I can't chug beer. Its no secret, everybody knows it and everybody tries to exploit it for their amusement. I mean I can drink my fair share just not quickly. My friends think it's funny to grab some freshman girl and set up a chugging contest between myself and the 110 girl from southwestern Minnesota only to publicly question my manhood after I get my ass kicked and lose by a half beer. The worst part is that I really try to win. If you look at me after a chugging attempt it looks like I just walked out of a room full of tear gas. My face is red, my eyes are watering, and I'm breathing weird. Kind of like after sex only the women feel more satisfied. So, I've always tried to avoid doing a beer bong because of my chugging ineptitude.

Until this summer.

You see while a lot you were studying, doing homework, or looking for a job I was trying to improve my chugging skills. I was tired of falling short of that allusive 10 second keg stand. I was tired of losing chugging contest to girls half my size on their first time ever out drinking. Most of all I was tired of getting made fun of for never doing a beer bong When you drink as much as my friends and I do you need the complete alcoholic package. Being able to consistently finish in the top three during the annual case race wasn't enough anymore. This was it, my friends, the year I was finally going to conquer the very thing that has been holding my drinking back whether my liver liked it or not.

My moment of glory came last month. I was at a friends house in his back yard doing a little pre-bar drinking when someone pulled out the beer bong. Everyone acted like middle schoolers whose buddy pulled out a porn during a slumber party. I'm sure someone popped a chub since most of them hadn't done a beer bong in a few years and they were salivating to see if they still “had it”. Me, I waited in the back for that inevitable taunt.

“C'mon Chamley, get the sand out of your vagina and do a bong,” One friend said.
“He can't do one. Don't waste the beer,” said another.

There was more of the same followed by laughter and looks of pity from the ladies in attendance. I had gotten those looks before from women (usually at the beach) but never on account of my drinking. So, I stepped up.

“Yeah, let me do one.”
“What?!?!” was the collective response.
“I want to do a beer bong. If a bunch of douchebags can do one I don't see why I can't”

Looking back that was probably worst thing I could have said at that moment.

So, they loaded in a beer. I crouched down as people were scurrying trying to get the best viewing position. I reached up and grabbed the valve as they slowly poured in a Keystone Light. Everybody was set and I was ready.

“OK, you can do this. Just open your throat. Piece of cake” would have been the ideal thing to tell myself right before opening the valve. Instead I thought:

“Please don't fuck this up. PLEEEEASE!”

The group started counting down.


I could feel my heart beating. Nerves were starting to take over, but I had to press on. I had to do this. It was my destiny.


Thoughts of doubt start racing though my mind. I've never even shot gunned a beer. How in the hell am I going to pull this off?


Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.


The bong is raised, I open the valve, and lean back. Now if you've been paying attention you would know that I'm crouched like a catcher instead of the ideal kneeling position. I mean one would think after watching five people do it before I would know how the process works The beer come rushing into my mouth and down my throat knocking me off balance. I try to compensate and promptly fall on my back. The rest of the beer spills out onto my pants and shirt. Things couldn't have possibly gone worse, right?


I already looked like a victim of a Super Soaker drive by and had everyone laughing at my misery. What else could go wrong? Well, while on my back I struggled to get portion of beer that made it into my mouth down. I tried to get upright and just as I got myself to a sitting position I proceeded to vomit the rest of the beer onto the front of my shirt and pants. Ruining them from any future use along with my dignity.

What do you do when you fall short of your dream? When all of your hard work doesn't pay off in the end?

You get wasted and live drunkenly ever after. With a clean pair pants of course.