I like to think of the whole experience as character forming
I was once round at a mate's house (poly days, for those of you old enough to remember polytechnics) only he was out and his 2 female flatmates were in. we started playing drinking games with a bottle of vodka. neither were especially special if you know what I mean but, frankly, neither was I (I'm dead sexy now btw) and I was sad and desperate and figured 2 girls one guy and a bottle of vodka ... must be onto a winner!

we went on all night, playing silly games, drinking more shots. I got drunk but you know what vodka's like neat, you just keep going. at about 7am I had still had no action (you begin to get a picture of what a sad shite I was as a student) when another bloke I know came round. By this time I was resigned to getting nothing out of this situation and this guy (names escape me) "rescued" me to the local greasy spoon. we laughed about it for months in a "yeah it's like they tied me down and fed me vodka all night" kind of way. I'm blushing remembering this btw.

2 years later I'm at a dinner in london and one of those same girls was there.
"do you remember the time we got really drunk on vodka" I say
"err, yeah, look that was water. erm. sorry" she says and turns away

well, I never spoke to her again, I can tell you

I was going to title this proof of the plebcebo effect but thought that would have given the punchline out a little early
(Freegan Bikefascist, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 17:34, 2 replies)

It also works if..
You do it the other way. Challenge a friend to sambuca shots. Fill your 8 up with water.
Hello Mr. Floor.
(bredstkcriminal, Sat 18 Sep 2010, 1:44, closed)

The bastard Swedes
Middle of the 1980s I lived in Uppsala for a 6 month assignment. Did some good work, designing microchips with some groups of Ericsson. Whenever we'd reached a milestone we'd all go out drinking, and there would come a time late in the evening when toasts would be drunk to all and sundry. I would invariably get knee-buckling drunk, turning into a whimpering and spewing hog before mewling quietly in the corner in a state of some disrepair.

Years later I discovered their trick. After the toast I'd lift the glass to my lips and throw the akvavit or whatever down my neck, feeling it warm me to the core. The tricky Swedish bastards with whom I was spending 10 hours a day would do the first (namely, lift the glass) but not the second (down the shot). Since I had already made quite some progress on the highway to drunkenness, I never noticed.

My poor liver. And if ever I develop oesophageal cancer, I'm going right over there to c them in the f.

Bastards!*

But at no time in my 40+, almost 50 years, on this planet, have I ingested drugs for recreational purposes (other than booze). I've lost friends to ODs, and my mother to a prescribed drug, so I'm on the anti side. Not that I judge those who want to get fucked up - that's their business. It's just not for me. I'm really just reading this QOTW, and alternately laughing and shaking my head at the circumstances some of the respondents get into. Good heavens...

* Actually, I had a brilliant 6 months.
(Large Hardon Collider Bah Bloody Humbug, Sat 18 Sep 2010, 3:31, closed)