May 02, 2005
I know very few people who DON'T have an entertaining story to tell about getting drunk on Southern Comfort. That stuff is sweet enough to go down like children's cough syrup but strong enough to bring a tall dog to his knees. I can't stand to even SMELL it anymore.
I think I was 18 years old at the time when I and my friends Steve and Ben bribed a black guy in Sandfly, Georgia, to buy us some booze. They got beer. I got a pint of Southern Comfort.
I have only a very dim recollection of what all transpired that night, but I DO remember drinking that entire pint of sweet whiskey. I became as drunk as a barnyard owl. I puked a couple of times. Gravity became my sworn enemy.
Steve had a neat little rec-room in his attic, and we could get there via a ladder in the garage, so we never had to disturb his parents. We decided to spend the night up there, but I had to piss first.
I walked into the back yard, wrapped my arm around one of those old T-Bar clothesline posts and commenced to pee. But I lost my balance, started twirling around that post backward in a counter-clockwise rotation and almost augered myself into the ground before I ended up lying flat on my back and pissing straight up in the air.
I pissed all over myself.
Steve thought it was funny. Ben thought it was funny. Hell, even I thought it was funny at the time. What I DIDN'T think was funny was the fact that I was too drunk to climb the ladder to the attic room by myself and nobody wanted to help me because I was soaking wet with piss.
I finally made it up there somehow and managed a few hours of dream-tossed sleep. I awoke the next morning with The Hangover of the Gods and I smelled like a homeless man marinated in asparagus piss. I managed to crawl back down the ladder and puke a few times in Steve's back yard. That Southern Comfort sure tasted better going down than it did coming back up again.
I didn't do much more than sleep and drink fruit juice for the next two days. I was a sick puppy. I tasted Southern Comfort every time I burped, and that was a lot. I felt as if someone had turned me inside-out and implanted broken glass under my skin. I felt as if I had been wrapped in barbed wire and then rolled down a hill. I was NOT a well man.
I have never experienced the desire to taste that stuff again since that night. Once burnt, twice learnt for me. That was a lesson that hung with me for a long, long time.
Have YOU ever gotten drunk on Southern Comfort?
I like those little bottles of DARK chocolate filled with SoCo........then I'm not drunk....I just blew my diet.
Played quarters with Southern Comfort, that's how smart I am, after the fifth round, all 109 pounds of me was southern FRIED. I collapsed into a heap under the table. My lifeless body was lifted and gently placed in the back yard for all to admire. This was in November and of course it did begin to snow. HARD. I awoke in pain several hours later, only to discover a fellow dumb drunk was frantically searching for me in the snow storm. The idiot was stepping on my hand (yes work boots) but was too "comfort"able to realize it, calling after me in his own special language. This touched off a series of barely audible arguments, blind fighting, etc. Finally, I was able to enunciate "I'm down here morons." Then a bright idea, let's sober Lori up by letting her ride home in the back of a pick up truck. My buddies propped me up against the back door and ran like hell before my mother could open it. 3 day hang over. Ass whipping. The whole 9 yards.
Can't stand the smell now either.
Nope .... did it with YUKON JACK.
Yep.... my dad's favorite and thought I'd try it once. OUCH .... vomiting and feeling sick for the entire next day, but don't remember much else about it... except was at my dad's visiting and wouldn't admit my agony for a million dollars.
On of the other sweet drinks that will blindside you is Sloe Gin. I witnessed a few Navy and Marine folks, that thought Velvet Hammers had a cool name, down that stuff for a few hours, and feel prefectly normal until they stood up. The action then is one sweeping arc up and back as they went down like a tree.
the night i lost my virginity, i was smashed on southern comfort. happy ending tho- i married the guy and we're still together after 37 yrs-never drank the stuff again tho!
Hell, back where I come from, Southern Comfort was the standard "first drunk" beverage. Probably because it was sweet and packed a wallop.
Ahh, what memories. (Gack)
Good 'ol SC was a staple at just about every "camping trip" I went on in my youth. Got good and wrecked on that stuff many times.
Still love it. Even if it does taste as good on the return trip.
Ur.. make that doesn't taste as good...
Never got drunk on the stuff myself, but got a few girlfriends hammered on it. The thing about SC is you know what you are doing and you remember it in the morning, you just get drunk as hell.
Loved that shit as an underage drinker. Usually it was Old Milwaulkees (I think it was around $3-3.50 a twelver back then). But if one of us had some more coin (usually pilfered from our mother's purse or stolen paperboy money (idiots used to leave it in their mailboxes on Fri. nights)), we would splurge on a pint or even a fifth of the Southern Comfort. Got rippin' liquored on that shit many times. Don't think I ever puked though.
Now, Beefeater Gin, that' s another story. 25 years later, I still can't even tolerate the piney scent of gin. Make martinis w. vodka, please.
great stories, lol.
i actualy have had a pint of the stuff in the cabinet for a few months now, and havent got around to drinking it.... whats good with it??
me and a buddy were working on his 71 LTD late one night in my dads pole barn, and we come across an unopened bottle of jim bean, left in the car by his brother. it was all downhill from there, but we managed to kill a liter of that shit in about 3 hours. i woke up on a creeper under that sumbitchin big ol car and my buddy geno had collapsed on the hood. hate that shit now
Not only did I practically live on Southern Comfort for about three months, I managed to stay drunk for near a week on it.
Oddly enough, I still enjoy it.
The only way Southern Comfort gets by my defense system anymore is a shot with lime juice in it. The bartender called it a copperhead. I figure 10-12 of those and you would go looking for a snake to bite. As for Jim Beam that stuff tastes good but takes too much to have any effect.
Freshman year of college, broke my collarbone and took a chip out of my kneecap, black eye and chipped a tooth. The clavicle needed a tens unit two years later to actually knit.
Almost died that night too.
How'd I do it?
Will never drink Sothern Comfort again. Can't even smell it.
Max beat me to it: Yukon Jack. It's been, oh, 26+ years since my "incident", and I still dry heave thinking about it.
1979, 17 years old, skiing in Baraboo, WI with my buds. We were Bacardi rum drinkers, at least for that trip (we did mature before HS graduation to drinking Cuervo and Tang).
Several of us were into more than one bottle of rum and various other beers and mixed drinks at the lodge bar (apres ski, you know) when another ski dork in the bar says, "Hey, I've got a bottle of Yukon Jack in the room!"
We were, like, "Great! ... What's Yukon Jack?!"
Up we go, and I belted 5 shots of Yukon Jack, nestling them on top of about 15 shots of rum, and whatever else.
I was ... sick. Missed the rest of the ski trip, so to speak. Ah, the good old days.
My death drink is 151 rum. When I was stationed in England in the AF we used to drink it in the barracks then run to the club and drink it all night there. Well one time we got especially loaded and did the technicolor yawn a few times on the way to the club, even once in front of the chow hall. Needless to say it was a night that set a new low. Later at the club a friend of mine showed me how potent the 151 was. He filled a glass and set it on fire. It was like the Eternal Flame. Haven't touched rum since.
Back in college we did boiler makers with southern comfort. Pour a beer and drop the shot (glass and all )in the glass and guzzle it down.
Probably one of the worst hangovers I've ever had.
Only jaegermeister gave me a hangover as bad.
My father drank Southern Comfort when I was younger. I tried the stuff once before he quit the sauce. But the worst ever was the moonshine my uncle made.That shit would kill your ass. A mason jar full would get you drunk AND you could set shit on fire. Best stuff in the world.
Southern Comfort and I are not Friends anymore! We danced, we played, we flirted, I PAID!
Out of a tea cup.......
About 2/3rds of a Half Gallon.
Bill, Bob, and Joyce couldn't believe how much I drank without any affect, until I tried to stand up. Somebody turned up the gravity and I went down hard. I spent the night driving the Porcelein Bus praying to Ralph.....
Wanna talk about SDO (Sudden Drunkeness Onset)?
Everclear screwdrivers. Around 19 years o' age I pounded 6-7 LARGE ones. Everyone else was nattering on about how wasted they felt. "Bah, this stuff isn't that strong", I said. Then I got up to take a whiz.
BAMMMM!!! Upon rising from my easychair, my peripheral vision turned inky black. Suddenly, the periphery was central. Spinning sensation led to complete blackness and I hit the floor like a white man in a black man's boxing gym.
I came back around about 8 hours later. My head in a puddle of water and my pants wet in a most strategic place.
The water was from the icebag that had been originally placed on the very large knot on my head. Seems my noodle hit the brick in front of the fireplace on my way down.
The wetness in mi pantelones was from never making it to the bathroom for that whiz.
The best part? My girlfriend was asleep next to me in the bed. What a trooper.
Was in the USAF, B-52 bombardier stationed at KI Sawyer in Upper Michigan in the early '80's. We had a big readiness exercise, did well, and the Squadron CO declared a weekend of camping and relaxing at a State Park nearby. We assembled there, mostly with tents, but I had a small travel trailer.
First night, we BBQ, get fairly well oiled, and as night falls, the CO declares Drinking and Singing. He was fair on the git-box, so he led off. He also broke out a CASE of Yukon Jack. There were 25 or so chairs in the circle around the campfire, and the first bottle of Jack went around about 3 times. The second about twice, and by the time we got to the end of the case, the bottles weren't making it 1/3 way around, and we were opening them two at a time (doubleheaders).
After the case, some of us skinny-dipped in the lake, but I decided to swerve into bed at 0130. My good wife put a pee bucket and a puke bucket out, but when I got up in the morning with the Mother of All hangovers, somehow, I had pissed in the coffeepot and puked in the kitchen sink.
The camp host tried to 86 me, but the CO stood his ground for me and I somehow made it thought the day to the more subdued festivities of that evening.
Haven't had a sip of Jack since then. The worst case of vertigo I ever had, including the induced vertigo to the Bairney Chair used to test fliers for the ability not to get airsick.
Twice when I was a teenager. I am like you, I can't even stand the smell of that crap. I'm glad that I have not had to make any drinks at work with that stuff. People probably would not tip so well if they saw you blowing chunks.
In my depraved youth, I used to drink Southern Comfort mixed with Mountain Dew. Try and imagine how sweet that was.....
When I was about 14 or 15 I wrote all of my brother's best friend's Senior Government papers. As a reward we went to the qualifications for the Indy 500. We drank a 5th of Southern Comfort. I was so drunk, I passed out, only to wake long enough to piss, then would pass out again. I puked everything I had eaten for what seemed like two days. To this day, more than 25 years later the smell, taste, and thought of whiskey, bourbon, or scotch makes me ill. If I try to drink whiskey I will immediately puke. I cannot even eat the Jack Daniels soaked food at TGI Fridays. Southern Comfort is distilled by Satan.
Oops. I read Bane's story in the post above before I read this.
Yes, been there, done that, same basic experience. First serious drunk was on a fifth of Southern Comfort and I was sick for the next 20 hours. Still can't bring myself to drink more than a sip or two of the stuff twenty five years later.
I've never had a problem with Southern Comfort; in fact, I've had plenty of good times with it. Jagermeister is a whole other story for me, though.
Being underage, I had a buddy pick up a fifth of Jager for me the night before I went camping with some friends. I put it in the freezer overnight, and the first thing I did when we got to the campsite was to toss it in the mini-fridge of the cabin. After deciding that the contents of our keg (Keystone Light, I believe) tasted like watered-down horse piss, I cracked open the Jager, still in the paper bag. Mixers? Glass? Hell no. I just proceeded to wander around the campsite, taking random pulls off of the bottle. I don't remember a whole hell of a lot afterwards, except for getting into a fight and puking on the doorstep of the cabin.
I woke up the next morning, covered in bruises and vomit, with the start of a 3-day hangover. I puked up everything up that I hadn't the night before, then I kept puking till there was nothing left but bile, and then still kept going. I think my body was inventing new fluids to puke up, because I just kept going and going. Finally, after at least an hour of that, I felt well enough to grab a bottle of water. Turns out I couldn't even keep that down. I just sat there all morning, attempting to drink water, and earning the nickname "Old Faithful," as I kept throwing up every 20 minutes or so. I found my whiskey flask laying empty on the ground (apparently, I'd consumed that at some point during the night), and there was maybe a half-inch left in the bottle of Jager (which, somehow, I'd managed to replace the cap on and place in the fridge).
It wasn't until a few weeks later, though, that I was informed by my friends just how drunk I had actually been. Apparently, at some point during that fateful night, I got into an argument with a tree. And lost. I stood there for God only knows how long, repeatedly screaming "fuck you" at the tree, until someone approached me and kindly pointed out that my opponent was, in fact, a tree. I screamed back, "I don't care. This fucker's starting shit, and I'm gonna finish it!" before pulling a knife on the tree and prompting the evacuation of a 10-yard radius around me.
To this day, I can't stand the taste or smell of Jager, and I can't even eat black licorice because it reminds me enough of my distilled German nemesis.