The 26 Drinks Pub Crawl
It was one crazy idea, fuelled by a barrage of ingenuity and an entourage of people willing to hop on the bandwagon of this merry carnival of alcoholic intemperance. We just needed a convenient excuse to drink, and using our birthdays served up the perfect context.
When Candice got the drink list up and I started circulating it to the guys along with the post on the blog, everyone thought we were mad and they became apprehensive about committing to the whole 26 drinks idea. For one, the whole thought of mixing champagne with vodka and sambuca seemed like the vile concoction of a sadistic mixologist.
Secondly, LB along with Faith and Reznor’s repeated protest that the estimated drinks tab chalking up to over $300 each, wasn’t the most economically valuable option since we could easily get 20 bottles between the whole group of us.
As I am next in line to become emperor of the new world, and poster boy for all damaged livers, I ignored the protests and assured them that there was no need to drink that much, so long as they were willing to throw inhibitions aside and do the dares.
The dares were basically in place as drink substitutes, ranging from strike 1 (substitution for one drink) to strike 5 (substitution for 5 drinks) and based on the varying difficulty of execution. For example, drawing your face with a marker or pecking a stranger on the cheeks was a strike 1, while having a beer shower was a strike 5.
And so it started. After a mid-week long of coaxing my closest friends to embark on the night of mayhem and spreading the word of a pub crawl festive under the pretext of a birthday celebration for LB and me, we finally got it started.
I had catered for an attendance of 20, which is the equivalent number of laminated tags I made, but little did I know, that number was to be exceeded even before we could get into the full swing of things.
10.30pm: I arrive at ground zero - which would be Boat Quay- with Niner to see no one there yet. Half convinced that everyone has surrendered to the sheer daunting task of running the entire 26 drinks gauntlet, I start sending out ‘where the fuck are you’ text messages.
10.40pm: GT4 arrives and is appointed invigilator for the night.
11.00pm: Germ, Candice, Totti, LB and Esmond arrive, still convinced that this is a suicidal game no different from drinking a litre of detergent then burning up all your remaining cash just before you choke on your vomit.
GT4: “Someone better have 995 on speed dial.”
Germ: “Don’t worry, that would be me.”
11.05pm: We start off at The Cavern and L’cky joins us shortly. We kick start with our mandatory 3 drinks. I take a vodka Red Bull, a tequila shot and a lychee martini.
11.15pm: Finding the pace too slow, I do my fourth drink, an amaretto on the rocks.
11.20pm: LB, L’cky and Totti start off the night with the first dare, bar top dancing. Patrons on the outside start laughing at us, along with some periodic frowns because there are two dicks dancing on the bar and no one really gives a shit about men.
11.33pm: Kat messages me to meet her at the next location, Jazz @ Southbridge.
11.40pm: Huixx and Leo arrive, ready to catch themselves up to speed with the night’s proceedings.
11.45pm: Kat, Reznor, Tigerlily, Jerm, Boey, Botak, KJ, Freddy and 3 other female friends of Kat join us and start their assault of the 26 drinks. We hand them each a card to hang around their necks.
11.46pm: I do my 5th drink, another lychee martini.
11.50pm: Germ starts yelling at the waiter for not marching with her while doing the great Singapore workout (a strike 2 dare), while we kept persuading the waiter not to comply.
Me: “Babe, this is not counted. He’s not even marching with you.”
Germ: “YOU MUST MARCH!! MARCH!! YOU ARE GOING TO GET MY DARE DISQUALIFIED!! NOW MARCH!!!”
11.55pm: LB manages to get a stranger to kiss him. He is by default now, the greatest human being in the group. None of the women want to carry me for my dare. No one gives a shit about me these days so I sulk, then proceed to steal a sip of vodka Red Bull.
12.00mn: One of the guys remind us that this is after all, a jazz club and that we are making so much noise that it is drowning the singer’s vocals. We have 22 people, which makes up for more than half the pubs capacity and by simple economic calculations, figure that we are contributing at that point, the greatest to the cash register, and hence should be allowed to even pee on stage if we want to. We are horrible people.
12.10am: We head to Home Club, where Atila - the legend, joins us. This is so much more interesting now. Adrian and his female friend join us. Our total group strength is now 25, we have a shortage of tags, much to their disappointment but they drink anyway.
12.15am: One of the club bosses buys me an absinthe shot and beer. I take both in a gulp and proclaim myself the greatest human ever since Michael Phelps and Terry Fox.
Candice: “Oh my gawd! You are so going to be knocked out after this.”
Me: “A stupid absinthe is not going to do shit to me.”
12.30am: Atila buys a round of Jagerbombs, I take one and bring my total tally up to 8 drinks, the most amount consumed in the entire group, while a couple of others were probably at 7.
I can’t remember the exact chronological flow but there was a whole series of dares that played out at that place. There were lap dances handed out, L’cky kissed a waiter, Candice and Germ crotch grabbed strangers and the highlight of it all was LB and I kissing for the dare.
At 8 drinks, everything is a great idea.
1.00am: We make our way to MOS, where Faith joins us. A whole group of idiots walking with tags around their necks, laughing, singing out of sync and simultaneously finding people to do the next dare on. All we need were coloured beads and a lot less clothes, and we would qualify for mardi gras.
1.10am: The whole entourage of us cramp into Sky Lounge and I immediately persuade Faith to get a bottle of champagne, while I take my tally to 11 with a vodka and sambuca shot.
More dares followed here.
I got some girl and her friend to carry me up for a photo. Jerm convinced some Caucasians to do the Singapore workout with him. Reznor belted out his rendition of ‘Love me’ to the cashier, and got ignored for it. Huixx did a sultry erection worthy, Vegas bona fide, Pussycat Dolls would-be-so-fucking-proud, lap dance for some guy and Leo stepped up to the plate and delivered an equivalent on a lady.
1.40am: We celebrate with a round of champagne and I do another round of peach martini and a blowjob. I am at 14 and going strong, despite trying to gag at the toilet bowl.
1.45am: LB and I draw our faces with markers.
It seemed like a cool idea then to have the numerical figures 31 streaked across my cheeks. It’s amazing what level of degradation alcohol can subject you to.
2.00am: I end off with a lychee and peach martini because I am a pussy and struck off 3 of the other remaining killer drinks in the list using dares. I am at 16 drinks. I pat myself for this mediocre achievement.
Over dinner today, the girls told me that I did either a flaming Lamborghini or a flaming AK47 somewhere along the line before we left for Butterfactory. Apparently, I am not as sober as I thought I was and I wasn’t just dreaming I had it.
The magic number is now 17.
2.30am: We head to Butterfactory.
The guys continued their round of dares but I secluded myself from all the laughing and snapshots and plastered myself by the bar with Leo. The thing was that the group was so huge, half the time I didn’t really know what was going on and I would hear them cheering as if they caught a leprechaun.
2.50am: I do a peach martini with Niner and Leo - which was suspiciously more like just a full shot of vodka. I cringe my face to show my displeasure to no one in particular.
3.10am: We arrive at Zouk’s Wine Bar.
3.30am: I get a tray of sour plum shots and Jerm gets a tray of apple shooters. I do five more shots to end the night at 23.
That was more than enough to clear the list (inclusive of the dares) but I had a mild reservation for an all out conquest because I had to wake up early for an event on Saturday. And while most of them were blessed with the luxury of sleeping in, I had a pre-set alarm ready to wake me at 10am.
3.45am: Almost everyone completes their list or are at least just a couple of drinks shy. Reznor is the only one that has about 10 drinks remaining after factoring in all the dares. I frown at him to show my disapproval for his performance.
He now officially owes us ALL dinner.
4.00am: We draw pictures of penises on our cards to signify our completion and subsequent survival of what initially looked like a kamikaze nose dive to the liver transplant ward. LB draws a tiny one for mine.
Girl: “Oh, why is yours so tiny?”
Me: “Maybe cos it is.”
Girl: “Is yours really this size?”
She spaced her fingers apart by an inch to mimic the length LB drew on my card.
Me: “That’s only on the good days.”
Somewhere along there, while we were getting ready to cap the night at Orchard Towers, Niner got into a mild altercation with some guy who I think accused him of dropping his sausage. Then some girl came in and joined the fray of verbal profanities and her claim- I think-, was also an accusation on Niner for dropping her sausage.
I did the only logical thing that people who have 23 drinks in them would do; I searched the floor for two dropped sausages.
I was tired, but unwilling to surrender to fatigue. D dropped by to join us with Lydia. Then everything became a quiet acceleration of movements and reduced thought processing. I know I was standing in the Thai disco, with some dancer having her arms around me and L’cky dancing provocatively against me, and all I was thinking of, was the dread of dragging myself out of bed in 5 hours.
Then against character and utter disrespect for unfinished beers, I left briskly, escorted out by Lydia. Without a singular prompt of a farewell or accompanying text messages, I left the remaining guys at the club and hopped into a cab bound for home.
I earned it. No one else had more to drink than I did and I just wanted to sleep.