Fite 61 (Guest Writer: The Deleter)- Drown Yer' Mates 2: Alcoholic Boogaloo

Ladies and gentlemen.

Boys and girls.

It's time to...

DROWN YER MATES 2: ALCOHOLIC BOOGALOO

Hiyooo, folks! What a sight we've got for you today! A drinking contest for the ages, in which man and beast and things I can't describe in my own words destroy their own livers for your entertainment! Please remember, illegal recordings of this event will prompt visits from the Zoofights Copyruffians, who will promptly remove your limbs and three generations of your family as per Mandate #4172. Please, remember the tragedy of the Wilcox family.

Now, let's go live to the action, at the King of Beasts tavern!

The eight contestants of this match are oblivious to the crowds of punters, bookies and hangers on that fill the tavern tonight, busy as they are getting utterly blotted in preparation for further drunkenness. Wheatley, unable to drink for himself, has enlisted the services of David Wulf to get him to the regulated Crunkness level in return for a crate of lemons. Permafrost the mammoth, Dark Pit and Wall are following suit, downing bottle after dark bottle of dodgy booze, whilst white mage Sarah, fallen angel Morgana and Phantomon are more reserved in their choices.

A cheer erupts from the crowd as the notorious Bat-Boxer-turned-musician-turned-Dj Pat Van Bat takes the stage. The muscly-armed mammal waves to the crowd, trying to ignore the crippling migraines of coke and vodka abuse, and begins to get his set ready.

Take your places, everyone.

LET'S GET READY TO RUMBUUUUUUUUHHHHHLLLLLLLL 

Our first drink of the night, inspired by the frozen countenance and manners of Permafrost the Mammoth, is usually prefaced with a question.

What killed the dinosaurs?

A HUGE punch bowl, wrought of iron, filled with ice-cold rum and croak and covered with a layer of frozen vodka. Our contestants are supplied with straws with sharpened diamond ends, allowing them to bore through the ice like their Inuit ancestors to get at the wonderful alcohol underneath. It's not a drink for the faint of heart.

Indeed, as the competitors grab their straws and begin to frantically stab at the ice, two of the competitors hesitate. However, Sarah only pauses briefly before grabbing her own straw and hacking away at the frozen covering of the first drink. Competitor two, however, has more of a problem.

"Guys?"

Wheatley rocks back and forth in his seat.

"Guys, I, um, I could use a bit of assistance? Anyone?"

No-one takes any notice. Permafrost has already reached the drink beneath the ice, and his apocalyptic gulps are soon followed by the more restrained efforts of the other competitors. Desperate to even BEGIN the damn drinking contest, Wheatley desperately swivels in his housing, trying to do something - ANYTHING - to get at the drink. His dependance on others is his downfall, and no-one seems charitable enough to help him. What, he despairs, can he possibly do?

Then he has a brainwave. A patented, genius, BRILLIANT idea that cannot possibly go wrong.

He suddenly jerks forwards, rolls right off the chair he's sitting on -

"Oi, can't have that, mate! Here!"

The coarse hands of David are Wheatley's salvation as David jams in Wheatley's straw and allows him to take a long, long drink from the pool of blackness. It's ice cold, and all but the frankly terrifying mammoth have had to stop at some points to prevent their mouths going numb. That goddamn mammoth. What is he planning even.

Eventually, the drink is finished. Wheatley groggily looks up at David.

"Cor, thanks mate. Wouldn't have known *hic* what I'd do without yah. I love you mate, I really do..."

Looks like he shouldn't have had that barrel earlier. Wheatley leans sideways, then leans some more, then a bit more, and then drops off the table and rolls...

Right out of the bar door. And although our judges admire the Intelligence Dampening Sphere's desire to keep those doggies movin', this is definitely illegal in some state somewhere.

Looks like it's time for our next dri

Oh god

The roof is

The tables

Why god why

"Wotcha, losers! A little bird told me you were having a drinking contest! I killed it for lying, then paradropped from 3000 feet to check it out myself!"

Saxton Hale throws a muscly arm around Dark Pit's shoulder, cracking the angel's shoulders. He doesn't seem to care.

"Well, looks like I got here just in time! This competition needs to MANN UP. And thankfully, this scraggly little weed here gave me an idea! A drink to defeat all drinks!"

Saxton produces, from somewhere on his person, a barrel of...

Dark Pit's entrant, the Halestorm is made by squeezing an alligator into a glass, and then beating the result into submission. It bites, it fights, and it may cause hairs to grow on your chest, regardless of gender.

The contestants are suitably wary of the drink, even as Saxton rockets away on a jetpack. Who dare take first quaff?

"Fuck it, you cowards. MONGOOOOLIIIAAAAA"

David is the first to the barrel, grabbing a flagon and dragging it through the smoking substance. He raises it to the beak of his mask, and takes a deep, deep drink.

The Halestorm promptly punches him in the throat.

KO

It takes a while for the attendants to drag the unconscious loser away and water down the Halestorm enough to let the other competitors drink their share.

Promptly, so as to cover up the embarrassing failure of the past two competitors, the next drink is wheeled out.

The Seventh Circle, Morgana's drink, is meant to represent sin. Now, sin can mean a lot of things. It can mean stealing, lying, hurting, a thousand things. Our Alcoholmancers, however, have all been busy watching Bad Boys and other shitty cop movies, and thus somehow distilled sex and drugs into these tiny pink glasses, the contents of which are mixed by a blender hooked up to a Lambo engine. Wonderful stuff.

Yeah, this is the drink where everyone gets wacky. As soon as they're downed, Sarah bursts into giggles at absolutely nothing. Phantomon floats over to Permafrost, wide-eyed, and begins pawing at his hariy flank.

"I CAN TOUCH YOU," the Digimon screams at the ancient beast. "IT''S LIKE YOU'RE REALLY THERE!"

Permafrost seems very tolerant of this. In fact, it must be drunk, because the damn thing wouldn't let ANYONE touch him when he came in. The mammoth stares at the middle distance, letting Phantomon continue to paw at it like an interactive museum exhibit.

Morgana stares at the ceiling, reciting a nursery rhyme in Enochian with a voice that a million singers would kill to have. Dark Pit and Wall stare at Morgana. They're, like, not even hiding it.

"Sweeeeeet cans," mutters Dark Pit far too loudly.

"Totally, duuuude," responds Wall. "Like, I'd just like to get up close, like, reeeaaaaalll close, so close you can smell her, y'know what I mean, right, right..."

Wall appears to be sliding down his wall like molasses down a kitchen tile.

"And then I'd, I'd, I'd stick my,,, what was it, nose, ears, chin got eyes... Damn, I lost it, can, can someone... someone help me out here..."

Ungraciously, Wall hits the floor of the bar.

"I can't feel my toes... Zzzzzzzz"

KO

Wall wins the "Honest Lightweight Award" at least.

The next drink is in memory of our fallen comrade, David Wulf. Let us take a minute's silyeah fuck no let's get on with it.

This, ladies and gents, is the Nerve Staple - a sweet, deep purple drink made with a few lashes of that wonderful neurotoxin we call botulinum. Thankfully, our mixers have managed to find the correct dosage, so the worst thing the drink can do is produce a numbing effect in the body, the strength of which ranges from “relaxing” to “all of my limbs just fell asleep.” Stronger strengths are now available at discount from the bar!

Our heroes down these drinks without complaint, mostly because at this point they wouldn't be able to say no. And not mentally, either - they've probably forgotten what the word "no" means. Of course, combining these effects with a drink that numbs the body isn't a good idea at all.

To the delight and amusement of all present, Permafrost raises its trunk and begins to trumpet a merry jazz tune, much to the displeasure of a tired and grumpy Pat Van Bat. Come on, bat, swing it. Swing it like you mean it.

Morgana and Dark Pit are now sitting next to each other, blithering. I could have typed flirting, but that would have implied there was coherent thought going on here.

"Nooooo, you're hotter~"

"Naw, girl, you're, like, you're the hottest. Like, you walk in the room - "

"Oh, stop it. You're hotter than I am."

"No, yoooouuuu~"

Ugh, Christ, let's move on. Where's Sarah? Oh, she's riding on top of the mammoth. Okay then.

Phantomon, however, doesn't look so good.

Yeah, that's, like, the saddest Digimon, right there. Looks like the combination of alcohols has messed him up good. Isn't someone gonna help him?

Anyone?

No, wait, too late, there he goes.

KO

It's a shame Phantomon dropped out so quickly. We've got his drink up next! Maybe he could tell us what -

It's a Long Island Iced Tea.

This disappointment is lost on the competitors, who down the drink with wild abandon. We go now to the perceptocameras involuntarily implanted in their minds (don't worry, they dissolve harmlessly!) to see what they're experiencing as they drink this...

This...

Oh.

Okay then.

So, um...

That's Hell.

Biblical Hell.

Who made this fucking drink? I swear, when I find them, I'm going to nail them to a wall, pull out their eyes -

...and then when they - huh?

KO

Sarah, being of a delicate disposition, is not accustomed to the sight of people in boiling lakes of fire. Also there was a shitload of alcohol in that. Shock and drunkenness has knocked her out.

Hey, at least it wasn't an allergy.

The atmosphere is really down. Dark Pit and Morgana are stunned by their experience, sitting at their tables, unmoving. (The mammoth doesn't seem to give a shit.) Thankfully, the next drink, suggested from the mind of our recently departed contestant, should help bring back some cheer. About the same time, Pat Van Bat finds THE perfect song for the moment.

The Iblitza is sugar incarnate, a condensed sugar elemental in a glass with way too much food colouring. Dentists cackle in its presence, with dollar signs in their eyes. Children faint. This drink was once famously used in a bombing raid in 1942 on London, resulting in mass cases of diabetes and rotting teeth. It's a weapon in a cup. Also, it's on the house! Everyone grab one!

This drink is downed quite quickly by all three contestants, and after a short while, the sugar high kicks in. There seems to be signs of life from the two humanoids! Namely, giggling and sharing of terrible jokes, most of which are so bad even the crowd's groans in horror cannot be printed. For Permafrost's part, he appears to have stolen the hat of a red-suited fellow and placed it on his head. It looks rather fetching.

But it's not enough! Bring on the next drink!

A popular beverage at Wall's workplace, the Tooth Rattler constantly vibrates in whatever receptacle it is held in. This includes your mouth. The drink can be tailored to the individual's taste - here, it's at a fairly mild strength, akin to having an electric toothbrush on every tooth. Stronger varieties can be ordered at the bar at a discount!

Permafrost, having larger teeth than most, downs the drink with ill complaint. However, Dark Pit and Morgana giggle at each other, taking turns to sip the drink and contort their vibrating faces into weird expressions. It's quite amusing, if you happen to be a chimp.

And one of these monkeys gets a bright idea!

"Hey, hey... sweetcheeks! Whatch thish!"

Dark Pit flies upwards...

And hits his head on a rafter beam, knocking himself out. Nice going, asswipe. You don't even GET a KO image for that one. Morgana, for her part, is too busy laughing hysterically to notice anything wrong.

KO

It's down to the last two competitors. Morgana, proud and determined (giggly and slumped) against the immovable Permafrost. Nothing seems to have fazed this mammoth so far, and judging by the flow of cash and the roars of the crowd, he looks set to be the favourite. But only this last drink will tell.

As Pat Van Bat plays the final record of the night, the final drink is brought in.

Ladies and gents, I'm not going to lie. The Avacadoom is fucking disgusting. It tastes as bad as it looks. But frankly, after making all those other drinks, everyone was absolutely trollied, and this was the best we could do. Plus, we think it reflects its mastermind really well.

Avocado sucks anyway.

Silence.

Both competitors take their bowls, Permafrost inserting his trunk into the gloop and drinking long and deep. It's awful. Flaying the skin from your back would be more fun. It's a torture test for the stomach. But it must be done, for whoever conquers this drink shall be crowned King (or Queen) of the Drinks. We just made that up as a reward. It's all to play for!

The drinks are finished. Morgana slams her bowl down with a grimace. Her eyes lock with Permafrost's.

She senses age behind the eyes, a timeless, broiling rage at being brought into a world without ice, a hot world of noise and chocking and annoyances it'd love to swat. The grinding glacier of that mind wears at the rock of her soul. She stares at the black, unblinking orbs, unable to look away, wondering what the massive mammal truly thinks...

What Permafrost is thinking is "I could use a nap."

KO

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls...

As cheers of victory and howls of rage erupt through the bar, as Pat Van Bat staggers off to scour away some more brain cells with drugs, and as Morgana stands on the table cheering in triumph, a familar figure picks up a bigass bottle of booze.

"Hey, who said this thing had to end?"

He's got a point. Bartender, I'll have what everyone else is having.

-FIN-