Liquor Allergies

We all have that one thing we cannot stand. I sure have mine.

The very smell of it makes your intestines twist and you feel sick. There is no rational explanation but you hate it with every cell in your body.

But it wasn’t always like this. Once you were great friends.

Once you had great, loving times together.

Yet all it took was one night to change everything.

That one night when you became nemesis.

This is the story of that night.

This is the story of how I became allergic to minty shots.


It is summer and my bro Gamer tried to convince me to go to this girl’s birthday party. I told him there is no fucking way I’m going. You see there was a massive hook that he didn’t mention until the very same day, for a very good reason.

It was a shot party.

A shot party is exactly what it sounds like; a party where you only drink shots. This means no beer.

Whip me bloody, kick me in the balls, make me watch desperate housewives; just let me have my beer while you’re doing it.

Even shitty beer is still beer. I mean I cried in my sleep when I had to go from drinking Czech beer to drinking Bud Light in college, but I still drank it. Admittedly with a beer bong strapped to my head; drink or suffocate. Here I was thinking pussy was the best motivation.

It’s not that I don’t like shots. I love shots. Especially when handing them out to innocent ladies. Over the years I’ve learned that there is nothing less innocent than a wasted girl.

Drinking nothing but liquor however reminds me of when I was a younger and dumber. Yes I know it’s hard to believe, but over the years I’ve actually become vaguely smarter.

When I was young my best friend and I used to share a imported bottle of vodka every weekend. Our plan was that this would make people think we were super cool bad-asses. We all been there; when you’re a idiot thinking that drinking a lot will impress people. Sort of like every guy that has ever excited.

We dreamt of how everyone would bow to our new found supremacy of the ethanol species. Unless you’re a moron or a Mormon we both know that never happened. Instead of having everyone adore us for our awesomeness we spent the reminder of that night bathing in a puddle of puke, tears and promises of never to drink again. I was fourteen.

It also has another key side effect: Insanity.

Having me drink nothing but hard liquor is about as good of an idea as giving red bull to a baby. We will both run around naked, pass out naked and try so suck on a few to many titties.

Brostory “There is no way I’m going to that party. The world will end before I do.”

Gamer “Okay. Well that’s too bad. The host is really hot.”

Brostory “ Doesn’t matter. I control where this body goes, hot women does not.”

He shows me her picture. She is gorgeous.

Brostory “You’re driving.”

Gamer “We’re taking a cab.”

Brostory “You’re paying.”

I think that it was the first time in my life that I arrived to a party early. Despite this we ran into some trouble on our way there. You see when we got into the taxi we had a small disagreement.

Gamer “Why did you bring beer? I told you it’s a shot party. I got enough Minty for the both of us.”

Brostory “It’s a party. At parties you drink alcohol, then you do regretful things. Beer contains alcohol. I drink beer.”

Gamer “Dude no one there knows you but me and I’m bringing you. You want to fuck this up for me?”

Brostory “You’ve seen me drink nothing but liquor. It NEVER ends well…”

Gamer “Still. Come on.”

Brostory “Don’t worry I’ll take care of it.”

Gamer “Last time you took care of it you hospitalized the hostess by drinking her under the table.”

He was right; it’s a pretty funny story. For some reason I’m really great at making girls try to out-drink me. Being a master of flirty mockery is a dangerous power to posses.

Brostory “Okay. No beer. Remember that I’m doing this for you and not for some girl with a fucking beer allergy.”

I look at my beers in my lap. They look like cute puppies.

I can’t be so cruel.

Brostory “How long until we arrive?”

Taxi Driver “Around ten minutes.”


I open a beer and start chugging.

The taxi driver slams the break. Before I know it the beer can goes flying into the windshield and spills everywhere.

I try to comprehend what just happened. Did he just kill my beer?


The taxi driver starts yelling in my face in a impressively loud voice. Being yelled at constantly as a kid I have developed a calm and efficient response system:

I yell back louder.


Chaos erupts.



Taxi Driver “FUCK YOU!”

Brostory “NO, FUCK YOU!”

Taxi Driver “NO FUCK YOU IDIOT!”




We continued screaming “FUCK YOU!” to each other until we both run out of breath. Gamer described it as two siblings fighting over a happy meal toy.

Taxi Driver “GET OUT!”

Gamer apologizes and pays while I’m trying to get my breath back. Finally being able to inhale oxygen again I pay back Gamer for the taxi. Don’t let external forces, women or beer murdering taxi drivers fuck up a friendship.

Luckily enough we are fairly close to the party so we start walking.

Gamer walks in silence while I’m coming up with creational adjectives used to describe taxi drivers. That’s when I come to a horrible realization: In my anger I had left all my beer in the cab.

Whenever I lose something, from beer to a pet, I deal with it in three different stages.

First come sadness.

Brostory “NOOOOOoooooo!!…”

Then comes regret.

Brostory “I shouldn’t have yelled at him… My poor puppies… All alone…”

Then comes anger.


I get extremely angry and that anger wants out. I carefully choose the closest object to me, aim, and then hit it with a full force swing kick.


That’s not the noise of the object breaking. It’s the sound of my being obliterated.

The object happened to be a massive, solid rock. It was sort of like a ice berg; You think you can run it over but in reality you’re only seeing 10% of it’s total mass, and it will fuck you up. In other words I made a titanic.

And my foot was the ship.

Split in half.

When in pain; scream verbal insults.


Spontaneous insults have never been my best suite.

I jump around on one leg like a cracked up circus clown while Gamer is busy laughing his brains out. I keep screaming at the rock for minutes in words that would make Hitler resemble a saint. I swear to return with dynamite the next day and blow that fuck of the face of the earth.

Eventually I calm down. I look at Gamer who is in tears; we both burst out in laughter. Maybe this would turn out to be a good night after all.

It wouldn’t.


We arrive to the party but as mentioned we are early with about 40 minutes. Gamer had managed to get the time of the party wrong with two hours. He tells me just as I knock on the door. Before I can react the door opens.

I exhale in relief; the picture matched the profile. She is a cute blonde with some awesome lips. She has a face-frame haircut which I just love. What stroke me most about her is how her smile and personality was so energetic. There is nothing sexier than enthusiasm. One reason why I’m not a huge fan of models; dead corpses have more enthusiasm. Whoever invented the concept that looking bored is “sexy” is a fucking idiot.

Girls take note.

After introductions I realize that we have about 40 minutes, probably longer, with her alone. Maybe my philosophy of coming late to parties has been a big mistake all along. Gamer; you’re a genius.

Hostess “Minty. Good choice. Personally I’m going with Jägermeister.”

Brostory “Let’s pore some up!”

Gamer gives me a look. He knows what’s next.

I must admit she has a really sweet crib. Awesome balcony too with great view (apartment was on the third floor.) The two of us sit down outside poring shots while Gamer goes inside to set up the music. She tells us that she doesn’t know how to manage her own audio system. I swear either women can’t handle technology or they are extremely manipulative. Judging from our eye contact and her smile once we sit down I can confidently say I have no clue. Women remain a mystery.

I decide to believe that what she really wants is some alone time with me, or in a more sophisticated saying; she wants the dick.

Gamer (yelling) “Any preferred songs?”

Brostory “Take your time!”

That’s basically bro code for Take Your Fucking Time. Bro code is incredibly simple; that’s why women will never get it.

Of course that’s also why Gamer won’t get it. He actually puts on “Take your time”.



I burst out laughing.

Gamer; you’re an idiot.

I follow up with two rapid shots.

When it comes to music at parties I don’t care about what is played. Just follow two simple rules; have a good beat, and don’t suck. When people get going all they listen to is the beat.

I once was at a party dancing with two cute brunettes when Tyga’s ‘Make it nasty’ comes on. They danced and screamed like it was their sweet 16 party to “Tongue down her throat whiles the other bitch gagging.” The next time you’re at a party stop for a second and listen to the lyrics. Then look at all the people dancing. Trust me; it’s fucking hilarious.

We each do a shot while waiting for Gamer and small talk a bit. There was some flirt in the air, on the other hand that might have been just me. For example:

Hostess “You have really white teeth.”

Brostory “Thanks. You can lick them later.”

Admittedly not one of my better lines.

She laughs and gave me the ‘we’ll see what happens’ look. Funny; that’s the exact same look I gave the Minty bottle a minute earlier.

Hostess “So what’s your secret?”

Brostory “Promise not to tell anyone.”

Hostess “OK! I promise!”

Brostory “I use toothpaste.”

Gamer comes back and we do some more shots. Gamer asks her something about her “career” as a competing horse rider. That fucking idiot. She starts rumbling about horses, carrots and shit. I get really bored; her social life does not interest me.

I do what I usually do when bored; drink more. I get kind of frustrated, I don’t feel any drunker.

Brostory “So you like riding?”

Hostess “Ye, of course. I want to be in the national team.”

Brostory “Then you need to practice every night.”

Hostess “Uhm, well yeah. I mean I try but it’s really hard to get in.”

Brostory “It sure is hard.”

I look at Gamer.

He gives me the same look my mom used to give me when I threatened to scream as loud as I could in the grocery store if I didn’t get my ice-cream. ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’

I smile back at him.

I want my ice-cream.

Gamer, who knows me too well, sees what’s coming. He pulls an evasive maneuver; he offers me another shot.

It’s super effective.

Gamer quickly changes the subject to music and we continue to small talk. I notice how Hostess looks at me from the corner of her eye time to time when talking to Gamer. I try to catch her every time she does and give her a similar look.

There’s tension; I can feel it.

I can also feel my balls itching.

What I didn’t feel was any drunker. Strange considering I’m quite a few shots in at this point. While beer gives you a quite steady drunk considering you’re drinking it in such pace, shots don’t.

My mind doesn’t go:

“I’ve taken quite a few shots now. Soon they will take effect, I should take it easy.”

But rather:

“Heyyy Awesomee! Youurr not Drunk yet!! Man thee Fukc up und doe a manyy more shots!! Hehee thaat tree lookss like a peniss…”

Brostory “I have a question.”

Hostess “Go ahead.”

Brostory “Is your stable anything like in that Swedish stable porno? Like do people fuck around that much?”

Hostess “Haha nah but people sometimes have sex in the hay.”

What was awesome was that she had actually seen the porno. I keep forgetting that girls watch porn. It’s so surreal.

I wonder if she shares my love for Asians. I look her in the eyes and start imagining her as Asian.

Brostory “Can you squint your eyes for me?”

OK I’m definitely tipsy.

I think at some point Gamer tells me to calm down but I’m not sure. Minutes and shots fly by and soon people are knocking on the door.


The hostess goes up to open the door. I figure now is the perfect time to go to the bathroom.

I stand up quickly.


My brain cells explode in a nuclear bombshell.

Everything dizzy and someone has installed a drum set inside my head.

I need to lean against something. I put out my hand towards the wall and lean in.

My hand never reaches the wall.

I plummet.

I panic. I put my foot out to try to achieve balance.

All my weight is put on my foot.

I feel pain. My foot gives in.

Motherfucking rock.

My last thought while plummeting is Dynamite.

Like a fat person emptying a swimming pool I slam the ground.


Brostory “Ohahhhhaghhhh…”

I can hear Gamer, that piece of shit, laughing.

I’m confused.

How did I end up on the floor?

The fall went to fast; my stomach goes into hyper drive.

I somehow manage to get up. Everything’s spinning.

I lean towards something; it’s the edge of the balcony. I look down.

I almost piss my pants; how did I end up on top of the Eiffel tower?

I push myself away and lean backwards against the wall. I feel ill. I quickly turn around and try to open the door.

I can’t find the handle.

The fucking door’s gone!

Gamer “You idiot.”

I turn to him. He looks amused.

Gamer “The doors over there.”

I look where he is pointing. I see the door.

I’m very confused.

I look to what I have believed was the door. It’s the window. It’s smeared hand and face prints.

I tremble inside. From the hallway I hear voices.

Then I hear an even louder noise.

What’s that noise? Are people already inside?

Then I hear it again, but more importantly; I feel it.

It’s my stomach. The nuclear bomb has been dropped and the mushroom cloud wants out.


I slam open a door; it’s her bedroom.

I see her clothing basket. I seriously consider it.

Like a evil child inside a  pregnant woman something kicks me right in the gut.

I bend over in pain. Women says men don’t know what giving birth is like. Ye right.

I have to go. Right Now.

I take a few misguided steps towards the clothing basket.

I bend over and prepare to drown her clothes in minty flavored spaghetti and meat sauce.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

It’s her. I’m about to throw up in her clothing basket, with her looking.

Despite my intoxication I feel guilt.

The hand grips hard and pulls me back. I look around; it’s Gamer. He leads me to a bathroom, puts the toilet seat up and locks the door. A genius and a hero.

I don’t know how long I was in there for. I don’t remember much more from that night. Gamer however did show me a delightful video of me throwing up constantly allover her bathroom and some pictures with me lying on her living room floor laughing. Apparently I had went around and spit my favorite pickup line to every girl and even a guy “You’re hot but not really my type.” In my defense the dude had long hair.

I never hooked up with the girl. Apparently making a mess of a girl’s bathroom and hitting on all her friends is not a good pickup move. I get a sense that I’ve learned this lesson before.

Gamer calls us a cab to get back home. We had to wait an extra 25 minutes because the closest taxi driver refused to drive to our address.

Eventually the cab comes and we take off. I look out the window. If it was spinning fast before this was breaking records. I now know what a jet engine attached to a merry-go-round feels like.


It was too late.

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