Debauchery

I was told that you don’t complete a “Pub Crawl” successfully unless you have a) puked. b)woke up massively hungover or c)woke up drunk the next day.

Luckily, none of these options were any problem for my friends (or I).

The premise of the pub crawl is to complete a whole bunch of tasks to win, like drinking certain drinks at certain bars, and completing assigned things that you would only do when you’re drunk. Certain things correlated to points, the more points the better.
Here are two ridiculous stories to deter people from drinking:

My friends and I were sitting at the bar. The conversation resembles something like this,
chaz, “Hey, so I need to kiss a beautiful girl to complete the task. I can kiss you on the cheek”
Girl on another pub crawl team, “But, that doesn’t work.”
(awkward drunk pause)
Girl, “Well, its not a kiss unless you use tongue”
Chaz “Ok.”
Girl “I hope you know that I’m Bellingham aristocracy.”
Chaz “Cool”

They proceed to make out. The best part of this conversation/make-out session is that I was sitting right next to him and didn’t even notice what was going on.

I realize girls like this probably have gonorrhea. Men like this probably have dirty dicks. I realize those are vast sexist assumptions.


This ones a little more complicated. The task was to switch uniforms with another team. I see a dude wearing a shirt waaaaaay to small for him that has a picture of a Rooster (or cock) and the word, Blocker below it. Yeah, cock blocker.
I refused to take off my clothes in the bar so I make him take his shirt off and give it to me so I can change in the bathroom. In the meantime, he’s just wandering around the bar without a shirt. It gets better.
I used an old shirt that had a sharpie picture of a Jesus Horse with Jesus on it. So once he put it on, he was walking around with a homemade shirt that said, in cursive, “I <3 my Jesus Horse.” He then asked me what the fuck it was and I had to explain to him why the shirt was funny. I’m pretty sure I sounded like a jackass. Nothing worse than drunken babble about creationists and the biblical narrative timeline.

So, later that night I run into the “cock blocker team” while I’m wearing the shirt I switched with the dude. The girl wants it back. She starts trying to take off my shirt, in the middle of the bar. I pull her away towards the bathroom. She begins to take off her clothes. Note, we’re not even in the bathroom yet, but in some corner of the bar. I’m prude and am afraid the walls are covered with strains of sperm and STD’s. She starts stripping. Her strapless bra slips down and I basically see a half frontal nudity of her boobs. Oh God. She gets her shirt back. I get this way too tight orange tank top.

Later that night on the dance floor I saw her rubbing her ass against a dude. Hella. Rubbing. Not the-lets-get-ghetto freaky; the freaky freaky. The kind of butt rubbing that should be in bed, because (vast sexist comment again) she might be into that. Which is cool, you know? I just don’t want to see it, or the heat that man was packing in his pants. Alas, I saw both.

Saddest part is, I have NO idea who has my I <3 my Jesus Horse shirt.