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, Reply)