By Tapline Staff.
We here at The Tapline go to great lengths to label ourselves as the craft connoisseurs you’ve come to know and trust. It takes a lot of time, energy, and money to overly consume all the beer produced by the hundreds of microbreweries located all around the state, all in an effort to provide our readers with the most authoritative, esteemed, and respected voice on all things craft beer. We tend to look at ourselves as risk takers, putting our livers on the line so you can stay informed on all the up and coming tasty brews. So it may come as no surprise that through our endless pursuit of discovering and guzzling all the best beers of the land, we’ve become fucking pros at driving drunk as shit.
Look, we understand all the concerns: impaired vision, reduced response time, ending your life or someone else’s, yadda, yadda. But let’s be real. When you’re enjoying a peaceful evening out at a local brewery, and you don’t find out that the ABV in the Bourbon Barrel Aged Stouts you’ve been knocking back all night is 11.3 percent until you’ve signed the check, and the surcharge on an Uber is astronomical because it’s bar close, and your wife is already asleep because she had to watch the kids all night, and she’s employed so she has to wake up in early in the morning, which she always uses against you to guilt trip you when you’re about to head out to a new local brewery alone, because the undeniable urge to break stuff and set something on fire tends to increase the longer you’re confined to being at home, what else are you gonna do?
We tend to think of drunk driving as an art form and not a violation of the law. Again, we’re not encouraging you to chug several growlers, rev up the Ford Focus, and blare some Skynyrd while peeling out in the parking lot of the high school you attended where everyone called you “Captain One Pump” because of ONE TIME you prematurely ejaculated when you finally scored with Amanda Sanders after homecoming. We’re just saying, shit happens, you know? Shit, I’ve woken up in my car, perfectly parallel parked outside a TGI Friday’s 120 miles away from my house after a blackout where the last thing I remembered operating a power tool after consuming half a bottle of peach schnapps! And you know why? Cause I’m a champ. Fucking pro. And I’m not naive enough to believe that there’s never a valid excuse to put you or someone else’s life on the line by getting behind the wheel of a car while intoxicated! Some of us got shit to do! So without further ado, when duty calls, here’s your Tapline step-by-step guide to successful drunk driving, when you’ve lost count of how many mango habanero IPAs you’ve had in the past three hours:
Step One: Buckle Up
First rule is an easy one gang; be sure to buckle the fuck up. Like sober driving, you’re often the last thing you gotta worry about when you’re drunk as shit on the road. You never know when a goddamn, dumbass deer can run out in front of you while you’re taking the backroads home, or some fucking weirdo with a babystroller crosses the street at a red light. Life is always full of surprises, so best to wear your seatbelt so you’re not ejected through the windshield in case you swerve into some asshole’s lane or some fucking mailbox pops up outta nowhere.
Step Two: Wear Sunglasses
Now I know what you’re thinking: sunglasses? What?? Wouldn’t that drastically reduce your visibility and vastly increase your chances of veering off the road or initiating a head-on collision?!? Shut up nerd. Wearing sunglasses is a total power move; something to throw off the pigs when you’re cruising by at a solid fifteen-to-thirty over. They’re gonna be all like, ‘Wait, was that guy wearing sunglasses?? At nighttime?? That’s way too bold of a move to pull off if they’re operating a vehicle under the influence of alcohol, no way they’re drunk driving.’ Plus, not being able to visibly see the road actually boosts concentration when you’re drunk, so you’ll be even more alert behind the wheel, while still looking cool as shit.
Step Three: Blare Your Anthem
We all have an anthem; a musical opus that gets your blood rushing, your adrenaline pumping, and your confidence soaring sky high. Most drunk driving amateurs believe complete silence is the foundation to absolute attentiveness, but hey, this isn’t the ACT’s you’re taking here. This is driving a fucking car, blackout. No tunes is only going to increase your odds of nodding off and waking up in a ditch covered in citra hops-induced vomit. Whether it’s a little ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ to pump some auditory cocaine in your veins, or you’re a ‘Courtesy of the Red, White, & Blue’ kind of guy, blaring your anthem is the first thing to do after starting your engine. Personally, I find Korn’s ‘Blind’ perks up my endorphins and amplifies my focus on the road after seven or eight raspberry sour ales. I’ve tallied a grand total of zero accidents after tossing a stein or four back, putting the key in the ignition, screaming “ARE YOU READY?!?” and putting the pedal to the metal (aside from that one moped accident a few years back, but there was no way I could’ve even seen that pothole sober in the daylight).
Step Four: Talk To Yourself
Isolation and alcohol are a toxic combo. So if you’re rolling home solo after crushing several Das Boots, why not give yourself a little company to ease the tension? Self pep-talks are a great way to keep you engaged behind the wheel when you’re feeling yourself starting to doze off. Spark up some spicy conversation, like debating yourself the merits of universal healthcare, or which one of the seven dwarfs from Snow White would you bang in a hypothetical scenario where you’re being contained against your will and the only way your captor will release you is if you bang one of the seven dwarves from Snow White. Summon some motivation by yelling “COME ON!!!” or “EYES ON THE PRIZE!!!” or “I SWEAR ON MY UNBORN CHILD’S LIFE, I’LL STOP DRINKING IF YOU JUST LET ME MAKE IT HOME THIS ONE TIME GOD!!!” You can also stimulate cognitive ability by freestyle rapping, spitting bars that end with words that rhyme with “boobies”, or “ass” or “fuck”. Whatever your monologue methods are, talking to yourself is a great way to forget about how wasted you are while driving on the interstate.
Step Five: Hit Up The Drive-Thru
Don’t listen to those noobs and nay-sayers who claim that eating food doesn’t sober you up. Sure, it doesn’t technically “lower” your Blood Alcohol Content or whatever, but trust us; one bite into a double Whopper or Baconator will put your nerves at ease and your head right back into the game. You might think that pulling over to chow down on your fast food feast is your safest option, but nah. Turns out eating food while drunk driving helps revitalize your equilibrium, as the more tasks you assign yourself to, the more focus you can regain while inebriated. So load up on Culvers’ tendies and cheese curds or ingest some fourth meal fuel with a Cheesy Gordita Crunch run through Taco Bell, and you’ll quit seeing double in no time.
Step Six: Road Beer
This step is somewhat of a no-brainer, essentially on the principle that if you’re already over the legal limit for blood alcohol concentration, what’s one more gonna hurt? Plus, there was a study I’m pretty sure I Googled a while back that I’m pretty sure linked engaging in mischievous behavior with triggering dopamine release, which I feel like can enhance motivation and restore discernment, and… I mean, look, if you get cancer from smoking cigarettes all your life, are you just gonna throw in the towel and give up the heat sticks, or go out guns blazing? Guns blazing, right?? Hell yeah, road beer is totally the way to go, crucial step.
Step Seven: Get Aroused
Yeah, laugh it up at this one all you want, but this could be the MOST ESSENTIAL STEP when it comes to getting away with drunk driving. People, the logic is simple here. Getting aroused increases blood flow, which increases oxygen to the brain, which enhances awareness, which stimulates blah, blah, blah, it’s scientifically proven that the hornier you are, the better driver you become. So… You know… Do what you gotta do… Maybe stream a little smut on the ol’ smartphone while it’s mounted on the dash, stroke your nips while blasting some Enya on the stereo, gag yourself, I dunno! I dunno what you’re into, but you certainly need to get into it! I personally find the voice of Terry Gross to be overtly arousing, hmm, talk about a little Fresh Air, amirite?? Anyways, yeah, titillate yourself while driving drunk, it helps.
Step Eight: All Else Fails… You Must Bail
Okay, so you got your seatbelt buckled, you’re rocking your Oakleys, blaring “Living on a Prayer”, yelling insults at yourself, munchin’ on hella nuggets, sippin’ a to-go Coors, horny as fuck, then next thing you know, boom. Red lights. Johnny Law still finds a way to poop the party. ‘Oh great’, you’re thinking to yourself. ‘Just my luck!’ Back to the pen, aye ol’ buddy? Fun while it lasted, ain’t it? You probably think failure is your only option, aye? Yeah, well, WRONG!!! You’re fucking drunk as shit! What, you’re just gonna admit defeat, blow 2.3 into a breathalyzer, throw ten grand down the drain, start taking the bus to work, and be an A.A. sucker your whole life?! HELL NO! Fucking bail! You see those flashing red lights, you speed it the fuck up and try to ditch the snitch! Push it past one hundred! Make multiple irrational turns! Cross the median! Go offroad! Go in reverse! I dunno! Whatever it takes!
Then, second the fuzz is outta sight, ditch your ride! Roll out of the driver’s seat (I recommend jumping out at around thirty-five or under, less chance of bone damage or concussion), and get the hell outta dodge! Sure, the cops are gonna eventually find your vehicle, run the plates, and arrive at your home, but guess what?! NO PROOF MOTHER FUCKERS!!! You answer that door and they start grilling you, just be all like, ‘What? Me?? Drunk driving?? I was home all night!” Then they’ll get all confused, and be like, “Well why did we find a ‘03 Nissan Maxima abandoned on the side of a hill, engine on, Bon Jovi CD on full volume?” and that’s when you go, “Uh, I dunno officiers, maybe cause my FUCKING CAR WAS STOLEN?! HELLO???!” Then those fuckers will be even more bewildered, and one might even ask you where you got the fresh-looking facial scars and temple cuts, and all you need to say back is “Sex… With my wife… Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to file a stolen vehicle report, oh wait, I can do that with you two, can’t I??” Boom. They don’t have shit on you. You won!! They’re not gonna take this to trial, you serious?? They don’t have a case! Go pick up your ‘03 Nissan Maxima at the impound, pay the $135 impound fee, and go celebrate your exoneration with trivia night at your favorite local brewery! IPAs on this guy, amirite??!?