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Updated on the 15th of every month

by Absolut Bonerman

Remember those days when you use to wake up in tub asking yourself "Why am I on the roof?" and suddenly hearing "Put your pants on…and don't point that thing at me" to later ask yourself how could you have possibly ended up in Milwaukee to finally wonder if there is any beer left around...well, if you don't recall this...it didn't happen, just like you didn't make out with that girl who looked like a poodle's ass.

Coincidently, in the post New Year's aftermath there are always an unparalleled number of poor souls who suffer from the dreaded memory-loss, but again, that's purely a coincidence. Under the influence of alcohol, there are so many different types of embarrassment that one can go through and, depending on how much your friends love you, they can make that momentary lapse of reason and temporary shame grow quite drastically. I mean, what kind of a friend would you be not to take advantage of a situation where you can point and laugh at a fallen comrade…what are we civilized?
Fact: if your buddy falls down while attempting to jokingly punch you on the shoulder, at the very least, the Law requires you to mock him. Whether you tell people about it after depends on how much you want to make fun of him (while keeping in mind that you are taking a risk to get your ass handed to you…and not in that fun spanky way).
Now that we got the legal aspects out of the way, we can come back to…um…strippers? Is that what we're supposed, oh no…memory-loss…right.

So for all of us who can't be testing mattress springs from dusk till dawn...or the other way around, whatever floats your boat, New Years is sometimes all we got. But sometimes, just sometimes, after pounding just about every possible drink, around that magical time where every woman is awarded 3 to 4 points of hotness what happens: you spot what you think is your Princess Leia.
After braving a way through a maze of people, who for the purpose of the story will be referred to as Ewoks, you stop your friend and try to prevent him from doing what he will end up regretting for quite some time: joining the Dark Side (it's funny how Star Wars DOES apply to everything for guys).
Since reasoning and booze work together as well as a certain member of Jackson family and children (i.e.: they don't), he brushes aside your warning and wobbles towards his prize (alerting your friend ONCE is your civic duty, after that you're in the clear, you can even start preparing your jokes).

From there on, write your generic horror story…

The next morning, or whenever he wakes up from the whole ordeal, he might not have any recollection of it…that's when you try to see if he does. You hint at him hooking up with someone and see his reaction. Now if he does remember it, he will act as if he doesn't because who wants to retain information on locking lips with Chucky's bride? Either way, after the allusions and what not, that's when you start telling him what happened: be graphic, detailed, raw, as if you were giving a preventive lecture in an assembly but more importantly open up the comedic comparisons.
Naturally he won't believe it, either because he doesn't remember it or chooses not to remember it and if you are well prepared that's when you bring up the evidence: pictures, key witnesses or even specimens (abnormally large bras or panties etc…)

Now this type of incident can happen at any time during the year but their frequency is sextupled for that beloved last day of the year (not an actual accurate statistic, it's simply an excuse to say sex). Apparently, women seem to posses the power to resist the song of the siren (the analogy stands but just replace the word "song" with "unbearable rumble" and the word "siren" with "Margaret Thatcher" or "Rosie O'Donnell") as they are able to turn down sex no matter what their state of inebriation is (If you don't believe me, just ask 'em). The worst part is women aren't sharing this information on how to control these senseless and fangorious urges (fangorious is a word…so don't bother checking it out in the dictionary)…bah, too bad, we won't teach them how to do mean things and not care and also we won't teach them how to pee while standing up.

So the next time your buddy drinks himself dry and tries to make a move on what he thinks is Paris Hilton but turns out to be that cow whose ass she had to put her hand into, prepare your means of mockery. Which reminds me to thank Sir Bender (who is too busy bending stuff or whatever the hell he does) for letting me mock my loved ones on a much larger scale. Thanks Bendy, you won't regret this!

With bulging love,

Absolut Bonerman.






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