Founders Breakfast Stout

December 2, 2008 by Aaron Goldfarb | Filed under Brewer: Founders, Country: America, Grade: A regular, Style: Stout.

8.3% ABV bottled

Drinking Injuries

Last night at 5 AM, after a girl threw me out of her apartment, I found myself alone, in the middle of nowhere in Queens, calmly walking down the street, wondering how the fuck I was going to get back to Manhattan when…I fell ass over teakettle on the sidewalk.  As I rolled and skidded, I woke up the only other persons on the street at the time, two sleeping transients who quickly came over to help me up.  I threw the bums a dime, and with my jeans’ knee now ripped I was no longer dressed so fine.  I was just confused.  There was nothing that tripped me, no one that had pushed me, I just had fell.  In theory that makes no sense, you say, until I tell you that I had begun drinking some ten hours earlier, starting my Sunday afternoon with a rare bottle of the legendary Founders Breakfast Stout.

Big ups to my friend BDH, a prince of a man who scored me this coveted beer, currently the #15 ranked beer in the world, on a recent business trip to Detroit.  The Vice Blog will permanently hold a special place for BDH in our corroded heart.  The stout is perfectly balanced but, oh!, so complex, so many different flavors, all put to splendid use. Aptly named as it just feels like a breakfast beer.  Coffee lovers like myself will love this one as the smell of Joe is most prominent.  Roasted flavors with hints of subtle chocolate flakes and oatmeal.  Incredibly drinkable for the ABV.  A great beer, no question, but I’m not sure that it’s one of the twenty best in the world, though it is a world-class American stout.  So glad to have tried it though, and glad to hopefully have more soon.

As I type this, I am only able to use my right hand, my left hand badly cut and gashed from last night’s tumble.  A sack of ice on my right knee where a big bruised bump protrudes.  A medium-level drinking injury, no question, but I’m still in a bit of pain.  Any one that is a steady drinker has got to have a history of tumbles and spills, trips and slips, which have led to scars, wounds, sprains, and breaks which may just last until the next day, or which may afflict one for the rest of time.

The older we get the more foolish of injuries we receive from drinking.  Heck, just Tuesday night I spent ten hours hunkered over a bar watching college hoops.  I knew at the time the bar stools were uncomfortable and the bar layout poorly conceived, forcing me to lean way too far over to drink.  I awoke Wednesday with incredible back pain, forced to scuttle around the next day like I had scoliosis, a hungover Quasimodo.

Any one that drinks has chipped a tooth on a beer bottle.  If you haven’t, you don’t drink enough or you somehow have incredible dexterity, suppleness, and hand-eye coordination while intoxicated.

Falling down stairs is another common drinking injury.  One that’s claimed me many times.  Seems 50% of Manhattan bars have their bathroom downstairs.  Tight, narrow, small stairs without handrails.  I’ve fallen, slid, and ass-bounced my way down all of them.  Why oh why, when oh when, will bars gets escalators to the loo?  It’d sure be a lot safer and save me from numerous embarrassing injuries.  My worst stair fall being when I rolled on top of my thumb and seemingly dislocated it.  I was forced to ask the bartender to bag me some ice when I returned.  Never cool to be the guy in the corner of the bar icing his digits.

I recall a Saturday I had spent all day drinking and watching sports while my sweet girlfriend painted her apartment.  I stumbled over at 10 PM to see that she’d pretty much finished everything save for the hard-to-reach ceiling/wall edging work, something her lack of height prevented her from accomplishing.  Thus, I was enlisted to finish this up.  Drunk and uninhibited, I brazenly climbed onto a rickety step stool to do the work and though my girlfriend said “Beware doll, you’re bound to fall,” you can, imagine how this story ends.  As I somersaulted off the stool backwards I remember thinking, “My God, I’m going to die.”  Nope, I just hit a cabinet and landed on my neck, some of the worst pain of my life.  I was laid prone for the next two hours, but at least I got a sensual massage out of it from my lady.

My absolute worst drinking injury though involves a wee hour piggy back ride.  Returning from a $1-a-drink special, a girl I was with implored me to give her a piggy back ride.  I’m the kind of guy that thinks even the most innocuous inter-gender touching is just a ploy for a woman to transition herself into bed with me, so I was obviously game for it.  When the girl hopped on my back though she got too high up and we became top-heavy as I walked.  We started to teeter and soon I was falling forward.  She was able to jump off my back like a passenger abandoning a sinking ship but I ate concrete with my face.  So, instead of ending the evening by hooking up, by even having a nice at-home night cap, I spent the hours of 3 AM to 4 AM sitting on the shut toilet lid as the girl Neosporined my face and bandaged me up.  I looked like absolutely hell the next day.  Like a guy who had literally washed his face with gravel.  I was exfoliated almost to the bone.  The next day also happened to be Passover and I obviously had to feign an illness to skip the family Seder up in Westchester.  For the next two weeks I told any one that asked–oh, and everyone did ask–that I had gotten into a fight on the basketball court with some hoodlums over a disputed foul call, too embarrassed to tell the real truth.  To this day I still have an ever-so-slight scar at the corner of my left eye, the only wound still remaining from a decade of drinking follies.

I suppose my drinking injuries aren’t too terrible and could certainly be worse.  But I want to know, what’s your worst all-time drinking injury?


13 Responses to “Founders Breakfast Stout”

  1. Tony says:

    Once, while inebriated solely on Bacardi 151, I challenged my roomate to a fight. He refused, knowing that I was just absolutely shit faced, and couldn’t stand, let alone throw a punch. Of course, this did not stop me, so I kept punching him on the arm to antagonize him, until he gave me the ultimatum to stop or I would be thrown into the shower. One punch and a bright smile later, I was thrown into the sliding glass door of our shower, and woke up with two gashes on both obliques. The pain was not bad, it was like scrapping one’s knee after falling off a bike. The real pain, was that now I have two scars on my obliques that look exactly like huge stretch marks, so I am embarrassed that anyone who does not know the story thinks I was a total fat ass growing up.

  2. Good story. Drunken fighting injuries are slightly different from straight-up dumb injuries while intoxicated. But I suppose they all count.

  3. amm002 says:

    This isn’t really an injury, but maybe a strange medical side effect of drinking that goes beyond your regular hangover…I drank so much whiskey in one day/night (a full 3 liter bottle of Jack topped off with about 10 beers) that I woke up the next morning with ankles that had swollen to four times their normal size. I think it was edema, caused by abuse of alcohol. I couldn’t walk because it hurt so much, and it took two days for the swelling to subside. My friends joked that if I lanced one of my ankles straight Jack would come pouring out.

  4. HA! Now that is a GREAT drinking injury story. I have honestly never heard of that one before.

    When I drink too much bourbon my kidneys ache and it hurts to stand.

  5. BDH says:

    Glad you enjoyed. I share your A grade.

    All of my drinking injuries are run of the mill and caused by stupid decision you’d only make when drunk:

    – Jumping off Wallace’s porch and landing back first in a bush
    – Humongous black eye after allowing a friend to punch me in the face 10 times
    – Bumps and bruises from retaliation in my favorite drunken game: Just starting tackling everyone until they get pissed and tackle back.

  6. Weird, I know quite a few guys that LIKE to be punched in the face while drunk. I’ve never had the same fascination with that.

  7. BDH says:

    I definitely wouldn’t say I liked it. It happened a bit after Fight Club was released on DVD, so if I know me it had something to do with the whole not wanting to die without any scars stuff. I’m sure two drunk jerks punching each other in the face at Darwin’s is exactly what Palahhniuk had in mind….

  8. Stu Robinson says:

    While I have had my share of minor UPI’s (unidentifiable party injuries), some of the most gruesome drinking injuries I have witnessed while working in bars. Worst has to be the drunk stepping in front of a car doing 40 mph in front of my workplace, and consequently breaking nearly all the bones on the left side of his body. I also had to get an extremely drunk off-duty cop breathing again after he fell down the bathroom stairs, knocking himself out and stopping breathing. Seeing shit like that makes you want a beer.

  9. Ha, those are good stories, Stu. I can imagine the craziness you’ve seen!

  10. Craig says:

    On my friend’s 18th birthday (I was still 17) we had a huge feast at the Olive Garden in Times Square. Being in high school and usually too cheap to ever spend money on food, usually only booze, we typically drank on empty stomachs. But on this fateful night, with a belly full of lasagna and terrible, terribly delicious cheesy breadsticks, my youth and stupidity prevailed.

    Claiming that the liter of Absolut we bought was having no effect on me, I deemed it defective and proceeded to pound it in under an hour. Cut to the freight train hitting me about an half an hour later. I go to run across the room after viciously antagonizing a buddy of mine who was scoring some play on the couch, when I slip slide and fall on my face.

    Cut to an inch by 1.5 inch gash in my chin. Cut to me at 2am calling my parents to meet me at St. Vincent’s Emergency Room because I was still only 17. Cut to 3pm when I left the hospital with 8 stitches in my chin and my mouth wired shut due to a broken jaw.

    Thank you, Absolut. Thank you, Olive Garden.

  11. I think you’re the clubhouse leader with that story, Craig.

  12. KingOttoIII says:

    When on a trip to Myrtle Beach I had a Beach House in one location with my friends and my brother had a beach house down the road with a bunch of his friends. Anyway I was drinking all day and wasnt planning on going out. I drank all day with my friend Bob while other peopel wasted time at the Beach. Later that night the beach friends wanted to go out but me and Bob were wasted. But we went out to a bar anyway. There I met a local cougar, who said she was in her late 20s but also said she had a 19 year old kid. I figure she was in here 40s. She had a nice tight body from what I remember and the face wasnt half bad despite the 80s hair. We hung out there and then went to an after hours bar that opened at 4am. While there we got in trouble for fooling around in the dark champagne room couch and were asked to leave. Eventually we ended up on the beach. Like I said I wasnt planning on going out so I had a bright Orange Syracuse T-Shirt on. So as I was befriending her on the beach the sun started coming up and people were walking their dogs on the beach. Lets just say dogs like making friends too and we had an audience. Despite the distractions we finished and got up to leave. Back on the street and about to part our ways, there was a problem as she lost her motel key during the wrassling we did. So we went back to the beach to look for it. Luckily it was attached to a big red plastic thing and I found it after kicking around sand for a few mins. By then it was daylight. I then trekked to the beach house and when I got there I saw someone on my bed. I just saw a head so I figured it was my friend Bob passed out. The bed was big enough for two so I just passed out on the other side. When I woke up it turned out to be my brother that was in the bed. And he had a huge scrap around his ankle. He had no clue how or why he had the giant scrape. He also had no clue how or why he ended up at my place and not his. Or how he got into my place. It was an unsolved drinking injury mystery. Only god and Robert Stack knows what happened.

  13. Sal, I think you’ve stumbled upon a great idea: “Unsolved Drinking Mysteries.”

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