After a night of drinking, I often find myself going through various fast food drive-thrus. But occasionally, I find myself going through other kinds of pseudo-drive-thrus, some of which lead to spinal leakage, others to bruised pelvises, and a few undoubtedly are sold out of everything except large orders of tow-trucks pulling stolen cars out of ditches.

Drive-thru open 24 hours signBelow are five of the more, um, unique drive-thrus my friends and I sometimes wind up at after one too many double shots of whatever that creepy girl with the Adam's Apple at the end of the bar bought us.

Drunken Outcome Drive-Thru

Guy #1: Hi, I'd like thirteen Busch Lights and a shot of cheap vodka, please.
Cashier: Alright, that'll be nine frequent bathroom breaks and a jacket to keep warm when you pass out on your ex-girlfriend's porch.
Guy #1: Alright!

Guy #2: I'd like a six-pack of Sam Adams and a dry martini, sir.
Cashier: Let's see, your total comes to one inflated ego, two false perceptions of oneself, and a buffer to get the dried eggs off your car's windshield.
Guy #2: Got change for a $100?

Guy #3: Hi, yeah, I'll take a pint of Jack Daniels and…let's do another pint of Jack Daniels.
Cashier: Sure thing, chief!  That'll be three notebook-sized bandages, two mangled limbs, and a tow truck to get your car out of the ditch.  Oh, and a lawyer to defend you for stealing the car.
Guy #3: Damn; did you guys raise your prices?
Cashier:
Haven't changed ‘em in 133 years.

I would like to, for once: not lose my cell phone, resist calling a fat chick, and forgo alienating a co-worker.Guy #4: Hi, I'd like a bottle of absinthe, three Flaming Dr. Peppers and a pint of Bacardi 151.
Cashier: Alright, I'm gonna need a doctor to call Time of Death, tissues to wipe away the tears of your loved ones, and a local news reporter trying hard to hide his laughter as he reports on your Darwinism-proving death.
Guy #4: Just like my cousin.

Girl #1: I'd like a bottle of flavored vodka please.
Cashier: That'll be one broken condom and a head full of regrets.

Medical Drive-Thru

Shwang: Hi, I'd like a textbook lumbar puncture and an EKG please?
Cashier: Sorry, we only have lumbar punctures with complications left.
Shwang: Ok then, I guess I'll just do the Number Four with heparin.
Cashier: Would you like any epinephrine with that?
Shwang:
Um…sure.  Hey Todd, what do you want?
Todd:
I'm gonna go with the brain MRI and a large shunt.
Cashier: Spinal fluid leakage or lower stomach pain with your shunt?
Todd: Let's do the spinal leakage; that wasn't too bad last time.
Cashier: Alright, your total comes to $13,000.  Please pull up to the next window and have your insurance cards ready.

Post Overly-Idealistic Plans Drive-Thru

Horse at a drive-thru
"And some hay for my friend, please. Super-size it for reals."
Tiggles: Hello there, could I have one late-night bridge-jumping session followed by a three-hour fuck-fest with Jamie as we're drying off?
Cashier: Sorry, we ran out of those in the 70s.  I could offer you one freezing cock and not enough towels followed by an unbroken moment of sexual tension as you struggle to change into dry clothes in the cramped back seat?
Tiggles: Fine. Then could I also have a bottle of lube for later then?
Cashier: Sure; I'll even throw in the sympathy discount.
Tiggles: Thanks, bud.

Brodie: Hi, I'd like a spontaneous dance party on the corner of 6th and Pike followed by a limo ride with complete strangers to the VIP section of a club I've only seen on the Travel Channel.
Cashier: Ouch, um, not gonna be able to do that. What I can offer you is a series of questionably gay hip-gyrations followed by a seemingly endless string of poorly stifled laughter and awkward stares.
Brodie: I wish I was rich.
Cashier: Don't we all.

ScrambledEgg: Let's see…I'll take an incredibly attractive female two nights after a harsh breakup, a free bottle of champagne for winning the wing-eating contest, and a magic drug that cures both my shyness and speech impediment.
Cashier: Sure, we can do that, but only if by "that" you mean "some ugly bitch in need of a self-esteem boost, overpriced doubles of tequila to lower your standards, and a happily overlooked slew of imperfections."
ScrambledEgg: Great, it's like junior year all over again.

Valve: Hi there. I would like to, for once: not lose my cell phone, wake up without an IV and/or catheter, resist calling a desperate fat chick, and forgo alienating a co-worker.
Cashier: Sorry, no can do there, Valve. Looks like all we have left in stock are a fully-submerged, urine-covered cell phone, an infected catheter followed by a round of mislabeled prescription pills, a bruised pelvis, and an awkward walk past his office on Monday.
Valve: I'm never going to retire, am I?
Cashier: You'll be dead by 33. Don't worry about retiring.
Valve: Wow, if it were possible, I'd say I'm even more depressed than before.
Cashier: And I haven't even told you what the mislabeled pills are yet.

Inflated Self-Image & Reality Check Drive-Thru

Duder: I will take two extremely ripped biceps, dashing eyes and a smile that melts the clothes off the ladies.
Cashier: Great. Well, we're out of everything you wanted, but what I can do is go ahead and replace the biceps with small shirt sleeves, the "dashing" with a plethora of synonyms for "dull," and your smile with a complex metaphor in which your teeth are daggers, clothes are various vital organs, and ladies are transgender midgets.
Duder: Where's the clit?
Cashier: Kill yourself.

Chester Bennington III: Give me three double shots of girls-will-like-me-because-I'm-rich. Pronto.
Cashier: Alright, that'll be one empty wallet, a hooker, and an extra $100 for the hooker to lie to your friends about not being a hooker.
Chester Bennington III: I wish I was my dad…

PoorlyHiddenInsecurities: I'll have one incredible set of tits, an eye-catching crevasse of cleavage, and an ass that makes J-Lo sob.
Cashier: Sure thing!
PoorlyHiddenInsecurities: Really?!
Cashier: No. What I can do is offer you the Saturday night special of nine over-priced drinks, a pushup bra two cup sizes too small, frighteningly butt-cheek-like cleavage that makes guys wonder if you're actually an incredibly tall chick bending over, and a booty so flat pancakes feel cocky.
PoorlyHiddenInsecurities: That doesn't sound too appetizing. Anything else on the menu?
Cashier: Clinical bulimia and Xanax.
PoorlyHiddenInsecurities: Oh! I used to love that in high school!

I Wish I was Somebody Else Drive-Thru

Loser: I'll take a long night of convincing myself that one more drink will make me confident enough to talk to girls, a resignedly-ordered large pizza, and a drunken pass-out on my friend's couch within the first ten minutes of a movie I've seen seven times.
Cashier: Coming right up!

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