You Know you are Done with Law School Finals When…

Wild Turkey 101 neat tastes watered down.

The liquor store clerk looks in your cart and says, “Woo! That’s gonna be some party!” And you think, “Party?”

It doesn’t bother you when you wake up with an empty wallet because all those bartenders and waitresses probably deserve that money more than you do and HOLY SHIT HOW THE FUCK DID I SPEND SO MUCH FUCKING MONEY?

Your hangover has a hangover.

Your binge drinking gets in the way of your benders.

You think it’s perfectly reasonable to waive the “a gentlemen never drinks before noon” rule so long as the gentleman in question is still up from the night before.

You sometimes misplace yourself.

You think the world revolves around you, especially when you lie down.

You reckon that returning an unfinished keg is right on par with your father watching you gettting your ass kicked by a mime.

Future generations will call you an urban legend.

You can’t say the word sober without making air quotes.

You know to put extra ice in your cocktail when you take a hot shower.

Contrary to popular opinion, you don’t drink all the time. You just enjoy having a few civilized night caps, day caps, afternoon caps and morning caps.

After eight drinks your “hugs” bear an uncanny resemblance to UFC take-downs.

The first thing you think when you can’t find your wallet is, “Great, now how am I going to buy beer?”

You use spearmint schnapps for mouthwash because it eliminates that whole spitting hassle.

You seem to think you can restore that classic car in your garage by drinking beer while staring at it.

Your dishwasher’s glassware-to-plate ratio is roughly eight to one.

You’re seriously considering learning how to play the bagpipes because, hey—nobody gets more free drinks than bagpipers.

You have ten ice cube trays in your freezer and they’re all empty.

You have made cocktails with ice chiseled from the inner walls of your freezer.

You inform the arresting officer that gravity is the only law you feel compelled to obey.

You’ve invented a Sesame Street drinking game so you can spend more time with your kids.

Your friends accuse you of “acting weird” whenever they meet you sober.

You want to rid the world of booze—one drink at a time.

You don’t call them birthdays, you call them “a-free-shot-at-every-bar-I-can-reach-in-the-next-24 hours-days.”

You try to buddy up to the arresting officer by offering him a drink from the open container between your knees.

Your first tree fort had a wet bar.

You like to think your friends call you a “big, fucking sponge” because you can absorb so much alcohol.

Your favorite dive is so dark you can’t tell when you’re blacked out.

You’ve stopped drinking, but only when you’re asleep.

You’ve stepped on your own fingers.

Uncontrollable vomiting, falling out of a tree and a heavily overdrawn bank account may very well be elements of “the most awesome weekend.”

All your character witnesses are in the drunk tank.

The cops set up a DUI checkpoint in your driveway.

You once woke up with a new job.

Your menage a trois fantasies include a bartender.

You’d never steal a fellow drunk’s drink, but you do occasionally “adopt orphans.”

You have to go to court to find out what happened.

You see nothing ironic in chasing your daily vitamins with a water glass full of whiskey.

You only drink socially, except when you’re alone.

You don’t need to hire a personal trainer to encourage you to start running because cops do it for free.

If a party runs out of booze, you sock the host and drink his nosebleed.

Interventions have become so frequent that you just leave the folding chairs set up in your living room.

You know how to say “Where are my pants?” in seven languages.

You got pissed off when you forgot whatever you were drinking to forget.

Your last Breathalyzer reading was “No Fucking Way.”

Your friends often substitute “Good night” with “Hey, you can’t sleep here.”

Your name is police code for Public Intoxication.

Your favorite drinking game is Do A Shot Every Time You Do A Shot.

Your idea of a seven-course meal is a six-pack and a pizza.

You brush your teeth with bourbon. It hasn’t helped cut down on cavities, but who cares?

You know heavy drinking makes you smarter because you can never remember doing anything stupid while blacked out.

You know you can use Jagermeister as cough syrup. And visa versa.

You have a sweet tooth for alcohol—in fact, your whole mouth likes it.

Your credit history is composed entirely of bar tabs.

You’re always shaking hands, even when there’s no one else around.

Your favorite bar is four blocks away — six blocks coming back.

You’ve filed assault charges against a coffee table.

When you’re out in the street, you are literally “out” in the street.

Your bed looks a helluva lot like a park bench, and your bedroom looks a helluva lot like a park.

You’ve only been drunk once in your life, and so far it’s lasted almost 30 years.

Growing-up means buying better booze, getting older means getting used to the cheap stuff again.

You miss the old days when you were younger than the cop that finds you sleeping in a dumpster.

You always finish your drinks because there are sober people in China.

When a cop asks, “Have we been drinking?” you reply, “Do you really think I’d drink with the likes of you?”

You play the same song 20 times in a row at top volume at three in the morning and are certain the neighbors don’t mind because, you know, it’s such a kick-ass song.

You watch Behind the Music and think “That’s really not that much alcohol.”

You forget how pants work.

You never blackout. You just take a lot of “loud vertical naps.”

You have never taken a drink of a non-alcoholic beverage without thinking, “Man, a splash of booze would fix this right up.”

Your paychecks are deposited directly into a bar’s bank account.

Lawn sprinklers are sometimes your alarm clock.

You like to stop for a drink on the way to the fridge to get a beer.

You suspect that water, taken in small quantities, isn’t all that dangerous.

You drink to forget you drink.

Beer is the reason you get up every afternoon.

The glass isn’t half empty or half full. It just needs to be topped off.

You’re not a hard drinker. It’s the easiest thing you do.

You like to have a drink between drinks.

2 for 1 is your lucky number.

You tried getting out of a DUI by putting a beer label on your arm and telling the cop you’re off the booze and on the patch.

The last words you remember each night are, “Hold my beer and watch this!”

You refer to your mouth as your “booze hole.”

You know that vodka is tasteless going down, but memorable coming up.

You only drink to get rid of hangovers, and sometimes it takes all night.

You know if you give up drinking you won’t actually live longer — it’ll just seem like longer.

You spend ninety percent of your paycheck on drinking and waste the rest.

You fell down two flights of stairs and didn’t spill a drop.

Booze may not be the answer, but it helps you to forget the question.

You got so drunk on St. Patrick’s day it seemed like every other day.

You can walk into a 7-11 at 2am, look at the cheese dog that’s been mutating on the grill since 8am and think, “Man, that looks tasty!”

You know liquor gets better with age, because the older you get the more you like it.

You drink to make other people appear cool enough to hang out with you.

One of your hobbies is sitting down and calculating exactly how much liquor your next paycheck would buy at the liquormart. Just out of curiosity, of course.

“Going out for a beer or two” sometimes means waking up in Vegas three days later.

Your roommates say good morning to you and you haven’t been to bed yet.

Your career is interfering with your drinking.

You get so drunk Bud Light starts tasting like beer.

You read this magazine until you fall asleep, then use it as a blanket.

You heard you get drunker at higher altitudes so you always drink on top of the dumpster.

You will eat a bug for a shot.


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