#4 Austin vs. #5 Steve
Pictures: :: Austin :: Steve

Before this contest, there was no question in my mind that Austin could out drink most any competitor in this tournament. However, I did doubt his dedication towards destruction, social awkwardness and badassness; more specifically, would Austin be able to overcome his quiet demeanor and release the inner-drunken demon that lurked within?

Note to self: never doubt Austin again.

The evening of Austin’s DOMC, we both happened to have the same 7-10 PM class. The day before he was scheduled to compete, Austin informed me he was going to drink an entire 5 liter box of Franzia and planned on beginning his wine-filled evening during our three our lecture. I told him that I would only follow him from 10 PM on, as is the case with any DOMC competitor, and that any drinking he did prior to that point could not be documented. Obviously he could’ve cared less, and showed up to our class noticeably shit-faced – which was more than apparent by his rosy-cheeks, novelty sized cup-o-wine, and the fact that he would laugh inappropriately at all the non-humorous moments in the film we were watching.

Fast forward three hours… class was over, and I informed Austin that I would meet him at his house after I had spruced up a bit and thrown on my Internet Celebrity threads. It just so happened that Austin’s house was the location for a party his fraternity was throwing that night, making the atmosphere more than ideal for a night of Drunk-Off Man Challenging.

Upon my arrival, I was greeted with a very socially lubricated Austin -- who, without warning, ripped off the cardboard housing of his delicious Franzia wine with sewer rat-like fervor, favoring instead the much more mobile advantages of the party-favorite “slap-bag.” The next part of the evening got somewhat repetitive, so pardon me while I summarize Austin’s actions: pour wine into mouth, occasional pull from $9 handle of whiskey, occasional cigarette, rinse, wash, and repeat. After about an hour or so of this, the party was in full swing, Austin’s bag-o-wine was completely finished, and he was officially blacked out.

Let’s do some math here people:
• 5 Liters of Franzia wine (1 Box) = 169 fluid ounces (33.81 fluid ounces in 1 Liter)
• One glass of wine = 4.5 fluid ounces (Based on the National Institute of Health)
• 169 ounces / 4.5 ounces = 37.5 glasses of wine.

Many seasoned veterans of the drinking world would be passed the fuck out after consuming 37.5 drinks – hell, some might even be dead – but here Austin stood before me... well, sort of. Due largely to the help of his friends, who acted as human crutches, Austin was transported about the party for all to see. And even though Austin physically could not walk, and would immediately fall down if let go by his friends (which happened at least five times, taking down anything in his path, including girls, chairs and the occasional lamp), he refused to go pass out.

"Are you sure you don't want to go lie down for a little?" I asked.

"BULL SHIT!" he shouted back in reply.

As it turned out, "bull shit" was the only word Austin could formulate for the better part of the night, and believe me, it was repeated no less than fifty times in his attempts to communicate.

Perhaps the funniest moment of the night came when Austin needed to take a piss for the first time after he officially blacked out. As I stated earlier, Austin could hardly walk without the aide of his friends, so it was therefore necessary to have them hold him upright as he attempted to urinate. After propping him up for what seemed like five minutes, Austin still couldn’t manage to overcome this supposed drunken stage fright. Naturally, we grew tired of this and told him to sit down a “pee like a girl.” Without question, Austin dropped his pants and plopped down on the seat, knocking over the lid of the toilet and falling onto the tile floor. Five more minutes of this technique and he was finally able to muster a decent pissing show. (Make sure you watch the video of his successful piss, absolutely hilarious.)

About a half hour later, I noticed Austin stumbling into his room, only to return with what looked to be an empty case of beer. However, after further examination, we all realized that the cardboard case was in fact overflowing with dozens of water-balloons that Austin had filled earlier that afternoon. Austin must’ve recognized that in order to attain the level of social awkwardness and destruction expected in the DOMC, he would have to bolster his point totals with external props. Brilliant! Without provocation, he then proceeded to arbitrarily hurl water-balloon after water-balloon at the thirty or so party-goers who were dancing in the other room. Girls screamed in terror, boys attempted to shield their girlfriends in hopes of looking chivalrous, and I just sat back, watched the mayhem unfold, and laughed my frickin’ balls off.

Naturally, the night began to wind down shortly after and by this point I had taken probably over sixty photos and made all the necessary mental notes that my brain could afford to hold -- thus, I decided to head out to the bar for last call and Austin was put to bed a short time later by his loving and dedicated girlfriend. Undoubtedly she went to bed sexually frustrated -- as Austin could barely raise his eyelids, let alone his penis -- however, she was amply rewarded for her kindness and understanding later that night when Austin peed all over her. Good form old chap.

(The next night, this same girlfriend told me that I had behaved like a complete asshole to one of her friends during Austin’s DOMC challenge. Fortunately, I cleared up that whole dispute by informing her that I was not an asshole, but rather a dickhead, and that there was a fine distinction between the two, and that in future instances I would kindly prefer if she addressed me accordingly.)

And now to Steve’s night…

For those of you that may happen to consider Steve a friend, you would surely know that he has a strong affinity for malt liquor and girls with fat asses -- leading me to wonder if Steve’s mom wasn’t banging the only black man in his hometown of Hanover, NH. Given this beverage partiality, Steve decided to start off his night by pre-gaming with several Hurricane 40 ounces that he had duct-taped to his hands (resulting in massive arm hair loss upon removal). Five 40 oz’s later, and Steve was violently spewing malt liquor off his front porch, attempting to shower freshman that happened to be passing by.

Given that it was the Friday before Easter, much of the campus population had gone home for the weekend. Fortunately for Steve, there was one downtown party that was happening a short distance from his house. The only drawback to this location was that we really weren’t friends with any of these kids -- considering they’re somewhat inferior to our campus status as the socially elite. But then it struck me: what better way to improve relations between two unfamiliar social scenes than to have drunken Steve crash their party, enter a heavily populated room, and rip off all his clothes only to reveal that he’s just wearing an athletic jockstrap? Believe me, it was social awkwardness at its finest. Between the screams of horror from frightened girls and the looks of malcontent from the dudes in attendance, we were quickly urged to leave the party as to not create any further disturbance. Steve gathered his clothes, humped an inflatable pink Easter bunny that was by the door, and made his exit.

Fast forward thirty minutes… Our fearless DOMC camera crew had followed Steve over to a late night party at one of the nearby fraternity houses. Upon entering, Steve was quick to pound several beers, and once again stripped down to his lucky jockstrap (which at this point was missing one of the ass straps). Given that his ass was almost entirely exposed, several female party-goers naturally gave Steve a brisk smack on the bottom for their own entertainment. These smacks began to get somewhat more aggressive as Steve urged on this new found attention with the giggling of a little school girl. In one room, there happened to be a fraternity paddle hanging on the wall. Steve removed the paddle, handed it to some random sophomore girl he had never met before, and said, “I’ll let you paddle me on the ass as hard as you like, but then I get to make out with you.” Apparently this broad was a dominatrix in training, as she gladly took Steve up on his offer. I had to give him credit; that was certainly some pretty sweet game on Steve’s part. (Watch the video.)

[Note: Modified Living does not condone any acts of hazing or physical abuse. The physicality of the events that transpired were entirely consensual, and were in fact encouraged and suggested by the DOMC competitor. I repeat, this was not an act of hazing, Steve just likes to be roughed up sexually… domination turns him on.]

Numerous paddles later, and Steve’s ass was a bright shade of crimson, even bleeding in more than one spot. As expected, many party-goers were appalled and dismayed by this topographical rainbow wheel of color that had now developed on Steve’s rump. To make matters worse, Steve then become fixated with rubbing his buttocks on every girl that was within stumbling distance (he even farted on one, no lie).

After his social awkwardness subsided, Steve then commenced in chugging several more frat-grenades, puked for a good minute and a half, then proceeded to rip down a shower rod, only to walk around the party wearing the curtain as a cape.

Sensing that he had worn out his welcome, I suggested a change of venue. The general consensus at that time was to take Steve to the bar; however, we were presented with a slight problem: Steve was too drunk to walk. No worries, we quickly found an old broom, and instructed Steve to hold on for dear life, essentially leading/dragging his drunken ass the five blocks it takes to get to the bar. Once at the bar, we were faced with yet another situation: most blacked out kids wearing nothing but their jockstrap tend to not be in the right mind to remember their wallets, hence no ID.

I tried to rationalize with the sixty-five year old bouncer, hoping that I could somehow trick him, given his senile stage of life, “Al, how is he supposed to have his wallet? He’s only wearing a jockstrap! You’re expecting the impossible, that’s just plain ludicrous!”

Al wasn’t buying it. Luckily, after arguing for several minutes, one of the bartenders vouched for Steve’s age and we plopped his half-naked self on a nearby bar stool. A few beers later, and it was pretty apparent to me that Steve needed to be put to bed, less he pass out right then and there on the bar floor. I bundled him up in whatever clothes he had left, and somehow managed to navigate the back alleys of Lewisburg, inebriated Steve in tow. Once back at his house, Steve was overcome with some new found energy, and tried to piss me off by chasing me around his living room wearing only his birthday suit. Tired and drunk myself, I shoved his bitch-ass to the ground, forcing him to wallow in his own drunken nakedness.

Epilogue: Steve woke up early the next morning in order to drive home for Easter, only to find that he had pissed his bed thoroughly. Still drunk from the night before, he ignored the unpleasant wetness and went back to bed, content with lying in his own urine. Classy Steve, very classy.

It was a tough call, but sticking with the rules set forth, here's how this match was decided:

Looks like Steve is heading to round 2.