Tag Archives: Alcohol


Who gives a shit about Christmas when you have a holiday like Halloween? Fuck those losers that are all about Christmas trees and candy canes – I’m all about haunted houses and scary movies. Oh, and scaring children. When we were younger, my cousin Sara and I used to hide under piles of leaves and grab trick-or-treaters by the ankles. Sometimes they’d cry, which made us feel bad, but overall it was funny and awesome.

Actually I’m not too sure if we did that or not. I may have dreamt it. I’m pretty sure we did it. I need a better brain.

I plan on posting as many Halloween-related posts as possible this week, this being the first.

So here are just a few pictures from a party I threw last year. Hopefully they’ll get you into the Halloween spirit!





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I Saw Strippers, Too

Hiba and I went out for Nicole’s birthday Saturday. We got to McKibbins around 11 p.m. I thought I was super early but I wasn’t. At all. I’m starting to notice that I go out much later than other people. My bad, everyone.

shoesNicole was already drunk – pleasant and coherent, but drunk. I had time to enjoy one drink before she blurted out that she wanted to go to a strip club.

A strip club, eh? I wondered if I’d ever been to one. Had I? I’m still not sure. Vague memories of being in a strip joint at some point in time come to mind, but I think that may have been a dream. Sometimes I can’t remember if my adventures were dreams or real life.

Anyway, we got up and went to one of the many sketchy establishments on Ste Catherine St. Oddly enough, the doorman knew Hiba. He kept saying something like, “Habibi, you came to see me!” Apparently, she’d been to that strip club before. Perhaps she’s wilder than I thought.

So we all paid our stupid $5 admission fee, then our coat check fee, and were greeted with NO BUFFET. All strip clubs should provide their patrons with snacks, amirite? My stomach was growling!

We sat by the stage (but not directly in front of it because we’re not pathetic old men) and ordered some drinks. I asked for a vodka soda. I was given vodka water. Vodka tap water, actually. After seeing the bill (and pushing my eyeballs back into their sockets), I began sipping my disgusting drink very, very slowly; two drinks totaled $27, sans tip. Twenty-seven-fucking-dollars. Incredible.

I was bummed but hoped that boobies would cheer me up.

They didn’t.

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Nude, Shit-Covered Man Jumps Into Stranger’s Pool

RobertStarkHigginsFlorida-resident Robert Stark Higgins jumped into a stranger’s pool on Saturday. When you think about it, that’s just one of the downsides of having a pool: hooligans love sneaking in for late-night swims. Except this particular incident happened at 9 p.m. And the hooligan was naked. And covered in feces. 

After taking his little dip, Higgins, 21, stole a towel and ran away.

A police dog later chased after him. Following Higgins’ scent must have been considerably easy.

When cops finally caught up with him, he admitted he’d been drinking beer and vodka.

You know, I almost can’t blame him. Beer shits are so relieving (I assume the poopie was his). It might have been a little more convenient to find a bathroom and toilet paper, but whatever.




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Remember Your First Concert?

When I got accepted into my school’s journalism program, I knew zero people in it. It was a little intimidating, but I like to keep to myself anyway. Soon enough, Hiba, a sweet Arab girl, befriended me. We never really hung out off campus until she admitted that she’d never been to a concert. “WTF,” I thought. I had to bring her to one. So, that weekend, I invited her to see Fucked Up. This is a little article I wrote right after the show.

“What are concerts like? I’ve never been to one.” I was kind of floored when Hiba, a classmate of mine, asked me that. I didn’t know what to answer so I decided to let her see for herself by bringing her to her very first show: Fucked Up and Dillinger 4.

hibaWe met up around 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. She explained to me that she moved to Montreal from Jordan, and that there are no concerts there. I don’t know how true that is, but it made her all the more excited. In fact, she seemed a little too excited so I crushed her hopes a bit and told her not to expect huge crowds or pyrotechnics or shit like that; rather, she should expect a small venue and a lot of fat guys.

I took some alcohol out of my bag and offered her the share she was entitled to as my platonic date for the night. She sniffed it and was all, “This smells like shit. What is it?” I answered that it was a light drink (OK, in reality it was absurdly strong) made mainly with rum. She confessed she’d never tasted rum before. “Good Lord,” I thought, “I’m tainting this girl’s innocent spirit.” I decided I could live with that and insisted she drink it. Soon enough she was giggling and telling me how pirates like rum. My concoction appeared to be working. Success!

When we finally got to the show, she was smiling ear to ear. She smiled during every song. It was like seeing a kid in a candy store, and it reminded me of my first concert experience: Boyz II Men and Montell Jordan. I was nine years old and to this day, it remains one of my favorite shows ever. They even did magic tricks. Back to Hiba, though, she was having a blast. At one point she told me she wanted to do ‘that thing where people hold you above their heads.’ I stupidly made her feel my misshaped skull (an accident that happened after stage diving) and she backed out. I tried to convince her anyway but she still didn’t want. I was bummed.

She ended up leaving a little early to catch the last metro home, but later on she texted me about how much fun she’d had. At least I think she did; I was really wasted. It could have been anyone, really. The point is someone texted me about how much fun they had (I think), and that’s what matters. That’s what shows are all about.


P.S. Hi Hiba!


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Hangover Hell

I hate sloppy drunks. If you’re sweating, cross-eyed and wiping little chunks of barf off the corners of your mouth, and you somehow manage to see me in the club, do not approach me. I do not wish to be spoken to. Just pretend I never accidentally made eye contact with you in the first place. Unless I’m really drunk too, that is. In that case, come see me; we can bond over how wasted we are.

bday 051Generally speaking, going overboard isn’t sexy. I can safely say that because it’s all I did for about three years. I drank like my life depended on it. Wait, that makes me sound like an alcoholic. Well, I wasn’t an alcoholic, but I drank a lot. One time, I woke up with dried blood on my forehead, bruises and only slight memories of the previous night – falling to the ground, having a stranger pick me up and barfing in a mystery bucket. In the morning, my concerned mother asked me if I’d been raped. I’m pretty sure someone put something in my drink, but I’d had tons of alcohol (and certain drugs) anyway, so I can’t be positive.

I’m sorry, that story was a total bummer. On the bright side, I’m now the hangover cure queen. Actually, I’ll be honest: I rarely got killer hangovers. I was so used to being wasted that sleeping off those two 40s came fairly easy. Still, they happened often enough for me to take note of which solutions work and which are crocs of shit. So here’s what you need to do (or not do) before, during and after your boozefest. You’ll thank me one day.

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I’m Afraid Of The World

I think I have a little bit of a fear of people. Not all people, just some people. For example, I feel extremely uncomfortable if I’m sober and someone around me is really drunk or on drugs. I also can’t deal with people who may or may not be feeling well. It’s weird. Like, if a junkie and I are waiting for the same bus, I’ll walk to the next stop or, depending on how weird they’re acting, I’ll take a different route altogether. That might seem somewhat normal, but the littlest things set me off, too. For example, I’ll get up and change metro carts if the person next to me is breathing weird or even obsessively shaking their foot. People expressing the slightest discomfort in some way or another is difficult for me to watch.

I remember going to Pita Pit around 3 a.m. recently. As I was waiting in line to order one of their fine sandwiches, a super tall, drunk guy stood behind me. I could hear him breathing and he kept leaning over me. He had a Lurch from the Addams Family thing going on. It freaked me out so much that I basically ran out, waited ten minutes, then went back. But he was still there! He was waiting for his pita, wobbling and sweating all over the place. 

I think that on some level, these people seem troubled to me (even if they totally aren’t!), and I just don’t want our worlds to collide. I don’t want them bursting my feel-fine bubble. Essentially, I want to be left alone. Forever. 

Have you seen this video?

Seeing this guy faint (and give a fucking play by play on it) made me feel so uncomfortable that in turn, I also felt like fainting. For an entire day. 



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You’re So Vain (I Bet You Think This Post Is About You)

I don’t go out as much as I used to. It got to a point where getting drunk and doing drugs got mundane and repetitive. Partying at the same bars, hearing the same [lame] music and making fake conversation with the same people got on my last nerve.

I started getting sick of it on one particular outing. It was a Saturday at some club, a couple of years ago. That night, it dawned on me that certain people aren’t partying to be with friends, meet new people or even get laid. No, some people go out to post pics of themselves on Facebook or Myspace the next day, thereby oddly upping their social status. You might think I’m crazy, but I know I’m not. I’ve discussed this theory with a few of my friends and they’ve all noticed and agree.

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