The first rule: cast aside all logic and let the primeval forest fill you with an awesome terror. To play, we all ride upon stallions as ghostly pale as death itself in search of the Holy Grail, the only goblet that can slake our maddening thirst. To win, consume so much laudanum that you never have to wake up and realize that you’re still in an opium den in Manchester.
Endure a month of backbreaking labor and then piss away your wages at the bar. Leave the bar through the fetid back alley. Get beaten by a pair of crooked cops who’ve enjoyed the good fortune you never had. Lie still in a pool of your own blood and broken teeth. Reflect on how your descendants are doomed to the same fate. Finish your father’s drink, your drink, and your son’s drink.
Unload the shoe carriage snake wise gurgling. To add an extra challenge for the more experienced drinkers of the group try anchovy windsock spider scutage beriberi!
We are young, brash, breathing, grasping, wasted! We admire the sleek, shining hull of the PBR can and worship at its feet! Our games have no rules; for rules necessitate stasis—a lack of movement, a sinking into the atavistic quagmire of routine! Register for the army and head to the front immediately! The last of our brothers to die in the trenches takes a shot!
Pass the stream of consciousness around the table yes yes let alcohol riverrsrun from moist mouth to bend of belly and really won’t share a glass a woman must have a beer of her own I mean HURRY UP PLEASE peace peace peace and the first person to insert a punctuation mark has to take a drink. Pass-
Hey everyone, let’s actually “play” beer pong. It’ll be hilarious!
Look everybody, before we start the game I really feel like I ought to ask this: is anyone here underage?