Tequila is evil...
It was August 1988. I was staying in my mom's home and I was getting ready to head back to Tallahassee. My mom doesn't drink, and she had bottles of liquor that were collecting dust. It seemed like such a waste, so I packed 'em up and headed back to Tallahassee.
On the last night of rush week, a bunch of us started to drink at about 10:00pm. I used a can of beer to chase down 8 shots of whiskey. Then I did something really stupid; 8 tequila poppers. After almost 4 hours of drinking, I was pretty drunk, and the stuff was still settling in.
I went downstairs to another brother's room, where everyone was drinking. I staggered in and everyone thought that it was really funny that I, of all people, was plastered. I hung out for several minutes, and decided that I was too wasted to socialize. I called it a night.
I think that I went to sleep at about 2:30. I remember nothing after that. I don't remember my big brother coming into my room to practice the FSU Phi Psi's brand of alcohol abuse prevention; screw with the really drunk. I was in my bathroom, praying to the porcelain god with a nasty case of the dry heaves. He said that I looked so pathetic, that he just left me alone.
I woke up at 2:30 in the afternoon, and I was still drunk, with a headache, and my stomache felt like it had been cast in a roll for an alien sci fi horror flick. I drank some water, and felt like I was gonna do some projectile vomiting, but I managed to hold it down.
4:30 was the first time that I didn't feel buzzed. It was 14 hours after I stopped drinking, and I was finally had an appetite.
This was the last time that I ever drank Tequila.
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