Drinking Stories: Century Club in the Face

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Thank you. Great to be here.

We’ll always have our drinking stories.

I miss college. It seemed like an endless string of Saturdays without responsibility. The events described below occurred on one of those typical Saturday nights in college.  A bunch of bored kids with nothing better to do than get really drunk.

This particular Saturday was a blast.  We had a good group of friends and lots of alcohol.  It was fun…right up until I puked and pissed myself simultaneously.

I will say this, it is exhilarating to sprint down your dorm hallway in pants you just pissed in, praying that no one sees you. I have never ran so fast in my life.

It was my freshman year at UMass Amherst.  I lived on the 3rd floor of a dorm called Field in the Orchard Hill housing area.  Orchard Hill was known to be a housing area for smart kids and didn’t have a huge party rep.  3rd Floor Field was an exception. We had our fair share of socially-awkward smart kids, but for some reason, we also had an amazing number of drunken delinquents. Now that I think about it, this may have been some kind of social experiment.

I’m not sure who inspired the event.  Fitzy and Scott were the frat guys, so it could’ve been them.  Jefe was the biggest partier on the floor and was known to eat shrooms and scale dorms like Spiderman. I don’t remember who else was there besides Fitzy, Jefe, Scott, Fitzy’s girlfriend Sarah(?), and Jefe’s girlfriend Stacey.  There were others I’m sure.

So, we decided to take Power Hour up a notch and do 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes. We were going to join the Century Club.  A shot typically consists of 1.5 ounces, so 100 shots is 150 ounces or about 12.5 beers.  I can’t believe that we didn’t know that drinking 12.5 beers in 100 minutes was a horrible idea.  A shot a minute sounded really easy.  It was one of those challenges that you accept when you’re a freshman in college — I guess.

If I drank 12.5 beers in an entire night now, I might die. It would definitely take me at least a week to recover.

So, we all set out to become the newest members of the Century Club.  Someone had a mix CD that changed songs every minute so you knew that each new song meant another shot of beer.  I think we drank Keystone Light, but it could’ve been anything – Red Dog, Pabst Blue Ribbon (the local liquor store always had cases for$10.49 and Pabst is pretty good). It was some beer of lower quality…

Wow, it just came back to me! Coors Extra Gold.  What a disaster. I remember that it had the same taste as Coors light, but much stronger, almost nutty.  It was not bad at first, but 12.5 nutty beers is not recommended by the Surgeon General — or by anyone.  I would likely puke instantly if given a sip of Coors Extra Gold today.

So, we’re cranking away, slugging shot of shit beer after shot of shit beer.  It was a blast for the first 20 minutes or so. Every shot came with its own poppy little song and they we’re going down like nothing. 100 seemed like a layup.

Somewhere towards the end, someone decided that the last shot should be vodka just to put an abusive finishing touch on our challenge. Huge mistake. We were a real bunch of assholes as it turns out. More puke and piss would result from that one shot of vodka than would seem possible.

So, shot 100 was some crappy vodka.  I think it was called “Poland Spring”, but one of the more astute delinquents of 3rd floor Field pointed out that the ‘”p” in “Spring” looked a lot like an “e” so we may have been drinking “Poland Sering” vodka.

Regardless, immediately post vodka shot, I slapped fives with the Century Club and sprinted to the bathroom where I burst into a stall and puked my guts out.  As the barfing began, I fell towards the toilet and the jarring of my knees hitting the bathroom floor freed me of all bladder control.

I proceeded to piss my pants, and likely lost about 5 pounds in a minute.  I’m fairly certain I also got some toilet water splash back on my chin.  It was the best of times.

I was not alone in my horror.  Fitzy managed to pee on his (now former) girlfriend while he slept that night.  Several other people, Jefe included, managed to vomit in the hallway.  Someone (Jefe I think) tried to plug his pie hole with his fingers, which merely added to the force and coverage of his Century Club blast.

The part that amazes me most is what happened after I sprinted back to my room with pee-pee pants.  I changed into clean clothes. Sensible, although a shower would’ve been nice.  Then I went across the hall to Fitzy’s room and decided to chug two more beers.

Beers go down with surprising ease after you puke your guts out. So, at this point, it is likely that I was legally and medically retarded.  I only have vague recollections of the post-puke chugging, but I’m pretty sure it happened. I think we may have thrown some furniture off the balcony shortly thereafter, but who knows.

So, there’s two morals to this story.  One, go to UMass — it’s a really good school.  Two, do not drink 12.5 beers in 100 minutes because nobody likes a person that pees in their pants and doesn’t shower.

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