Let me say this about that.

What is it about getting drunk that makes a guy fearless?  You can take a normal, rational human being, administer a six-pack of Budweiser, and all of a sudden you’ve got Attila-the-Hun wanting to kick your ass.  It’s like some magic formula that turns Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde.

It’s not the same with women.  Get a woman a little buzzed and she gets all warm and fuzzy.  But if you want to see a real transition along the lines of the aforementioned Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde scenario, get her really drunk.  I don’t know why, but when women get drunk, their pants must catch on fire because they can’t wait to get out of them.  Goodbye inhibition (and ‘good riddance’ as far as guys are concerned).

But with guys, getting drunk not only causes the dissipation of fear, it is also accompanied by the depletion of caution, rationality, judgement, logic, reason, and good common sense.  I know from where I speak, dear readers, because I have been down that dark road.  Let me give you an example:

My buddy Herb and I had stopped by a local tavern for a couple of ‘barley-pops’ after work.  It was a normal after-work thing to do.  Our intention, as always, was…    to have a couple of beers and go home.  But, as always, a time extension was rationalized and we drank for a couple of hours.  On this occasion, an extension of our ‘Happy-Hour’ was rationalized due to the passage of  “Hump-Day”  without an attack by Mexico. 

Sometime around ten o’clock that night, Herb and I stumbled out of the bar and into the parking lot.  We were finishing our ‘longneck Buds’ before departing homeward so that (technically) we would not be drinking and driving.  A young lady had exited the bar shortly after we did and was walking toward her car.  Suddenly, a Rastafarian looking guy in his mid twenties, ran up to the woman, snatched her purse and ran into a patch of woods adjacent to the tavern parking lot.

Here it was.   Laid out perfectly before a couple of drunk guys, was a scenario begging for a stupid response.  And, my pal Herb and I were perfectly suited for the task.  We had been drinking for three hours, we were drunk, and we were fearless.  Don’t worry, honey, we’ll get your purse back for you.

The woman started screaming like she had just been attacked by Freddy Krueger  with a chainsaw.  It was a little unnerving even to a couple of fearless drunk guys.  But undeterred, I grabbed my beer bottle by the small of the neck and gave chase to the light-fingered Rastafarian Raider.  I reasoned that my empty bottle of Bud had a distinct lethal advantage over a thief possessing a knife or a gun, or a black belt in karate.  As I ran after the guy into the dark woods, I yelled for the woman to call the cops. 

After having run, maybe twenty-five yards into the woods, I looked around for my ‘wing-man’, Herb, and he was nowhere to be found.  I called out to him to coordinate a flanking maneuver I felt would finally corral the bad-guy.

Shambo:  “Herb, where in the hell are you?”

Herb:  “I’m here in the parking lot with Candi.”

Shambo:  “Who the hell is Candi?”

Herb:  “She’s the woman whose purse was snatched.  I’m gonna stay here with her in case that guy comes back.”

Shambo:  “Come back?!?  What do you think he’s gonna come back for – her matching shoes?  Get your ass in here and back me up.”

By now, it was beginning to occur to me that I may have made a serious error in judgement.  I was in thick woods, so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and chasing an armed career criminal with only a beer bottle.  Herb, on the other hand, was comforting “Candi” in a well lit parking lot awaiting the arrival of the police.  Any doubt of my mistake was removed with the sound of four cop cars screaming into the parking lot.

Cop:  “What’s going on here?”

Candi:  “AHHHH – Screeeeeeech – HELP, HELP,  – Waaah – Shriek, Shriek !!!!!

Herb:  “A guy snatched her purse and ran into the woods.”

Cop:  “OK men, draw you weapons and send the K-9 dog in after him.”

Shambo:  “Herb, you idiot!!!!  Tell them I’m in here.”

K-9 Dog:  “Growl – snarl – bark – sneer – gnashing teeth.”

Shambo:  “Herb, you freakin’ moron, don’t let them send in the dog.”

Cop:  “Let him go, boys.  Go get him, Basher !!!”

Shambo:  “AHHHH – Screeeeeech – HELP, HELP – Waaah – Shriek, Shriek !!!!!

I was able to out maneuver the police dog by running blindly through the woods without regard to the limbs and briers beating against my face.  The dog was being more cautious.  After all, he wasn’t drunk.  When I finally got out of the woods, it looked like I had been thrown into a wood chipper.  The cops were laughing their ass off and the police dog was wagging his tail as if to say “Geez dumbass, that was fun.  Let’s do it again.”

I was furious with Herb, but was he nowhere to be found.  The cops said he went home because he was convinced I was going to kill him right there in the parking lot when I got out of the woods.  I told them not to worry.  I would go over to his house and kill him there.  That is until I remembered we had gone to the bar in Herb’s car.

And, that’s all I have to say about that.

Shambo