AFFotD’s Official Guide for an Appropriately Insane American Weekend

“It’s Friday, Friday, Heroin between my toes.”

~Rebecca Black

America loves the weekend in the same way that an alcoholic loves unemployment- when you do it right, sure, you might be hurting down the road, but it’s still the best situation you can imagine yourself in at any given time.  The weekend is a magical time where you can throw caution in the wind, cut loose, and (internally) laugh at people stuck working in the service industry.  In a study by AFFotD researchers (you can usually spot them by their long, white beards being in such stark contrast to their American flag leather jackets) we found that 95% of all alcohol related puking is a direct result of the weekend (the other 5% is attributed to sadness.  Just so much sadness.)

Unfortunately, many Americans don’t know how to properly celebrate the weekend, simply stumbling around asking stupid questions like, “Should I have a beer?” or getting punched by AFFotD staffers after they say, “Well I should get to bed fairly early, those estate sales aren’t going to find themselves!”  That’s why we’re here to tell you how to be irresponsible American in the most effective way possible.

Stand back, and prepare for the knowledge bomb.

AFFotD’s Official Guide for an Appropriately Insane American Weekend

So it’s the weekend.  You’ve just sufficiently emptied your numerous work flasks, and are stumbling to the nearest public transit stop.  Maybe you’re mumbling to yourself, maybe you’re making racist comments about one of those ethnicities people don’t care enough about to get really worked up about (here’s looking at you, Filipinos).  Either way, you’re becoming acquainted with the one thing work-day-drinking Americans have in common with scuba divers- decompression.

A topic exhaustively discoursed by Thom Yorke.

At this point you need to go home.  Get some food in you.  A rookie mistake is to start off with 8 shots and crash by midnight.  Remember, corporate America hates you and your sleeping habits.  Sure, you’d like to be able to sleep until 11 to ward off the inevitable hangover each Wednesday, but “the man” tells you that you have to go to work by a certain time.  Yes, it’s bullshit…but that’s why the weekend is here.  The weekend is your way to tell corporate America, “fuck you, I get to sleep in tomorrow, I’m going to do whatever I want you’re not my real dad!”  Yes, you won’t technically be getting any more sleep than you get during the week if you’re passing out at 5 in the morning,  but that’s why cocaine was so popular in the 80’s.

Once you get a solid food base lining your stomach (preferably something that won’t look too disgusting on the way up) you’re ready to get your crew together and paint the town red, white, and blue.  Now, on Friday nights, there is no shortage of places to go, depending on your preferred drinking venue and your acknowledgement that anywhere you go that serves alcohol will be balls crowded by 10PM.  It doesn’t matter what you’re into, it will be balls crowded, you just need to accept that.  You like bars that serve only Hamm’s and feature transvestite karaoke?  (Somewhat ironically) balls crowded.  You want to go to a bar called “Balls Crowded”?  (Fittingly) balls crowded.  Do you just want your damn beer and are sick of hearing us use the term “balls crowded”?  Well tough shit, it’s a fun phrase to say.

Artist’s rendering of American bars on Friday night

The crowdedness of American bars serves an important purpose.  While it allows the single members of society to hit on members of the opposite sex unsuccessfully as many times as possible, it also uses the fine institution of peer pressure to ensure everyone is drinking.  Especially those Americans who are more introverted or uncomfortable with crowded spaces—the only reason drinking to mask your fears and force yourself to feel artificially comfortable isn’t an Olympic sport is because other countries were getting tired of America winning all the medals for it every year.

So wherever you end up, the following things will happen at some point during the course of your Friday night.

Thing one:  You will not sleep on your own bed (or remember falling asleep)

Any weekend night that you wake up in a place that you would willingly sleep on during the week is a failure.  This advice is not to encourage blackout hook ups or paratrooping (laaadies), when we say “not your bed” we mean “literally anywhere that will make you say ‘…the fuck did I do?’ as soon as you wake up.”  This can include futons, a couch at a friend’s apartment, your own floor, a hobo camp underneath the freeway, a park bench, any and all of these are places you should wake up as the sun rises to mock your intense, intense hangover.

Thing two:  You will drink enough that, were you a less seasoned drinker, you would say something like, “Ugh, I am never drinking that much ever again.”

We all remember the first night where we got painfully, sloppily drunk.  If you’re anything like us, you were eight years old and walked in on your parents having aggressive sex, at which point they stuck a bottle of bourbon to your mouth while whispering “drink to forget, drink to forget,” to you.  Or like, a teenage party or something.  Whatever.  Either way, when you woke up, you no doubt placed a trembling hand on your temples as you groaned, “Ugh, I’m never doing that again.”

Now, much like a serial killer with a hint of a conscious, you may say something like “this is the last time I ever do that” but deep down, you know you will, and by the twelfth or so victim hangover, you just accept that it’s a part of you, and it’s going to keep happening, again and again.

But, uh, anyway, you’re going to wake up the next day with that same “feeling like death” hangover.

Thing Three:  You will do something to be embarrassed about, but will feel no shame

Shame is for 1950’s Germany and people who purchased more than one album by Creed.  Shame is not for the intrepid American who causes a scene by pissing in a bar glass.

By this point, if you’ve done everything right, it’s Saturday.  You have a hangover, your friends are mad at you, you have no idea where you pants have gone (seriously, when did that happen?) so it’s as good of a time as any to just head on home.  As you hobble to catch a bus and hope that you still have your keys on you, now is as good of a time as any to sit down and solemnly think about the path your life is leading.  You might want to do some soul searching.

Just kidding, you’re going to pour yourself a stiff drink, take an angry nap, and get ready to do the same thing, only starting earlier.  Bars start to fill up much earlier on Saturdays.  You can find crowded places to drink at, like, noon.  But just because you can go to a bar at noon, doesn’t mean you should, because that’s irresponaephigahip a aphiag hey stop it what the fuck are you apgiehagp ahpvba,ah;pgae

Sorry about that, some asshole in a “Women’s Christian Temperance Union” shirt broke in and started typing during that last sentence.  You absolutely should start drinking as soon as possible—most Americans are unaware that the sun ever goes down on a Saturday because they’re already blackout belligerent drunk by 3 in the afternoon.

By the time Sunday rolls around, your bank account should be depleted, you should have befallen some sort of grievous bodily harm, and you should have irrevocably ruined at least one of your close friendships.

At that point, all that’s left to do to cap off your weekend is to stumble into the bar nearest to your home and order a bloody Mary.  You might not remember anything of what you did over the weekend, but it’s at least more convenient than drinking the sadness away at work.