Messy shananigans

by Andrew Lovesey

Getting drunk is, let’s say, a rite of passage of sorts.

Albeit, getting really drunk is, well, a certain skill possessed by an exclusive few.

I have never been a big drinker. Always the last one to take a shot (grudgingly), usually the one who passes off their drink – encouraging others to drink up so they forget I’m not really drinking. Of course, there is the odd time I will indulge myself in the bliss that is drunkdome.

This past weekend, while at the cottage (on an island with 11 people, 6 d0gs), I witnessed yet another testament as to why I never drown myself in the bottle. I have written the account from my perspective, we will call the central character Drunk Girl.

I have kept it all in one paragraph to create a better sense of setting and non-stop read, enjoy.


She had just pounded a 40 ouncer of whiskey with her best friend in the kitchen, shot for shot. Our friend is a true drinker, just feeds ’em to you – there was no escape for Drunk Girl. She was getting “the spins” so she lay down in the living room, on the bed, wanting nothing but stillness and calm. Little did she remember we were on the island not only with 9 other people, but with 6 dogs. One thing pet magazines do not warn you of is allowing your dogs to drink lake water. Typically, if your pet is properly vaccinated it would pose no fatal harm. That is not to say there aren’t other symptoms resultant of drinking lake water…Such as diarrhea. Generally the dogs spent much of their day outside, but this night there were 4 all together in the living room. One of which, who we still are not certain, decided to squat and relieve themselves on the shag carpet. Of course, having been drinking lake water, the pile was a large, mushy excrement – with an odour that would bring you to your knees. Drunk Girl, was roused by our friend who wanted her to rejoin her in the kitchen for more drinking. She tried to sit up, fell back down. Sat back up, fell down. Started getting up, fell off the bed. Tried standing up, fell back over. Tried standing up again, back to the ground. Braced a nearby corner table in attempts to steady herself, fell back down. I then thought it would be funny to propose for her to clean the pile of poo. She surprisingly agreed. Obviously, she had no clue what I was asking her to do. Yet still she has agreed, so I set her to the task. This was a bad idea on my part. I should have thought ahead, should have pondered potential results. Not to mention, it took me a good few minutes of coaxing to actually commit her to cleaning it. Alas, she got to it. Remember – this is the same Drunk Girl who was minutes prior been falling over repeatedly. To my amazement she got about 70% of the mess disposed of in her few seconds of success, and then she lost her balance – falling into the pile. She must have had a horseshoe up her fanny because she only managed to get shit on the palm of her hand. So I’m sitting there, watching her laughing, and she finally notices what’s on her hand. Her moment of acknowledgement was hilarious. She then lost her balance again, getting some on a nearby sleeping bag. Crouching there fighting a fit of drunken giggles she grazed her hair while steadying herself, with the poo-hand. I said to her, “you’ve just got poo in your hair!” She reached back – and touched it again! I couldn’t help but be overcome by a fit of laughter. Eventually she stumbled to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, then came back to the room with a drink in hand. The next morning she had not a single memory of this whatsoever.


This is why I love my friends, this is [also] why I do not get inebriated too often.