I’m not that good at drinking.
By that, I mean I’m not that good at drinking alcohol. Actually, I’m not that good at drinking anything, but I’m an especially bad boozer. I don’t booze well.
It’s not that I drink too often, or I get too aggressive or too emotional when I do. If anything, I’m not practiced, aggressive, or emotional enough. The real problem is… when I drink… I…
Turn into Snoop Dogg.
Two sips into a glass of Nuvo, and I’m Snoopier than Tha Doggfather himself.
I start rapping.
The first night I ever got certifiably crunked, I freestyled for my entire family and my brother-in-law’s family, who I’d never really met before. Fortunately, my sister filmed it and put it on Facebook. Unfortunately, I’m not going to share it here because 1) I don’t know how to download videos off Facebook, and 2) It’s very rather shameful. I will share my best lines, though.
“I found crap on my face. I’m like, am I in outer space? I’m confused. Where’s this dude?”
“You’z a Pokemon. You’z a fool, mon.”
I adopt a limp.
Upon leaving the bar, I often begin walking with a gangsta lean. I suffer from a bum knee that only ever flares up after a drink or two. It’s a serious ailment, belee dat.
I become obsessed with blunts.
Not blunts made of the marijuana! What do you think I am, a weed criminal?! I get obsessed with Phillie blunts, a perfectly legal, perfectly awful, cigar.
I became obsessed with Phillie blunts last New Year’s Eve. After getting stuck with a pack of them at a Christmas party Yankee Swap, I thought it’d be a nice gift to bring to my cousin’s New Year’s Eve party.
A few minutes before midnight, and after a few drinks, I decided it was time to get to Phillie blunting. I had no intention of smoking the cigar — I’d barely ever even seen one up close — but I thought it’d be fun to light one. The flame had yet to touch the tip of the cigar before I started dry heaving/convulsing. I thought cigars would taste like Cuban sangwiches or grape leaves or something. I was wrong; they taste like straight lung venom.
Now, I bet you’re thinking, “Snoop is far superior to you! If drinking makes you act like him, then BITCH WHY AIN’T YOU GET SO THROWED EVERYDAY?”
I’ll tell you why I ain’t get so throwed everyday. Even though Snoop Dogg is a much better person than I am, strangers don’t seem to appreciate when I take on the persona of a 41-year-old former Crip.
Cab drivers don’t like when I accuse them of “trippin”.
My peers (other 41-year-old former Crips) don’t like when I introduce myself to them with complicated handshakes.
Bartenders of fancy nightclubs don’t like when I order a gin and juice and then don’t know what kind of juice I want.
And I don’t like the thought of me drinking enough to start acting like this: