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Booze (Alcohol)

It’s just an innocent little drink, but drop your guard and alcohol will wrestle you to the ground and pummel your guts until you beg for mercy. Don’t get caught with your pants down—learn how to drink without the coma chaser. Always be wary of waitresses bearing gifts of mind-altering beverages. From your first ill-advised dalliance with blackberry brandy at the high school dance to the day they nail your coffin lid shut, there will be one constant: A good buzz will be followed by a really bad day.

There will be bad days after Christmas, New Year’s Eve and, if you’re a serious lush, even after Easter. You will suffer through hangovers on Saturdays, Sundays and sometimes even the odd Monday. Some of you may try to avoid all that unpleasantness by staying liquored up all the time. Interesting philosophy, but you’ll probably land your ass in jail after putting your better judgment in the custody of 20 cans of beer.

There is an upside, however. Love affairs will start because of the bravado booze loans you, bad parties will become good parties because of your soused sensibilities and mustard sandwiches will become edible. On the other hand, these flings will also fizzle because of the bravado booze loans you, those good parties will turn into bloodbaths and cold Big Macs will taste like a royal banquet when you’re snockered.

But why, you wonder, does something so pleasurable cause so much pain? In short, your brain has been assaulted by ethanol, which causes loss of judgment and slurred speech, as well as an embarrassing lack of balance and coordination. Fear not, our 100-proof compadre—you are not alone. The development of a sobering-up pill would give Viagra stiff competition for the greatest invention of the century. But until then, we’re stuck with just being drunk and sore. May as well learn something about your condition. Burp.

Why do we turn into Mike Tyson after a fifth of JD and a bowl of nuts? Cuddly Christian Slater knows a bit about this phenomenon. In 1997, the boozed-up bad boy was hauled off to jail after he had allegedly roughed up his girlfriend, a magazine editor and a maintenance man. Slater’s high jinks also included biting some guy in the chest and getting knocked cold by the police when he tried to grab the gun of an officer on the scene. His excuse for all of this? He had been “drinking heavily for days.”

Study the drunk’s hypocritical oath closely. “I drink, therefore I am bulletproof.” The stamp of authenticity for any full-time boozer is his total disregard for personal safety. Who hasn’t watched in awe as a plowed pal negotiated his way across a four-lane highway to tell a traffic cop that he was a complete disgrace to his profession? This is actually a repressed form of penance: “I’ve had too much to drink, I’m an asshole, and now I want you to kick my butt.” Which is usually what happens.

So, therein lies the problem, but what on earth causes it? According to Larry Anthony, coordinator of the Addictions Studies Program at the University of Cincinnati, alcohol causes the level of dopamine and insulin in your blood to skyrocket, making you more aggressive than a disgruntled rap artist. Meanwhile, your level of serotonin plummets, which shuts down your civilized side and instantly turns any Gandhi into Genghis Khan.

Alcohol also stimulates your limbic system—the part of your brain near the spinal cord where primal human urges like anger (i.e., pounding the crap out of people) or lust (i.e., going home with a woman who looks like something you picked up at a live-bait shop) originate. This primordial part of your noggin is also responsible for coordinating the larger muscle groups, such as those in your legs and arms, and will give them an almighty jump. This means that even though a drunk suffers from dulled senses and coordination, his muscles are working on overdrive and he can hit you harder, says Pierce Howard, Ph.D., author of The Owner’s Manual for the Brain.

But don’t think that a shot of whiskey is going to morph you into the Rock. “Not all people become aggressive when drinking,” says Anthony. “If you tend to withdraw from conflict, you’ll be more withdrawn.” So, if you like booze but never want to lose your teeth, only drink with nonconfrontational nuns.

You Booze, You Lose: Drinking…it’ll end in tears. John Raymond A. Cruz, 49, of Schererville, Indiana, was arrested on St. Patrick’s Day last year for firing a semiautomatic handgun at a toilet. “He told investigators it didn’t flush fast enough for him,” said Detective Sgt. Michael Ison, “so he fired it up.” The toilet sustained multiple injuries, and Cruz was charged with criminal recklessness with a weapon. He was, of course, very, very drunk at the time.

In August 1990, police in Weymouth, England, found a man literally nailed to a wooden bench. The appropriately handled Philip Pyne, 51, had six nails driven through his thighs, but luckily they missed bones and major arteries. Firemen had to lift both the bench and Pyne to put him into an ambulance. “He didn’t seem to feel a thing,” said one fireman. “He still had a hammer in his hand and kept saying, ‘Don’t worry, lads. Leave me alone, and I’ll take the nails out myself.’” Pyne explained that he had driven the nails in himself to keep from toppling off the bench while he was drunk—giving new meaning to the term hammered.

After a minor traffic accident in 1991, Leal Fleming, 45, of Eustis, Florida, screamed obscenities and threats at police in an almost indecipherable slurred speech. Officers also discovered a four-foot long rat snake in his car. At trial, Fleming claimed that he’d been bitten by the snake, which made his tongue swell and his speech thicken. The jury didn’t buy it. “There was nothing wrong with the defendant other than the fact that he was drunk,” said Assistant State Attorney Dianne Depetrio. Fleming was convicted of driving while intoxicated.

What persuades a drunk that it’s a good idea to tell the ugly truth? When the booze has your limbic system doing the lambada, there’s no filter censoring your thoughts. Sadly, chemically induced candor only leads to one thing: trouble. We’ve all suffered excruciating male bonding after 12 cold ones, when some vaguely familiar goober clings to your neck and says, “I love you, man.” Once this starts, it doesn’t stop. Liquor spurs more activity in the left side of the brain, where most of your pleasure centers are (which is why drinking is so much fun). But that’s also the brain part responsible for speech, which is why drunks drone on and on and on.

Worse than all this is the booze-induced confession, which is as appetizing as RuPaul in a silver bikini turning up to fix your toilet. When you hear your friend tearfully reveal that he’s erectally challenged, you become aware of drinking’s dark side. As renowned drunk Ernest Hemingway said, “Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.”

Your mind is long gone. Time to start the assault on your stomach. When there’s no more booze to be had, they’ve kicked you out of every bar in town and you’ve successfully alienated any potential to satisfy your sexual desire, it’s time to rustle up some grub. Unfortunately, given the edible options of the hour in 99.9 percent of the country, you’re now prone to a diet acceptable only to the occasional cockroach. After marinating your mind with cocktails, the search for something with the oil content of Kuwait takes on the significance of a culinary pilgrimage.

Nothing good comes of this. “The combination of alcohol and junk food can lead to serious weight problems, heart disease and high cholesterol,” warns nutritionist Majid Ali, who obviously needs to get out more. The beauty of fast food is that it’s smothered in saturated (bad) fat and transfatty acids, the STUFF that’s going to turn your body into a rubber factory. In addition to the 145 calories you’ll suck down per bottle of Bud, a slice of Domino’s pizza contains up to 600 calories and 27 grams of fat, and a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder contains 430 calories and 21 grams of fat. To avoid a Hindenburg-like physique, the recommended fat allowance for a 150-pound man is 46 grams per day. It only takes an extra 500 calories a day to gain one pound a week. So just after three beers, you’re well on your way. Now cram in an additional 30 grams of fat on one late-night binge a day and you’ll look like a Monica Lewinsky commercial in rewind.

Plus, fast-food restaurants aren’t known for their sterling standards of hygiene. Possible foodborne illnesses on the menu are: salmonella (which can lead to diarrhea, vomiting and dehydration), clostridium perfringens (vicious bacteria caused by undercooking, which slams you with severe abdominal pain), gastroenteritis (which equals prolonged incarceration in the bathroom) and e. coli (which can cause death through internal bleeding). In 1993, that last gem was responsible for the worst fast-food catastrophe in U.S. history, when four people died and more than 700 others became ill from eating undercooked burgers at a Jack in the Box in Washington. Would you like fries with that?

Gordon Thomson. Bombed, Stewed and Tattooed! . 2/24/2003.

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