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Last Five Hangovers...
The Ten Thousand Dollar Choking Hazard - 2004-12-09
Mixing Advice - 2004-10-24
A Grave Injustice - 2004-09-27
A Short History of the Bloody Mary (in My Life) - 2004-07-31
If You Build It, We Will Come - 2004-07-19

BE A FRIEND OF THE MOVEMENT!

The other night, I was grocery shopping at a local supermarket when, of all people, Nikki Sixx walked past me. Nikki Sixx, of the world's most notorious rock band, whose memoir inspired us to live our lives as they did -- except possibly without the drugs and the whores and the burrito-fucking (but hey, it's a long way to spring from here). It had to be an omen.

"Miller High Life is six bucks for twelve bottles," he said.

And then he was gone.

Beautiful, pure, poignant. It was in that moment that it all became clear. I realized… well, for starters, that it wasn't Nikki Sixx at all, but actually his chain-smoking, tattooed, heroin-addled doppelganger Lauren, and secondly that I will never eat a burrito again as long as I live. Still, the importance of this incident was not diminished, the meaning of my vision clear: A half-case of Miller High Life was on sale for six dollars, and despite the anticipated presence of approximately fifty other beer bottles in our refrigerator, we were meant to own it.

And so The Champagne of Beers came home with us and lived a very brief but happy existence in our Frigidaire.

The moral of this story: You can never have enough beer. Ever.

The point of this story: Before The Summer Of Excessive Drinking and Inappropriate Behavior, we might well have walked right on past that deal, saluting the High Life but not living it to its fullest. By which I mean: drunkest. Tragic as that little truth may be, it's also a nod at just how much we've grown, ripened, and deepened as human beings ever since we swore on the Bible – our dog-eared copy of The Dirt -- to live our lives as an endless crawl to the bottom of the beer bottle.

It's noble work. And as we all know, thanks to that silver-tongued devil Jebediah Springfield, "A noble spirit embiggens the smallest man."

So, embiggen your livers with us. Swell them with drink. This is one last call to (raised) arms for our First Seasonal Drunky But Funky Booze-Up And Bender.

We here at DbF, all having had stressful weeks for one reason or another, are counting down to Friday night with even more fervor than usual. Hopefully, some of you out there can join us to ring in the next season of bad behavior.

Here's a reminder: We'll be at O'Brien's Pub on the corner of Wilshire Blvd. and 23rd Street – ergo, not the one on Santa Monica's Main Street – at about 9:30 and staying until closing. We'll try to take over the area just to the right of the entrance – there's a pool table there, and a corner of the bar that's been home to countless antics captured on camera at shindigs past. Failing that, we'll just be near the bar somewhere, anywhere.

Show up any time, all night, but come early if you want to do a Car Bomb with us before we drink them out of Bailey's. (It's happened before.) If you can't make it, or you can but you just don't feel like knocking down alcohol with a bunch of strangers who write about these types of things for shits and giggles, then you can at least join us in a salute heard 'round the world. At 10:30 p.m., either chug an Irish Car Bomb, a shot, or something comparable. That way, on Drunky But Funky Day, we'll know that every hour, someone in a different time zone might be toasting it.

You know, because we're so big in Japan. And I hear the Zimbabweans find us very alluring as well.

But if you do it, let us know what you drank, if you like, or what misbehavior came as a result. We might just post it in a retelling of this glorious day in history.

Regardless, we hope to meet some of you at the bar.

Cheers!

-- Heather