The Dudebacle
After hours of getting ready for a night out, which in many a dude's case consists of drinking a high volume of cheap beer, watching your choice of televised sport (except lacrosse)1, and playing something that probably resembles a card game; a certain intoxicated dude can no longer feign the signs of inebriation and becomes an extreme liability to the rest of his mates.
These signs of inebriation are in no way subtle. This guy has developed a lazy eye, he's now unable to suppress commonly suppressible bodily functions, and the volume of his voice has increased nearly two-fold.
You should have seen all of this coming from the very beginning of the night.
While you were playing "Drink at your Own Pace," this dude was pounding beers like Wade Boggs.
By the time you were on beer five, he was on case two.
While you and your buds were figuring out what bar to hit up, this guy was contemplating getting a full-body tattoo.
The consequences for his actions have slowly started to come together, and his night has quickly started to fall apart...
By the time your party leaves for the bar, this dude has at least 100 liquid ounces of draft in his gullet, and may be quite unpredictable once he hits the streets. He's already made mortal enemies with the cabby, and was nearly drilled by an oncoming car as he left the taxi without paying.
Following your exit from the cab, you and your crew head to the street and on to the bar, but this drunken dude stumbles toward the sewer. As he leans over in heaving position, you think to yourself, 'why in the hell didn't we stop this?'
All of these precursory events lead to the inevitable dudebacle, which appears swift and sudden to the untrained eye. All you can do is one of two things at this point. You can sit back and observe, or you can attempt to be there for your buddy, who has now become the most elusive and out-of-control person you have ever encountered.
At this point, he probably reeks of beer vomit and partially digested nachos, and is not afraid of the opposite sex in the slightest. This walking disaster zone goes for any opportunity, regardless of whether or not it is an opportunity. He says and does things that are well beyond the line of social decency, and the ramification of his behavior will indirectly affect you and the rest of your group (permitting he remembers that he came to the bar with you and your party). You may meet new people on this night, and your unintended icebreaker becomes "Do you know this dude?"
You enter the bar, and somehow the bouncer has let him slide by. As soon as he reaches an opening, he's gone. He has disappeared among the abyss of collared shirts and cocktail dresses. After a thorough scan of the bar, he appears to be unable to find. You see women scattered all over the bar and dance floor, but while 'girls just wanna have fun,' you know that this dude just wants to get drunk. His sidewalk sewer heave wasn't enough to slow him down in the slightest, and when you finally figure out just where he is, he's at the bar ordering shots for what is either a mildly attractive older woman, or a desperate transvestite.
Eventually, the dudebacle hits your buddy hard, and the following day hangover is usually a brutal experience for this dude who dared to put his body through such acute chemical punishment.
Luckily enough, the dudebacle is only a category 2 dudesaster, and during the next day reflection, you find that the faux pas from the night before need only require about two weeks worth of redemption for your currently crestfallen friend. The most important concept is to raise awareness of the early signs of the dudebacle: the voice volume demodulation, the belching, the slurring rants about politics and what seems to sound like baseball. For at least these reasons, it remains paramount to record the humiliating feats accomplished by your completely wasted crony on the night before, in order to help him relive it the day after.
Shame however, is not a powerful enough learning experience for your nocturnally embarrassing friend. Make sure that he doesn't live this experience down in an effort to hope that it doesn't happen again. If it does somehow happen again, your residence should be dudebacle-proofed for retaliatory purposes with an emergency drawer containing assorted permanent markers, a pantry stocked with chocolate syrup, and a fire extinguisher.
The next time this happens, let it happen... and as soon as this dude passes out... let him have it!
1. No disrespect intended to Virginians, wealthy New Yorkers, or douche bags.
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