I Wanna Drink 'Til I Can't Feelings No Mo.

Binge drinking--what a joy it brings to the youth of the world. It makes the meek strong and the strong invincible. Your perception of the world is clearer after you drink a beer or two. Everyone is a little more friendly and not to mention, a little better looking. A sensation known as the "warm fuzzies" consumes you. The more you drink, the warmer and fuzzier this feeling gets. Scientists believe that when these warm fuzzies are at there peak, you achieve confidence. With this new found confidence, you find the self you want to be--your inner Tyler Durden per say. This leads to dancing, awkward sexual advances, new friends, and an overall good time.

When you're young and a child of the night, there is nothing that can go wrong. Sure you don't remember everything, but you don't need to. It is all in good fun and the next day, you can do it all over again. No hang over. No aches or pains. No post-drinking regrets. Maybe you will swing by McDonald's and grab an Egg McMuffin if you wake up still slightly intoxicated. All things considered, when you are young, you're a fully functioning part of society after a long night of binge drinking.

This all sounds familiar right? Most of us partied with the best of them and then you get old. Those nights of reckless endangerment to our livers have gotten the best of us. I mean, yeah, you still get the warm and fuzzies, but you definitely pay for it afterward. After a long night, let alone a full weekend of drinking, you're grouchy and achy and looking for the antacid. The sun becomes the Devil in the morning and burns through your comforter and pierces your retina forcing you to wake up and feel the shame of old age. Every part of you is sore and you look like you death, but still better than Kristen Stewart because she's just haggard.

Oh, and remember how awful it was the first few times when you got drunk because you didn't know better so you always drank too much, and vomited everything that you ate that day, but then it stops because you realize how much you can drink without getting sick? Yeah, after a while, you start to drink less and less because you have more responsibilities for being an adult. Apparently, being a grown up means you can't always have fun when you want to. (The word, adult, is acutually Finnish for boring responsible person who goes to bed early, I think, but don't quote me on that.) Anyways, you forget that you can only imbibe so much alcohol and you go overboard. Thus, your body regresses to the stages of your freshman year of college but to the infinity power, which basically means instead of throwing up what you had that day for a couple hours, you turn into The Exorcist and upchuck everything you had in the past month. Not cute.

I guess, there is a set period of time in your life where your able to party hardy every night of the week and then function normally the next morning, but there is no warning to when that time ends. So, I'm telling you as my peers, colleagues, and friends, heed my warning. Alcoholic beverages are all fun and games for the evening, but apparently, you feel like death the next day.

Well done, Alcohol. You may have won this battle, but consider this war. I've only learned my lesson... this time. (Insert shifty eyes here.)

(Note: If you would like to imagine what I sound like after this weekends festivities, please re-read the blog as Peter Brady going through puberty.)

Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive.

My mom, Cheyenne, says that I have too much pent up frustration and that I should channel all my anger into something positive. I really don't think that I get angry that often. So what if I get a little cranky when there's traffic in the morning because of stupid tourists wandering around or because of Oprah deciding to close off 1/3 of The Loop to tape the premiere of her show. And just because I made one person cry with a few low blows about their family being inbred or how their friend looks like Princess Fiona because they didn't like my shirt, it doesn't mean I am overly defensive. Last I checked, not getting your way is something to get upset about. It's not just "a little spilled milk" when that happens to me. And I hardly ever get aggressive. Who hasn't been known to throw an elbow into a face or two? He who hasn't thrown a squirrel across an open field in their hey day cast the first stone, k? Exactly. Don't go around judging me. I've never lost my temper... per se, but long story short, when mom said I needed a hobby to harness all of my negative chi, I realized my true calling: FIGHTING.

Ever since I could recall, I've wanted to start some sort of "fight club", if you will, where you can just gather a big group of average Joes and beat the crap out of each other. We would use this fighting as some sort of therapy or as some sort of escape from our mundane lives. I don't know how this would crossover in middle America especially with today's economy, but it would be fun to gather in some sort of bar basement and fight. I guess I would just have to find a group of people who didn't ever speak about this aforementioned fight club I am proposing. (Insert shifty eyes here.)

Now that I have insurance, I wouldn't mind punching someone in the ear just because I could since I can afford to pay for the repercussions of my actions and since I'm half ninja and all (little known fact about me... write that down). Personally, I think unnecessary violence as seen in such films as Rambo and Gamer, is funny but some people frown upon it. To think about it, I don't know too many people who would, so I guess I would have to find other people that wouldn't mind getting punched in the ear by me. The more I think about it, the more realistic alternative to this would be to just take boxing lessons and take them I shall.

From boxing lessons, I plan to start kickboxing, and from kickboxing, I will probably get into Muy Thai and eventually become a regular on the amateur fight circuit. Everyone in the underground fighting ring of Chicago will know the new "Thrilla in Manila" (sorry Paquio) and the name Kimmie Kerosine---one punch to the face will leave you looking like a burn victim or something equally catchy. Some kid will make up the catch phrase later. But anyways, from there, I will take over and become Queen of the Fight (Get it? It's a play on words refrencing the popular Whitney Houston song, "Queen of the Night").

Then on one gloriously cold day in the midst of December, Dana White, will discover me and ask me to join the UFC because I would have already beat up every single woman MMA fighter as far as the eye can see. I'd beat everyone up with one swift round house kick, a quick one-two punch, and a quick elbow to the face. With those three moves, I would earn every belt from every weight class. That's right, every weight class. The only way, I could be better is if I beat the crap out of myself, but that is just way too existentialistic (yes, that is a real word). I'd be so good that they would have to make a NEW new American Gladiators just so that I can tear up prime time television just as much as pay-per-view. By the time I surpass my prime, which is probably going to be when I'm 27-years-old, I think that I will have to retire on top and join the cast of Dancing with the Stars. I can only be 99.9% sure that I would champion that show too.

God, I'm awesome.

The point is, I'm not an angry person and I don't have anger issues. I just like to fight and/or cause fires.

"I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES, BITCH."