Philthy Phil
03-29-2007, 11:47 PM
You have ten ice cube trays in your freezer and they’re all empty.
You have made cocktails with ice chiseled from the inner walls of your freezer.
When the guy at the door yelled, “Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms,” you assumed it was someone bringing more supplies.
You inform the arresting officer that gravity is the only law you feel compelled to obey.
You take pub crawls very literally.
Crying in your beer increases its alcohol content.
You’ve invented a Sesame Street drinking game so you can spend more time with your kids.
You start your morning by reaching to the night stand, picking up your phone, pressing re-dial, and apologizing to whoever answers.
Some bastard always manages to slip a Mickey Finn in your 30th drink.
You regularly shout constructive criticism to the winos holding cardboard signs on street corners, e.g.: “It’s too political! You’re alienating half your demographic!”
All your finest athletic feats were executed after six or more drinks.
Your golf bag contains more beer than clubs.
You complain to friends that you “got really sober last night.” ¸
Your friends accuse you of “acting weird” whenever they meet you sober.
You want to rid the world of booze—one drink at a time.
You fall off the wagon and it backs up and runs you over a couple times.
You’ve flunked the wine-tasting class at the local free university four times this year but still keep giving it the ol’ college try.
You don’t get “falling down drunk,” you get “gravity-challenged.”
You don’t call them birthdays, you call them “a-free-shot-at-every-bar-I-can-reach-in-the-next-24 hours-days.”
You think the only thing worse than warm flat keg beer on Sunday is no warm flat keg beer on Sunday.
You know that in Heaven the bars open at 6am and close at 5:59am and in Hell it’s the other way around.
You’ve convinced your boss that your cologne is called “Eau de Cheap Scotch.”
You can identify most of the bars in town by the underside of their barstools.
You try to buddy up to the arresting officer by offering him a drink from the open container between your knees.
You’ve gotten so loaded you cursed the DJ for refusing to play “Muskrat Love.”
Youv’e tried to lay down on the ceiling.
Bouncers have a special headlock named after you.
Gin is your tonic.
You joined AA because you heard you could get sponsorship for your drinking.
Your first tree fort had a wet bar.
You’ve never been out of the country, but you frequently visit Twevlepackistan.
You like to think your friends call you a “big, fucking sponge” because you can absorb so much alcohol.
Your donated blood is only given to people over the age of 21.
Your best friends and worst enemies are all bartenders.
Your favorite dive is so dark you can’t tell when you’re blacked out.
Your dentist is afraid to drill in your mouth for fear of an unexpected spark.
“Taking the edge off” usually means waking up on your lawn.
You’ve stopped drinking, but only when you’re asleep.
When making punch, you dilute the rum with vodka.
Your plan to move to New Orleans during hurricane season is based entirely upon the possibility of getting “trapped” in a bar.
You can judge what time it is by looking at the shelf you’re buying drinks from.
The bars send out a search party when you don’t show up at opening time.
You use your cuff links as curb feelers.
You’ve stepped on your own fingers.
Everyone thinks you’re bilingual.
You’ve told a priest, “Make it a triple this time, and hold the wafer.”
You walk into a new bar and ask to see the finance manager.
You have a reserved parking space in front of two different liquor stores.
Your best birthday present is a holiday in Scotland.
You favorite brand of vino comes with the disclaimer, “No grapes were harmed in the making of this wine.”
The fire marshal fines you every time you yawn near an open flame.
You get so loaded it takes two trips to get it all home.
You walk into a new bar and they already know what you drink.
You invented a drinking game for A.A. meetings.
You match your outfit to the liquor you plan on drinking.
You buy a lamp because you need a hat.
You resolve to call your local councilman and complain about the city’s ill-advised policy of putting lampposts in the middle of the road.
Uncontrollable vomiting, falling out of a tree and a heavily overdrawn bank account may very well be elements of “the most awesome weekend.”
You call an ex-friend at 3am to ask what he meant by that remark last July.
You receive divorce papers from your liver and it wants full custody of the kidneys.
You were genuinely excited about Cingular’s “More bars in more places” promise until you found out they were talking about cell phones.
You don’t have to imagine what a spilled gin and tonic sucked from a shag rug tastes like.
You stub out your glass in the ashtray and ask the bartender to fill up your cigarette.
You drank so much beer last night you single-handedly wore out a fresh urinal cake.
You have made cocktails with ice chiseled from the inner walls of your freezer.
When the guy at the door yelled, “Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms,” you assumed it was someone bringing more supplies.
You inform the arresting officer that gravity is the only law you feel compelled to obey.
You take pub crawls very literally.
Crying in your beer increases its alcohol content.
You’ve invented a Sesame Street drinking game so you can spend more time with your kids.
You start your morning by reaching to the night stand, picking up your phone, pressing re-dial, and apologizing to whoever answers.
Some bastard always manages to slip a Mickey Finn in your 30th drink.
You regularly shout constructive criticism to the winos holding cardboard signs on street corners, e.g.: “It’s too political! You’re alienating half your demographic!”
All your finest athletic feats were executed after six or more drinks.
Your golf bag contains more beer than clubs.
You complain to friends that you “got really sober last night.” ¸
Your friends accuse you of “acting weird” whenever they meet you sober.
You want to rid the world of booze—one drink at a time.
You fall off the wagon and it backs up and runs you over a couple times.
You’ve flunked the wine-tasting class at the local free university four times this year but still keep giving it the ol’ college try.
You don’t get “falling down drunk,” you get “gravity-challenged.”
You don’t call them birthdays, you call them “a-free-shot-at-every-bar-I-can-reach-in-the-next-24 hours-days.”
You think the only thing worse than warm flat keg beer on Sunday is no warm flat keg beer on Sunday.
You know that in Heaven the bars open at 6am and close at 5:59am and in Hell it’s the other way around.
You’ve convinced your boss that your cologne is called “Eau de Cheap Scotch.”
You can identify most of the bars in town by the underside of their barstools.
You try to buddy up to the arresting officer by offering him a drink from the open container between your knees.
You’ve gotten so loaded you cursed the DJ for refusing to play “Muskrat Love.”
Youv’e tried to lay down on the ceiling.
Bouncers have a special headlock named after you.
Gin is your tonic.
You joined AA because you heard you could get sponsorship for your drinking.
Your first tree fort had a wet bar.
You’ve never been out of the country, but you frequently visit Twevlepackistan.
You like to think your friends call you a “big, fucking sponge” because you can absorb so much alcohol.
Your donated blood is only given to people over the age of 21.
Your best friends and worst enemies are all bartenders.
Your favorite dive is so dark you can’t tell when you’re blacked out.
Your dentist is afraid to drill in your mouth for fear of an unexpected spark.
“Taking the edge off” usually means waking up on your lawn.
You’ve stopped drinking, but only when you’re asleep.
When making punch, you dilute the rum with vodka.
Your plan to move to New Orleans during hurricane season is based entirely upon the possibility of getting “trapped” in a bar.
You can judge what time it is by looking at the shelf you’re buying drinks from.
The bars send out a search party when you don’t show up at opening time.
You use your cuff links as curb feelers.
You’ve stepped on your own fingers.
Everyone thinks you’re bilingual.
You’ve told a priest, “Make it a triple this time, and hold the wafer.”
You walk into a new bar and ask to see the finance manager.
You have a reserved parking space in front of two different liquor stores.
Your best birthday present is a holiday in Scotland.
You favorite brand of vino comes with the disclaimer, “No grapes were harmed in the making of this wine.”
The fire marshal fines you every time you yawn near an open flame.
You get so loaded it takes two trips to get it all home.
You walk into a new bar and they already know what you drink.
You invented a drinking game for A.A. meetings.
You match your outfit to the liquor you plan on drinking.
You buy a lamp because you need a hat.
You resolve to call your local councilman and complain about the city’s ill-advised policy of putting lampposts in the middle of the road.
Uncontrollable vomiting, falling out of a tree and a heavily overdrawn bank account may very well be elements of “the most awesome weekend.”
You call an ex-friend at 3am to ask what he meant by that remark last July.
You receive divorce papers from your liver and it wants full custody of the kidneys.
You were genuinely excited about Cingular’s “More bars in more places” promise until you found out they were talking about cell phones.
You don’t have to imagine what a spilled gin and tonic sucked from a shag rug tastes like.
You stub out your glass in the ashtray and ask the bartender to fill up your cigarette.
You drank so much beer last night you single-handedly wore out a fresh urinal cake.