Surefire Signs That You’re a Lightweight Drinker
May 18, 2017 (No Comments) by Andy Leech

The booming bass and entrancing, repetitive lyrics, drowns out the clink of shot glasses. Somewhere out there, in a reserved and unwelcoming realm known as reality, the church bell rings to signify the passing of one hour from midnight.

Blurred vision, sticky hands, sticky floor, ringing ears. Small-talk with old friends, who are now acquaintances, soon to be strangers – “you’re out for the night, are ye?”

Hands in the air, head back, the crowd becomes one with the music. One hundred different sprays of male and female perfumes hangs in the air like a perfect smog. If only there was a way of bottling this feeling.

“I fucking love you, bud. No, honestly. I do.”

Pity you missed all of this. Yes, the floor is also sticky where you are, and there is certainly a lingering smell. But that might be because you vomited all over yourself and passed out by eleven o’clock.

“Why am I like this?” I hear you say. Well if you recognise yourself in this list, you, my friend, are a lightweight drinker.

You’re, like, sixteen.

Nothing infuriates me more than a witnessing a youngster passed out drunk, on the side of the road. It truly is a stain on society. I mean, where were their parents? How dare they allow their little shits waste precious alcohol.

youre-like-sixteen

And the fact that they have associated their behaviour with glorious brands such as Karpackie and Galahad is just a crying shame.

You’ve used the “I haven’t had any dinner” excuse.

The oldest excuse in the book. If you ever find yourself stumbling around at half eight in the evening, telling anyone who’ll listen that you declined your mother’s lasagne so you could get to the pub quicker, well I’ve got news for you. You are a lightweight drinker in denial.

i-havent-had-any-dinner

You’re almost as bad as the “I wasn’t sick from the vodka, it must have been a dodgy kebab” guy. Almost worked for the Hoff, almost.

You’ve never seen the inside of a nightclub.

You like to tell all your mates that you’re above nightclubs and they are totally not your scene. But everyone knows that you are not going home at half eleven with curry and puke all over your jumper by choice.

youve-never-seen-the-inside-of-a-nightclub

You’re a small, skinny person.

This is not a slight on small, skinny people. Because they do try their best to keep up with us normal sized people, God bless them. But it was just never going to be easy for them, was it?

youre-a-small-skinny-person

You’re two pints in with a small fella, and before you know it he’s banging on about starting a podcast and has his shirt up over his head. Small fellas are always so aggressive as well, what’s the story with that?

You’re from Europe (or just generally not from Ireland).

You’re sitting in a pub in Berlin, but you just presume that there is something radically wrong going on. You ordered a round of six pints, but it only cost thirteen quid. You look around and wonder why all the locals aren’t rolling on the ground, attempting to eat the floor boards. I mean, at those prices, you could have at least thirty pints.

youre-from-europe

But, you see, European types are terrible at drinking. Yes, they’re generally slimmer than us and their girlfriends are also a lot hotter, but I mean they are awful at guzzling the Lucifer juice. So who are the real winners?

You’re not from Kerry.

Well like, of course none of us are any good at drinking in comparison to these sauce loving Southerners. But we come from places where Gaelic Football and Guinness aren’t the only things that exist. Below we see a rare old picture of Jackie Healy-Rae taken just outside Kilgarvan during the 1960s, legend has it that he drank 45 pints before his 9th birthday. Legend.

youre-not-from-kerry

You have spoken to a woman before you’ve had 7 pints.

Rule number one of chatting up women in Ireland, is to make sure you’re cockeyed drunk. Everyone knows that, are you some kind of idiot?

speaking-to-woman

So if you find yourself in a bar, chatting to a woman, after only two pints? Well you, my amigo, must be a serious lightweight.

Your eyebrows are rarely intact.

Being the first to pass out at a house party is just about the most dangerous thing you can ever do. I mean come on, what would you expect a bunch of adults to do in that situation? Not shave off some eyebrows??

your-eyebrows-are-rarely-intact

There is a strong possibility you may also wake up with pink-eye for the same reason, you have been warned.

But you’re not the lowest of the low.

While you are often reminded of your lightweight drinker tendencies, you are still not a part of the lowest societal grouping. No, no. you see, God loves a trier.

but-youre-not-the-lowest-of-the-low

There is a group of people who are held in even lower esteem. When all is said and done, at least you’re not a Dry-Shite.

Andy Leech
Writes about sport and the general idiocy of the human race. Once read a George Orwell book and now understands life.

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Surefire Signs That You’re a Lightweight Drinker
May 18, 2017 (No Comments) by Andy Leech

The booming bass and entrancing, repetitive lyrics, drowns out the clink of shot glasses. Somewhere out there, in a reserved and unwelcoming realm known as reality, the church bell rings to signify the passing of one hour from midnight.

Blurred vision, sticky hands, sticky floor, ringing ears. Small-talk with old friends, who are now acquaintances, soon to be strangers – “you’re out for the night, are ye?”

Hands in the air, head back, the crowd becomes one with the music. One hundred different sprays of male and female perfumes hangs in the air like a perfect smog. If only there was a way of bottling this feeling.

“I fucking love you, bud. No, honestly. I do.”

Pity you missed all of this. Yes, the floor is also sticky where you are, and there is certainly a lingering smell. But that might be because you vomited all over yourself and passed out by eleven o’clock.

“Why am I like this?” I hear you say. Well if you recognise yourself in this list, you, my friend, are a lightweight drinker.

You’re, like, sixteen.

Nothing infuriates me more than a witnessing a youngster passed out drunk, on the side of the road. It truly is a stain on society. I mean, where were their parents? How dare they allow their little shits waste precious alcohol.

youre-like-sixteen

And the fact that they have associated their behaviour with glorious brands such as Karpackie and Galahad is just a crying shame.

You’ve used the “I haven’t had any dinner” excuse.

The oldest excuse in the book. If you ever find yourself stumbling around at half eight in the evening, telling anyone who’ll listen that you declined your mother’s lasagne so you could get to the pub quicker, well I’ve got news for you. You are a lightweight drinker in denial.

i-havent-had-any-dinner

You’re almost as bad as the “I wasn’t sick from the vodka, it must have been a dodgy kebab” guy. Almost worked for the Hoff, almost.

You’ve never seen the inside of a nightclub.

You like to tell all your mates that you’re above nightclubs and they are totally not your scene. But everyone knows that you are not going home at half eleven with curry and puke all over your jumper by choice.

youve-never-seen-the-inside-of-a-nightclub

You’re a small, skinny person.

This is not a slight on small, skinny people. Because they do try their best to keep up with us normal sized people, God bless them. But it was just never going to be easy for them, was it?

youre-a-small-skinny-person

You’re two pints in with a small fella, and before you know it he’s banging on about starting a podcast and has his shirt up over his head. Small fellas are always so aggressive as well, what’s the story with that?

You’re from Europe (or just generally not from Ireland).

You’re sitting in a pub in Berlin, but you just presume that there is something radically wrong going on. You ordered a round of six pints, but it only cost thirteen quid. You look around and wonder why all the locals aren’t rolling on the ground, attempting to eat the floor boards. I mean, at those prices, you could have at least thirty pints.

youre-from-europe

But, you see, European types are terrible at drinking. Yes, they’re generally slimmer than us and their girlfriends are also a lot hotter, but I mean they are awful at guzzling the Lucifer juice. So who are the real winners?

You’re not from Kerry.

Well like, of course none of us are any good at drinking in comparison to these sauce loving Southerners. But we come from places where Gaelic Football and Guinness aren’t the only things that exist. Below we see a rare old picture of Jackie Healy-Rae taken just outside Kilgarvan during the 1960s, legend has it that he drank 45 pints before his 9th birthday. Legend.

youre-not-from-kerry

You have spoken to a woman before you’ve had 7 pints.

Rule number one of chatting up women in Ireland, is to make sure you’re cockeyed drunk. Everyone knows that, are you some kind of idiot?

speaking-to-woman

So if you find yourself in a bar, chatting to a woman, after only two pints? Well you, my amigo, must be a serious lightweight.

Your eyebrows are rarely intact.

Being the first to pass out at a house party is just about the most dangerous thing you can ever do. I mean come on, what would you expect a bunch of adults to do in that situation? Not shave off some eyebrows??

your-eyebrows-are-rarely-intact

There is a strong possibility you may also wake up with pink-eye for the same reason, you have been warned.

But you’re not the lowest of the low.

While you are often reminded of your lightweight drinker tendencies, you are still not a part of the lowest societal grouping. No, no. you see, God loves a trier.

but-youre-not-the-lowest-of-the-low

There is a group of people who are held in even lower esteem. When all is said and done, at least you’re not a Dry-Shite.

Andy Leech
Writes about sport and the general idiocy of the human race. Once read a George Orwell book and now understands life.

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Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

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