If you’re unfamiliar with the new movie Scouts Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse, you shouldn’t be, because it’s a combo of other zombie movies with a twist, with the biggest brotourage in history, the Boy Scouts, set to save the day from a zombie attack.
With the flick set to release October 30th, it got us thinking about what it would be like if us dudes were able to earn Scout badges from our epic stories—so that’s exactly what we’re doing, awarding ourselves the badges for our mom to sew onto our uniform.
Today’s is the Medicine Fail Badge, which involves some interesting details about the worst hangover we’ve ever had, for sure, so here goes.
Oh, trust us, all of these stories are true, Scouts honor.
Here’s what happened.
With a bunch of former college roommates in town for a weekend in Nashville a few years ago, we decided that, after a long day of boozing during some golf, it would be good to hit the town with a big group of people.
When you start drinking at 11 a.m. during golf, though, pregaming with a bunch of Fireball, rum, shots of bourbon and washing it all down with beer is hardly the best idea—especially when you’re planning on actually being seen in public in the town you live in.
If you’ve ever been to Nash, you’re probably familiar with Midtown, where some of the city’s best bars are and the girls are at a premium.
Stumbling our way to the bar scene with some of my native locals, we continued the boozefest, drinking Fireball as if it were water during a marathon and we needed it to keep our hearts pumping blood. No joke, I’d say we took a good 10 shots of the stuff that night.
Now, when someone does that to themselves, it usually doesn’t end well. As you can see in the above pic, I got the worst of it.
After passing out in the cab home and having my friends try to carry me out, my drunk and stubborn ass figured walking to my house’s front door was doable. Seemingly walking for the first time, I made a triple-z line across my front yard, with my buddies trying to hold me up and me figuring laying down at three in the morning for the night was a good idea.
Down for the count for awhile, I awoke and attempted to make my way into the house again to hit the bathroom, where, trying to hold myself up to piss, fell backwards and into the shower, knocking down the curtain and remaining in the fetal position for the rest of the night.
Luckily, no damage was done besides a bruised ego and a shower curtain rod next to me.
The next morning felt as if five mini volcanoes had erupted in my head, with each exploding every 15 minutes with the sharpest pain known to man. Trying to down water was like trying to move three large semi trucks by myself, with no chance of it going, or staying, down.
Still drunk, I thought eating something was good, so we ended up going to a pizza place.
The entire time was spent with me in the place’s bathroom, head around the public toilet seat yacking my brains out until we went back to mine, where I bid farewell to my friends and, no joke, slept for the next 15 hours straight, an all-time record for me.
And this, bros, is how we earned the Scouts Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse Medicine Fail Badge, so don’t consume double-digit shots of Fireball.
You can award yourself your own set of badges, too!