guy. I’m 140 pounds soaking wet and I stand at a hulking five feet six inches tall. On top of that, I was a bit of a goodie two shoes in high school and didn’t really start getting drunk until I strolled into college. Therefore, I was a little behind on knowing how to drink, in terms of knowing my limits, and knowing any little tricks to sobering up or avoiding massive hangovers.

Because of this perfect stupid storm of factors, when it comes to drinking I am a textbook example of a lightweight. All my friends know it, I have a reputation for being the first one to get fucked up and go too far. Every weekend is a gruesome, Eli Roth horror film as I try to keep my composure on a night out. Goofball antics transform into retarded decisions and crippling sickness. And I’m not complaining at all, it’s wonderful.

BUT, being a lightweight isn’t all fun and games. It’s a massive pain in the taint. When I drink, it’s a battle. I’m David and alcohol is Goliath, but Goliath always wins in this case. Yes, I just made a biblical reference on a frat site, suck my dick.

Here are some of the struggles of being a lightweight.

Going from sober to hammered in 2.5 seconds.

One or two shots and I’m already the mayor of Fuckedupville. There’s no in between time. There’s no smooth transition period, Jack. Nope, whether I like it or not I just jump headfirst into a sea of disgusting intoxicated shenanigans. I’ve never been “tipsy”. I don’t know what the fuck “tipsy” means. That’s a luxury I can’t afford. One second, I’m totally sober. The next minute, I’m in my underwear screaming Backstreet Boy songs in the middle of an Irish Pub throwing up on my own boner. That was a great night.

The hangovers are a nightmare.

When you’re a lightweight, your hangovers are like turbo hangovers on crack. You wake up with a tiger in your bathroom, a random baby in your closet and you can’t find your friend Doug. When I’m hung over, I feel like the Devil himself is fucking me in the ass in a trashy hotel room while a tiny TV plays annoying infomercials in the background. It’s awful. My head is pounding like I’ve just been shot with a bazooka from two inches away. I’m lightheaded and feel like I’m gonna pass out and crack my head open on the floor. I feel weak and wobbly. It’s the worst.

I make a fool of myself.

I’m already looking forward to your angry comments like “Wally, you’re making a fool of yourself RIGHT NOW!” and “I hope you do crack your head open and die, loser”, I already got my popcorn ready, you predictable pricks. But whenever I’m hammered I yank the spotlight on me and basically turn the night into a shitty one man show. I make myself the center of attention and embarrass the shit out of myself. I sing songs, stumble around, and I flirt with anyone with tits (that includes fat males.)

Anything can get me drunk.

Even the weak-ass alcoholic beverages destroy me. The light shit that would basically be like water to a larger man. Hell, I can get drunk just by THINKIN about alcohol. If I stare at a bottle of beer for too long I get fucked up. If you look into my eyes and say the word “alcohol” three times in a row I get drunk immediately. It’s basically a really lame superpower. I tried to join the Avengers but they turned me down saying my superpower wouldn’t really help them. The X-Men and the Justice League said the same things. Fuckin assholes.

Hopefully all my fellow lightweights can read this and find peace within themselves. It’s a daily struggle, but we carry on. With great sensitivity to alcohol comes great irresponsibility. Go get drunk too quick, my fellow lightweights, I salute you.

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