Episode II: Out of the Frying Pan and into the Toaster Oven

The following story is not so much a boozing adventure per se, but rather a framework for future adventures.

I grew up in a small town in the midwest, went to a private high school, and was basicly sheltered for the first part of my existance on the planet. Enter booze: Suddenly the world becomes a much more interesting place.

But the real party didn't start until after I graduated high school. I went to community college, and took some really meanigful classes like painting and golf, but found it hard to attend class most of the time because the weather was really nice that winter. So I continued to spin my wheels for a couple of years.

Now, Dave's Dad had been in the Marines during Vietnam, and was a war hero of sorts, so naturally Dave wanted to make his big career move to the Marines as well. He would always try to talk me into joining the Marines with him, but I didn't want to have anything to do with it. "Heeeeeeell no," I would say. "The last thing that I want to do was to join the military and have my ass get shot off in some foreign country for a cause I don't believe in or even care about." (Hey, that's pretty good reasoning for a punk ass kid now that I look back on it.)

But that didn't stop him from pestering me, and in a moment of weakness I agreed to go down to talk to the recruiter with him. And sign up I did. We were both going into the Marines and shipping out together! Buddies, pals, childhood friends - Oh the good times we'll have partying and kicking ass.

There was only one problem. Dave got held back from going to boot camp on the same day as me because of some administrative screw up. Great. Now I was going to boot camp by myself because my buddy, who had initailly talked me into the whole mess, had to stay back because some paper pusher didn't know his head from his ass. Dave shipped out a few weeks later, but ended up getting kicked out of the Marines anyway because he popped on the piss test. Fucker.

Oh well. More fun for me. Here's to ya Dave, cheers.

So for me, the Marines ended up being a launching platform to adventure and excitment. I've seen a lot of cool places that I probably never would have gotten to see, all for FREE, and all with a bunch of buddies that I made along the way. We're gonna visit a lot of cool places all around the world in my travels, as well as a few adventures outside of the military. Boozing adventures of course.

Episode I: The Phantom Boozing Menace

Since this blog is to record my wild boozing adventures, we better get down to it. By no means is this an attempt to sequentially go through all my adventures, but it will probably be more like a series of memoirs, kind of all heaped together with no specific order - cause frankly I'm just gonna spit 'em out as I think of them.

So if there were a place to begin, I would have to say that the best place to start is probably at the beginning and then go from there.

I was a teenager at the time. Sixteen or seventeen - I can't remember for sure, but you get the idea. Yeah yeah yeah, late bloomer right? Anyhow, I had a buddy down the street from my house whose name was Dave. I grew up with Dave ever since I was a little kid, and we were always hanging out, getting in trouble, and having a good time.

Ever since we were little, we would spend friday or saturday night at each other's houses on the weekends, giving each other's parents a week off in between the chaos of having the neigbor kids over for a sleep over. In fact Dave and his little brother, Mikey, who was my brother's best friend, were such troublemakers that after a while, my Mom would only allow one of them to sleep over at a time. Anyway, it was Dave's week to sleep over, and that is the weekend that Dave and I planned to get WASTED!

Now, both of us have had a beer or two up to this point, but niether of us had ever gotten seriously fucked up. So we came up with a plan, and Dave was able to get his hands on some booze. And boy oh boy, he did not disappoint. That night he showed up at my house with: 1) a case of Michalob Golden Draft, 2) a bottle of Bacardi 151, and 3) a bum-sized bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. All for two kids who have never really gotten drunk before.

My bedroom was in the basement, so the odds of us getting caught by my Mom were next to nil, but if we would have gotten caught, holy cats - I shiver at the thought. Mom wasn't known to be the most lenient of parents. In fact, my brother often refered to her as "Jesus's Daughter".

So we commenced to drinkin', and now that I think back, we put back quite a bit of alcohol for a couple of n00bs. Of course we didn't know our limits and ended up drinking way too much. I can't believe that we didn't get busted. We were pretty loud. Dave got sick and went home in the middle of the night, leaving me to explain to my mom in the morning that Dave must have caught the flu.

That morning I felt absolutly horrible. I had to go to work, but there was no way in hell that I was going to go. I was to hungover and dry heaving. Good times. My mom never seemed to know what the hell was going on though. She had to have smelled the booze on me, but she never said anything. Maybe she figured I learned my lesson, but I never asked her about it. Dave and I were pretty proud of having pulled off a mini party right in my basement while my Mom was upstairs, and as far as we were concerned it was mission accomplished.

What's in a name?

What's up with your name, dude?
Why Sir Poo-a-lot? Well, for starters, it was a name I came up with awhile ago, while creating a name for the Tiki Bar TV forums. YES! Tiki Bar TV rules, and if you don't think so, then I hate you. Kung Foo chop on yo ass!

But why Sir Poo-a-lot?
hmmmm......
Good question. I dont really recall why exactly I chose to go by the name of Sir Poo-a-lot. Funny? Yeah. Noble? Hardly. Everyone likes a good poop joke now and then, and what a better way to work one into the mix than to actually come up with a name that has poo in it!

But for reals, actually I think I heard a Sir Mixalot song on TV when I came up with the name, and Sir Drinkalot, or Sir Boozealot just seemed kind of generic, so I went with the good 'ol poo joke.