Let this not be a gravity-laden discussion on the stupid things that we do while we're drinking. We've been there and done that, and if you are my friend and I happen to be lucky enough to have your phone number, chances are you have been the personal recipient of my drunken stupidity, particularly via text message (which is my favorite).
Instead, let us discuss the stupid things that we sometimes allow ourselves to ingest that have the power to send us hurtling toward the nearest available barf receptacle, whether that be a toilet, a garbage can, or your own (or your nearest companion's) lap.
Everyone has some sort of protective mantra they recite before a night of imbibing in order to help protect themselves from paying pennance to the porcelain god at 3am. "Beer before liquor, never sicker." This one, I've found is irrelevant. On countless occasions, I have started with beer and switched to vodka halfway through the night and my stomach doesn't seem to know the difference.
Maybe you have to eat a certain amount or type of food after your drinking binge in order to stave off a particularly nasty hangover, or perhaps you never drink clear or dark alcohols. Whether or not your drinking ritual has any physiological basis, or if it is purely psychological, you never deviate from these rules because let's face it -- puking (especially when you're drunk) by and large blows. Chunks, in fact. But I digress.
My newest drinking rule is this:
Do not drink shots that are intended to taste like baked goods.
Seems like an obsure rule and is perhaps even ironic for me, given my gluttonous tendencies toward tasty sweet treats, but if you are a shot and your name is "chocolate cake" or "oatmeal cookie," and you want me to drink you and revel your faux-baked-good essence, expect me to kick you in the nuts. In fact, you might as well just go ahead and knock me square in the gut with a sack full of ball bearings so that I can blow chunks right there. At least that would save my tastebuds from being assaulted by the perniciously artificial, soul-killing, liquid concoction that is being held before me.
I have discovered throughout my life that I have a sort of aversion to fakeness, particularly with food. I loathe artificial sugar (no matter how much it claims to taste like real sugar, it never does), and I abhorrently detest foods that are disguised to taste like something else. For instance, Boca burgers (and their ilk) make me want to gag because it's basically chopped up vegetal matter that is engineered to taste like beef. To me that's fucking disgusting. I also see those slices or hunks of soy protein that are supposed to taste like cheese or hotdogs, and my face turns green.
So naturally, if you pour some Frangelico and Stoli into a shot glass and pair it with a sugared lemon slice and expect me jump for joy at the taste of chocolate cake (even if it actually DOES taste somewhat like chocolate cake), you may find yourself disappointed. Or covered in chocolate cake-flavored gastric juices.
I'm just sayin...
So yeah, after being burned now on separate occasions by two baked good-simulating shots, I have learned my lesson, and it fits so well with my already pre-established drinking rules, which basically boil down to one principle:
Keep it simple, stupid. I'll drink my vodka tonics, and should I find myself craving a cookie or a piece of cake, I'll go to a bakery.