Researchers in the Netherlands recently devised a novel approach to testing the effects of drink on the elderly. They tested the mobility of 13 men and women aged over 62 both before and after a couple of drinks. The test was having the aul bastards attempt to step over a block placed on a moving treadmill. Sounds a fucking Nazi party game. Shockingly, the tests showed the booze impaired the old folks’ reflexes. Old people are notorious for their falling-overness and general lack of balance and awareness. What exactly were these fuckers trying to prove by throwing a few beers into the mix!? Answer: absolutely nothing, they just love treadmill accidents. In fairness though, who doesn’t, treadmill accidents are brilliant! Here’s a video:

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It’s a commonly accepted fact that there are only two types of female bartender, the landlord’s wife and the eye candy young wan. When we decided to get a female perspective on the booze trade the choice was obvious, we went with the eye candy.

Decisions, decisions...

We weren’t expecting too much out of her, maybe knowing which is the pint glass, how to tell a fake €50 note and that she should always accept them from Barry O’Brien, the local drug dealer and all around nutcase. We set out with great intentions, to question her on her motivations, her hopes and dreams. Then we realised we didn’t give a flying fuck.

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I rang in one Monday, crying off sick, saying I had the flu and I couldn’t make it. The boss was very understanding, saying to come in when I felt up to it. I’d no flu though, I was out on the beer the night before, asshole drunk. Awhile later I got an angry call from the boss, saying not to bother coming back in. I was friends with the bastard on Facebook and there was a load of pictures of me tagged from the night before, they screwed me over big time, Facebook you asshole!

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Here at Drunken Disaster we are massive Mel Gibson fans. I’ve personally seen Apocalypto 17 times and we believe the Lethal Weapon series is rivaled only by The Godfather films. Unfortunately for us Mel Gibson is not on Twitter. Happily however, the enthusiastically pro-Gibson site www.melgibsonsite.com is. So we decided we’d get in touch, in the certainty that their fervent Mel Gibson support coupled with their complete lack of imagination would lead to instant hilarity, here’s the results!

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I was out in Quinn’s there one night and afterwards I took a notion that I’d call down to the girlfriend’s rented house down off Clonliffe Avenue. I was ringing her but no answer, she wasn’t out that night. I figured I’d pick a few stones out of the crappy little front garden and throw them at her window…it always works in films! Anyway after a few stones there was no go so I picked up a slightly bigger one. I threw it the window and it went straight through the glass! She was not best pleased, at least the bed wasn’t under the window!

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The assholes here asked me to tell you my life story. They want to know how I became who I am and why you fuckers trust me with your puny, worthless lives. “What defines you?” they asked. “Who are you?” they enquired. “Where are your pants?” They demanded.

Well where to begin? At the very beginning I suppose. It was in the summer of ’86 and I was fresh from the womb. The first defining experience of my life came when I was only 3 months old. My mother, an avid ketchup follower, accidentally spilt some HP Brown Sauce on my plate of mushed bullshit and ambrosia cream rice (original, not the flavoured shite). The reaction was immediate, a swift left uppercut to the chin, followed by a “don’t you ever fucking do that again” stare.

"I will fuck your shit up."

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I went for a few drinks in the lovely town of Dublin on Paddy’s Day. After a day on the beer the last thing I remember is the Cobblestone at about 8 o’clock. Next thing I know I wake up on the Boardwalk with no wallet, no phone…and no shoes! Why the shoes you bastards!? I’d a nice walk home that day!

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Through years of research and personal experience we’ve discovered that there are a few tell-tale signs that indicate when it’s time to lay off the booze a little. We’ve put together a quick test that’ll help you identify if it’s time you quit. I know what you’re thinking, “You’re not my dad computer screen!” If you said that out loud please go outside and get some fresh air or something, have a fucking drink and calm down, you’ve got issues buddy. The rest of you read on, this test might just save your life…

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