In the pursuit of exhilaration, some folks like to gamble. These are the types of individuals who get their thrills by mountain climbing, skydiving, or marriage. In my personal opinion, however, if you are a person seeking the highest level of adrenaline ecstasy, few things can match the charge you get by embarking upon a brutal booze bender in a Third World nation.
Now, anyone can buy a ticket to the Dominican Republic and spend a week sipping Margaritas on the beach at a Sandals resort, but it takes a special breed of drunkard to get positively pie-eyed in the red light districts of Santo Domingo, then brave an illegal border crossing, all the while avoiding UN military peacekeepers, marauding bands of brigands, and voodoo witch doctors, just to consummate a promised tryst with a Haitian chamber maid in Port-au-Prince.
This particular type of bacchanalian is called the Third World Inebriate.
So what makes the Third World Inebriate different than the common lush? First, the common lush is a creature of routine: you can usually find him sucking down shells of a cheap domestic at his local dive bar. The Third World Inebriate is quickly bored by repetition, and if his chosen establishment is not the scene of a drug deal gone bloodily awry, or does not offer a front row view of the ruling junta being thrown out of office by an ambitious military upstart, he will usually try to find a more happening venue to get tanked in.
Another difference is the company he keeps. The lush is most likely to find himself drinking with a retired welder trying to suppress the memory of his fifth failed marriage, an unemployed biker contemplating a career change into the potentially lucrative field of methamphetamine distribution, and a married hairdresser trying to seduce the bartender. The Third World Inebriate will likely be sharing his table with a couple of heartbreakingly beautiful bargirls, a former French Foreign Legionnaire, a couple of local longshoreman who occasionally moonlight as high-seas pirates, some British military contractors spoiling for a fight, and the madam of the establishment who looks an awful lot like an Asian Marilyn Monroe (post-mortem, that is — bar girls don’t age that well).
The following morning, the common lush might wake up face-to-face with the matronly hairdresser — or if he’s unlucky, the unemployed biker. The Third World Inebriate is more likely to crack his eyes open at sunrise and smell the fresh Pacific breeze rolling in off Pattaya Beach through the silken jet black hair of a Siamese nymphette that did things to him that he could not possibly have imagined, despite possessing a highly overactive imagination. He will have a memory he will cherish for the rest of his life, even if he has forgotten the nymphette’s name by lunch, which is understandable since he couldn’t even pronounce it when sober.
Few possess the character traits required for a Third World Inebriate. Many try to advance too far in the field too fast, and find themselves driven insane by absinthe, killed by brigands, involuntarily caught up in the sexual slavery trade, enduring a lengthy incarceration in the Philippine penal system, or maimed by a case of genital crabs the size of freakin’ tarantulas.
With a bit of patience, a lot of hard work, and a liver made of Kryptonite, one can not only survive in the field, but thrive. Here are some tips to get you started.
1. Begin Your Training Early and Train Hard. Black-belt Third World Inebriates start drinking very young in life. Rumor has it that by the age of 18 months Aussie Alcoholic Jacob Brees, known as