Bryan's shot glass resembled more of a cylindrical tube than a glass meant for consuming. Reason being, it held up to four shots! There were notches in the side off the glass that marked off the number of shots you were pouring. The shot glass was cleverly titled Mammoth by its makers. We all thought, idiotically, that it would be a good idea to try the "pyramid" as Bryan referred to it as. Meaning: one shot, then two shots, then three shots, then four shots, then three shots, then two shots, then the final shot. Simple math tells us that's 16 shots. Naturally we weren't going to finish these 16 shots, but the valiant effort was made nonetheless.
Important side note: we were young, 18 if i remember correctly, so this wasn't Belvedere or Grey Goose or any Vodka even remotely good enough to consume happily. No, we were low budget....we were drinking Popov on this night in question.
Frazier was the first to tap out, he made it halfway through the third shot and couldn't hold anything down anymore. Not because he wasn't capable of consuming 6 shots, but rather because Popov tasted like a fat man's sweaty asshole after a long bout with the buffet line. Bryan lined up the fourth shot for himself and I, and immediately after consuming it the delirium commenced.
Unfortunately i don't really remember too much after that point, but I do recall laying in my dew soaked front yard making "grass angels" with Frazier while Bryan laughed his ass off. No, not figuratively, literally. Bryan really laughed so hard that he fell square on his ass in that "drunk man" state that had his laughs seem as though he were gasping for air. Pointing emphatically at the foolery being displayed in front of him. We ventured back into the house; I dove onto the couch, Bryan called dibs on the recliner and Frazier....well, Frazier found a plastic waste basket and proceeded to make oral love to it the rest of the night.
The Devil:
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