Getting drunk in Milwaukee is very special. On that humble gradient of wastedness, drunk in Milwaukee is somehow able to toddle over the Black Out line and vomit rocket its way into what I can only describe as High Octane Oblivion Wasted. Largely this heightened(?) state of consciousness can be attributed to the momentum garnered from up to 20 hours of drinking and the pain/pleasure of being simultaneously hungover and drunk. So many delightful mistakes have been made in Milwaukee, but fortunately for us and for the great state of Wisconsin, no one really remembers them.
My daily routine in visiting this Holy Grail of brew-soaked post-industrial cities generally consists of the following:
Waking up on someone's couch wearing last night's pants (if I'm lucky), around say, 11.
Going to a neighbor's house to get stoned.
Getting bloody marys which, if you know anything about Milwaukee, come not only with a tiny chaser of Miller Hi Life, motherfucker, but oh, that's right A SLICE OF BACON RIGHT IN THE GLASS!!!
Sitting in someone's yard if it's warm enough and pounding beers.
Darkness falls and the bars become habitable.
When too much money has been spent (though this is relative, because Milwaukee has made it incredibly easy for even the brokest to get blasted), there is always the option of tailgaiting outside the very bar you were once drinking at. This tends to be an incredibly simple and effective way to cost-cut and also maximizes your general wastedness as 1, someone usually has a case of beer in their car and 2, you drink faster because you are mildly afraid that you might get caught by, oh I don't know, some weird bartender or cop that actually gives a shit.
Following this, it is inevitable that drunk driving, trouble, wackiness, tears, and yes, that's right, mistakes ensue.
This claim is unverified and largely untrue.
A cornucopia of mistakes I, or my friends, have made in Milwaukee:
There was the Great Conejitos Bean Taco Eating Contest Debacle of 2008. Convinced, that we were invincible, A and I decided that we could eat over 30 of these bad boys, thus beating the previous record set by the indubitable C. Twelve tacos and 2 pitches of margaritas into this thing I tapped out, but A persevered, and along with EO was able to hork down a record 32. After rolling around/wrestling in the vacant lot across the street, we began our journey back to Q's house, or perchance to another bar. Lo, the sun was setting over the factories of Milwaukee and as we ambled along the beautiful suspension bridge towards downtown, the purple twilight cast a magical shadow, which apparently, induced a violent nausea in our taco champions. EO was the first to double over the edge of the bridge and release, but it wasn't long after that A followed suit, two beautiful streams of bean-brown vomit doing a parallel swan dive into the dark water.
Caution: May induce nausea
There was the freezing, drunken plunge into Lake Michigan in the dwindling hours of the morning, when, barely able to walk to the beach, I found myself quickly stripping off my dress and running into the ice cold depths. I'm not saying this plunge was a mistake. I will however say that D lost his glasses in the gravel, beginning a somewhat stunning series of drunken glasses mishaps befallen to subsequent pairs. L and I ended up shivering and damp on the shore as we watched the boys frolic in their tiny boy underpants. I will also say that A and Q were none too pleased to have to pick up our wet, drunk, smelly asses and drive us back to the 'burbs. Sorry Mom and Dad.
Then there are those drunk things that would never happen anywhere else that happened in Milwaukee: the time I got stuck in a tree like a kitten and Z had to pull me down while I laughed/screamed/burped. There was screaming fights in the middle of the street. And speaking of the middle of the street, there was Z and E and Q doing some strange dance-karate in the middle of the street, kicking cabs as they gathered and passed the bar, spinning around and posing, while L and I watched for literally 20 minutes on the curb. There was E crowdsurfing in a semi-douchey sports bar. There was me drunkenly crying on random people's doorsteps. (Oh, who am I kidding, this has happened in many cities all over this beautiful nation).
All in all, I would say, Milwaukee is the number one place to get off-your-face wasted and fuck around. So to you Milwaukee, I raise my tall boy and say, Let us make bad decisions!
