5 Easy Steps to Puking and Rallying at the Bar
No problem, champ, just take a peek at these five easy steps to throwing up in bars and you’ll be back in action before the next round. Take it from me, the crafty, Jamie Moyer-esque veteran of puking at the bar, I’ve been there, but I’ve never been one to let a little vomit derail my night.
Step One – Assess the Threat Level: Determine the situation’s severity—are we thinking your stomach’s just in a little kerfuffle, like some juvenile NASCAR feud, that’ll blow over, or are we talking about a serious situation? Are you feeling just a little queasy, like maybe you watched one-too-many YouTube videos of tiny children smacking their unsuspecting dads in the dick with wiffleball bats, or does your tummy-tum feel like you’ve been consuming nothing except garlic mayonnaise, Pop Rocks, and paint thinner for the last week? Figure out where you’re at on that spectrum and see if you can weather the storm by merely chasing with some high-fives, or if you’re going to have to find a place to spill your Global Guts.
Step Two – Mind Your Surroundings: Okay, so this situation isn’t resolving itself, and you know the clock is ticking. Figure out where you’re at in the bar; are you close to the bathroom? Are you close to that shadowy, dark, kind-of-rapey corner of the dance floor? Are you close to the purse or handbag of that bulbous, varicose vein-riddled girl who tagged along with your group and who no one likes anyways? Now, these are all viable options, but, at the same time, you need to be wary of staying out of sight of the bar staff when you unleash that torrent of liquor, parts of limes, and McNuggets out of your face hole. Just like when it comes to buying drugs, driving Mini Coopers, or having sex with girls who’s faces look like they’re melting, discretion is absolutely key, because odds are the bar staff won’t be thrilled about you sullying their establishment with your puke.
Step Three – Recruit Help: The clock is ticking and you know that filth volcano you call your mouth isn’t going to stay dormant for long. Defeat is clouding your mind and the game hasn’t even ended—it’s like you’re a New York Jets fan watching Mark Sanchez take the field down by six with two minutes to go. Your dudes recognize your trip on the struggle bus and are either going to try to help you, or giggle and point while you frantically fumble around the bar like the giant, alcoholic man-baby that you are. If they help, they can create a diversion through harmless shenanigans, or a potentially less-harmless small fire. However, if diversions aren’t their specialty, they can always create a human wall to conceal your puke sesh, or, they can just start pushing people to the ground to allow you to stampede over the broken bodies of non-alpha males during your uninhibited escape to the bathroom.
Step Four – Go For Broke: It’s the end of the line and you’ve unsuccessfully enlisted anyone to get their fingerprints on this train wreck. It may appear that all is lost. It may appear that your fate of barfing out in the open and being tossed has already been sealed. However, it appears that you’ve overlooked one very viable option: embrace being the villain. You’ve made peace with getting thrown out, so simply and causally just liberate the contents of your stomach into the tip jar on the bar, or into that pile of jackets stashed in the back booth, or, for extra credit, into the unattended drink of a certain ex-girlfriend. In the immortal words of Tyler Durden, “It’s only when we have lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”
Step Five- Leave the Scene of the Crime: Now just because you threw up on someone or something doesn’t mean you have to take responsibility for it. Simple solution is just to quickly flee to a different part of the bar and try to blend in like you’ve been there the whole time. Alter your appearance by taking your hat or jacket off or putting one of your friend’s caps or coats on. Plus, if anyone comes up to question you, just have an overly empathetic quip rehearsed and ready that goes something like, “Are you kidding me? That’s an awful, awful thing to do. I genuinely feel terrible for that poor, vomit-covered girl!”
Happy barfing, America!