How many drinks does it take to get to the center of a Bad Ass pop?

One.

Two.

Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug……

18 months. I’ve been sober 18 months. Well, it’s actually 18 months and 4 days, as of today. And it feels pretty fucking good. Cuz I’m not built to drink. Or rather, I AM built to drink. A lot. A great deal. A whole bunch followed by a shot or 10. I don’t fuck around when I imbibe. Alcohol and I have a big, naked orgy baby, all night, all night long. Last call? Fuck you. I got beer in the car so I can drink on the ride home where I have more drinks waiting patiently to be drunk. If there are no more drinks, I will go on a late night search for somewhere or someone with a bottle of Captain Morgan’s (shout out to my hunting partner, Mike Hustla). I am a binge drinker extraordinaire. I have no sense of “too much”, no cut off valve, no reason to stop. The only drink that’s a good idea is the NEXT drink. “Let’s go out for a drink, Frank”.

What do you mean by “A drink”? Do you mean ONE drink? Is there such a thing as ONE drink? Yes, I order ONE drink at a time. Typically. Unless there is a drink special. Like for the next ten minutes it’s 2-4-1 shots. Because if that’s the case, I will have 4 please. Don’t go far because I might order more. I mean, what am I, some kind of fucking pussy? I think not.

I’ve been drinking since I was 12 years old. I don’t remember the very first drink but I do recall the first public place I ever drank. It was a little place called “The Zoo Bar”, directly across the street from the National Zoo in Washington DC. This little dive bar was widely known for serving pretty much anyone who had money to pay for their drinks. You could draw a smiley face on a napkin with the words, “I am 18″ and you were solid. So I went there one night with a much older friend of mine, Andy, and these 2 girls he knew. I believe he might have been 16 at the time, but I’m not sure. The girls were at least 15. What was I doing with them? I have no idea. But Andy was like a big brother to me and, much like Big Kev would do later in life, introduced me to things I’d never have found on my own. Thank God for the people who corrupted me. Anyway, we go to The Zoo Bar and get a table. Now, this was way back in the day when it was still 18 to drink in many states. So you could look a lot younger and they didn’t card you. I mean, I was 12 and looked at least 9, so I’m not surprised that when I ordered a pitcher of Michelob they looked me up and down, paused for a moment and said, “How many glasses?”.

And so it began.

However many pitchers later we were fucking TRASHED. I mean, I probably had all of 3 beers, if that, and I was hammered. We were drunk in the middle of DC and I was 12. This would pretty much be a recurring theme throughout my life. Drunk in a strange place with strange girls and using poor judgement. Instead of going home Andy and I decided we were going to stay over with the girls. One of their moms was apparently away and we could have a sleepover. I’m not sure what I told my mom. I might very well have called and told her the truth. She was um, flexible with the rules. Basically I didn’t have any. (Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m not good with other people’s rules to this day. I’m ok with MY rules. As long as everyone follows them and I don’t have to.) So we go back to this apartment and set up camp. By “camp” I mean we set up blankets for all of us to sleep on the living room floor. Now, this is where things get weird for a 12 year old (particularly one who stayed a virgin til age 18). We slept boy, girl, boy, girl with me being the boy betwixt the two ladies. But we didn’t actually sleep.The girl on the outside started making out with me. Now I’m 12, drunk, in the middle of DC, in a strange apartment making out with a strange 15 year old girl.

I fucking RULE!

It was awesome. At that age I’d only kissed a few girls and NEVER one that much older than me. Plus she was hot (note: at age 12, “hot” is relative to if she has boobies or not). Anyway, she’s making out with me and suddenly I feel the other girl touch my hand. I’m EXTREMELY confused but I’m drunk so at least I’m not nervous. I get more confused when she pulls my hand over and starts to move it…

DOWN HER PANTS!

I’d never fingered a girl before that moment. It was a 12 year olds version of a 3-way. This went on for who knows how long and eventually it just fizzled out. I was walking on clouds and couldn’t wait to tell Andy. The girls went in the bathroom to giggle and chat so Andy and I went in the kitchen. I told him what happened and, I shit you not, he said, “Let me smell your finger”. I had no clue why he’d want to do that but I let him. He couldn’t believe his ears, er, nose. “GODDAMN!” He beamed like a proud poppa and slapped me on the back. Having absolutely no idea why my finger odor would elicit such a response, I just said, “Yeah, goddamn.” He started to ask me another question when the girls came and lured us back to our makeshift orgiastic lovenest. We snuggled into our respective places, both girls heads on my shoulders. I’d died and gone to heaven. Barely starting puberty and I was a fucking STUD! Not exactly sure why, but I just knew I was. Moments later I felt into what may have been the deepest slumber of my young life.

In the morning I woke up with my first official hangover. It would be the first of thousands of epic hangovers. But this one was unique, because it was my first. A pounding head, a queasy tummy and a stinky finger together thrust me into a new phase of my life. The drinking years. I went to the bathroom to pee before Andy and I hit the subway and did the commute of shame back to Maryland. After I peed for about 20 straight minutes I washed my hands then glanced into the mirror.

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Jesus CHRIST! I was screaming. Something was wrong with my face. I was disfigured, bruised, battered, dying of some strange disease. It must be from the drinking. Or the kissing. Or that MOTHERFUCKING STINKY FINGER! Andy and the girls came running into the bathroom where I was just about in tears. They were also in tears and for a second I almost passed out. Suddenly I realized that they were in tears from laughing hysterically and I looked back into the mirror. When my panicked, bloodshot, 12 year old eyes finally came into focus I realized what was so funny…they’d drawn all over my face in magic marker.

It was like face paint on a warrior who’d gone into battle armed only with a few sprouting pubes, a heart for adventure and the occasional wet dream.

Thus ended a rite of passage, if you will, into manhood, experienced by every male at some point in his life…my first official night of drinking.

NOTE: This is the first in a series of stories chronicling the 20 plus years of drinking that ended 18 months ago. If you want the BEST Bad Ass Frank drinking stories, listen in this Tuesday night and hear them live on The Bad Ass Frank Show. 8pm PST.