The Story: I once played a game that got me so drunk that I thought that nothing had happened. I wasn’t even hungover. I was just clueless as to why I wasn’t in my own clothing. There were no chicks but that wasn’t exactly a surprise. I had woken up on a friends couch and when I told him I was leaving he sat me down for an intervention. Not an intervention where I’d have to stop being awesomely hammered. One where I was given a “heads up” on my night. We’ve all had this moment. The one where we prepare ourselves, for a story about ourselves, that will make us hate ourselves. He went on to tell me that I pooped myself during a party. Not in a discrete way, but in a way where you poop yourself and tell everyone including the girls who are wondering about the smell. My friends escorted me to the shower where I was “hosed off like an elephant,” then put me in clothes and had me sleep on the couch. The game that I played that night was called Pyramid.
Rules: Drink a shot of Jameson. Then drink a Pony (a 140 ml bottle of beer). Then drink a 12 oz can. Then drink a 16 oz pounder. Then drink a 24 oz tallboy. Then drink a 32 oz Behemoth. And Finally, drink a 40 oz malt liquor. Do this within the hour and you’ve climbed the pyramid. Climb back down and you’ll poop yourself, tell a bunch of hot chicks about it, and never remember. (And yes, I know how awesome I am.)
Puke On The Nerd
The Story: I was at a tailgate (at PSU we called them “Tailgreats,” now they’re called “Kid Rape Wakes.”) and my friend was standing on the bed of a truck. He looked at a group I was standing with about 30 yards away and started motioning to his mouth like a bulimic girl who was about to purge. I remember we asked each other “Is he asking us if he should puke?” Then he pointed down right below himself at one of the nerdier members of our Fraternity (a good guy but also a nerd. Just remember that my Frat was so awesome that our “nerd” probably banged your sister. And by “probably” I mean, “Definitely.” And by “Definitely” I mean, “He splooged on her face.”). Our group started to discuss “Is he asking us if he should puke on the nerd?” and we all agreed that “sure, puke on the loser” and gave a nod of approval in the way you give nods of approval when you think something won’t be that great. Like, “Sure, I’ve never seen a nerd puked on and I’m 30 yards away so I’m barely involved.” He then forcibly puked on the nerd. I know it sounds mean. I know it sounds childish. But believe me when I say that It was the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. The shear surprise on the face of a 21 year old man who has just been puked on purposely is an image tattooed to the good memory part of my brain. This is why I’m promoting puking on your friends this semester. If “puking on your friends” was running for president against Barry-O and Mittens then I’d vote for it. It has also inspired a new drinking game.
Rules: First one to get hammered enough to not feel feelings, and puke on a nerd, wins.
The Story: Last fall I was presented with the opportunity to be introduced (via email) to Justin Bieber's Manager, Scooter Braun. I’m not looking to be a hip-hop superstar envied by 13-year-old girls but this seemed like a great contact (when you’re out of college a “contact” is more than a drug hook-up). So I emailed him very professionally asking for advice. He got back to me with the following email:
Nice to meet you.
Imagine. Create. Execute. Deliver.”
I’ve never received douchier advice in my entire life. I sat at my computer in literal shock. That’s tough to do because, in my short life, I’ve gotten some pretty douchey advice. A friend once told me that inserting my penis wasn’t sex as long as there wasn’t more than three thrusts. I stand by this advice but it’s still pretty douchey. Also, I’m technically a virgin.
Rules: Everyone takes four shots of tequila then you all sit and chill with a beer and start talking about your dreams after college. Anytime someone says one of the following douchey buzz words, they drink (feel free to add to this list): “hedge fund,” “boutique bank,” “It is what it is,” “CEO,” “My Father,” “Finance,” “Finance” (but says it in the official way with the “Fin” in the front being emphasized), “It’s all about who you know,” “50k,” “All of the bitches in NYC,” “debits,” “credits,” “fiscally.”
At the end of this game, your drunkest friend is also the one you should stop being friends with. It’s more of a fact finding mission.
The Story: It was late in the fall and we had an early snowstorm. My buddies and I invited a few girls over but the snow had gotten so bad that everything was closed. We turned into scavengers trying to find any and all the alcohol we could get in one room so that we could have some sort of party. When we all gathered with what we had found there was a pack of cigarettes, half a bottle of Jack, a large bag of Funyuns, a single joint, and a grouping of beers that could only be described as “bodega-style assorted.” We consumed it all. Which was a weird enough mix for us all to hook up with the chicks and decide the night was a success. I think what brought us together was the commitment to the team. Commitment to excellence. Commitment to a weird morning with a girl that doesn't mind cigarette and Funyun breathe.
The Rules: Create teams of 6-8 people, Dudes and Chicks. Give each team a bucket consisting of the same items. For example: Bottle of Vodka, Gatorade, Ruffles, Pack of Cigerettes, A Dildo, A Joint, A dozen Nips, A Six Pack of Beer, Steamed Hot Dogs, and Fun Dip. The winner is the team that consumes their bucket first without puking on one of the chicks on their team. (Unless she’s a nerd and you’re playing Puke On The Nerd. Then you’ve won a different game but lost this one.)
The Story: On January 1st 1994 the United States, Mexico, and Canada enacted the North American Free Trade Agreement. This agreement was created so that the three countries could trade with one another without tariffs (for the most part). On October 19th, 2004 a bunch of college aged Dudes and Chicks got hammered and touched one another’s private parts in its honor.
Rules: To truly have this game you need a three floored house. Each floor represents a country with the top floor as Canada, the middle floor as the United States (or ‘Merica), and the basement as Mexico (I actually call Mexico, “The Basement”).
Canada: The drinks are Canadian Whiskey and Canadian Beer. The music is Avril Lavigne, Nickleback, and Celine Dion (your ears will bleed). The attire is Canadian Tuxedo. Full Jean. I’m talking jean shorts, jean jackets, jean button downs, you should look like a Canadian Jay Leno.
‘Merica: The drinks are Bud Heavy and Jack. The music is country or Pearl Jam. The attire is either Connecticut proper or Kentucky sloppy. You should look like a bad guy from an 80s movie or a bad guy from a movie where a northerner goes to the south and trouble ensues.
The Basement: The drinks are Mexican beer, tequila, and margaritas. The music is whatever they play in the subway that’s annoying until you’re at a beach. The attire is Mexican. I’m not going to tell you how to look Mexican but just know that however you dress will tell everyone your level of racism.
Invite chicks, choose a country to go with, and start touching privates. Just keep your bowels in check.
Jared Freid is a New York City-based comedian. You can follow him on Twitter @jtrain56 for videos, columns, and more drinking games. He will be on tonight’s BroBible Comedy Show at Gotham Comedy Club in NYC. Get Tickets HERE
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