#3 John vs. #6 Ryan
Pictures: :: John :: Ryan

Wow, talk about a tough decision. These two gladiators of the drunken world matched up so evenly that the final decision came down to a one point victory!

And to think, this battle almost didn’t occur due to the fact that Ryan suffered a massive pussy panic attack just moments prior to the night’s beginning. Apparently he was concerned about having his drunken debauchery posted on the internet given that he was lined up for a cushy job in NYC after this year. “Dude, no one respectable in the real-world reads my site,” I told him in an attempt at reassurance. No luck, he wasn't buying it.

After about 25 minutes of arguing, and my threat to make a website called RyanFucksGoats.com which I would then forward to his future boss, Ryan caved in and agreed to do the contest if he got to wear a mask of some sort to protect his identity. Luckily I had taken 9th grade Home Economics and was able to construct a badass mask out of an old pillow case that eerily resembled the combination of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and a child with Down syndrome.

The night then quickly ensued with a spirited pre-game session fueled by some delicious Seagram’s 7 and a fine hand rolled cigarette with Ryan’s famous “home grown tobacco.” A few hits later… err… I mean drags … and he was literally in a world of his own. At this point, Ryan was too fucked up to make a logical decision on his own, so I suggested we move the party elsewhere. We traveled down the block to another downtown house where kegs, punch and cookies were being served. Ryan then proceeded to pound beers with many of the party-goers, including BU alum Mike McGuire, a friend of ours who halfway inspired the 5th year senior. (Side note: In his prime, McGuire took every drug imaginable. Don't ask me how, but now he's an officer on a nuclear submarine -- a chilling sign that the Navy has officially gone to shit.) After a few more cups of Natural Light, Ryan decided to cleanse his palette by trying to eat the homeowner’s pet rabbit -- which was returned to the pet store the following day because the girls were worried for its future well-being.

Maybe it was multiple chugging contests, or perhaps the foul taste of rabbit hair, but Ryan then had to make a quick trip to the bathroom where he violently puked for a good five minutes while I laughed hysterically. After he cleaned himself up, he decided that he wanted to make the long and arduous two block journey to the bar. He also came to the decision that he was being a little girl for wearing the mask, and informed me that I could take pictures of him without it on for the rest of the night. (Dude, you are so going to get fired when your boss finds this shit.) Once at the bar, Ryan’s stay was seemingly uneventful aside from the sloppy food fight he started with his girlfriend over a Muff-Diver shot. I won’t even bother to explain that situation as I probably couldn’t do it justice. Instead, check out the picture section -- the pictures of the altercation are pretty self-explanatory.

On the walk home from the bar, Ryan spotted John, (his DOMC competition) about 50 yards ahead of us. Against my requests, he then started to unleash a storm of vulgarities towards John and threatened to fight him. “Ryan, if you want to fight him, then go do it some place else -- I won’t be responsible for you getting arrested,” I told him. “No, it’s okay man. I won’t do anything,” he slurred back to me. He then walked over to John for what I thought would be some sort of apology… but of course I was wrong. Thinking he was a stealthy street fighter, Ryan lunged for John’s legs in an unsuccessful attempt at a figure-four leg lock. John countered with a DDT slash awkward headlock move which left the two sprawled out on the sidewalk. My friends and I realized this probably wasn’t the best idea considering the Lewisburg police department was 100 yards away, so we broke them up and made them shake hands.

The rest of the night then seemed to get a bit hazy. I’ve come to the realization that following around these DOMC competitors also takes its toll on me. Never one to remain sober, I end up drinking enough that I usually black the hell out as well -- making this whole writing process difficult at times. Why don’t I just summarize the rest with the bits and pieces I remember?

• On the way home from the bar, after fighting John, Ryan decided to stop by a random party that was down the street. Somehow he ended up getting in an argument with some girl who called him “short.” In response, he not only told her she was “overweight,” but he also informed her that she “bad skin complexion.”

• At yet another party, Ryan played two games of “flip-cup” using a ceramic tea cup. Surprisingly, he was quite effective with this non-orthodox playing style. After the game, he ripped off his shirt for a chugging contest. He lost both attempts.

• Shortly there after, Ryan thought it was a good idea to wrestle with Petrash, a friend of ours who not only was an All-American wrestler, but outweighs Ryan by at least 40 pounds. Ryan gets slammed on his head. I laugh so hard I almost pee my pants. (Video)

• I then took Ryan to meet up with his girlfriend. He then appears to completely pass out while she is sitting in the same chair as him -- however, his right hand apparently stayed sober and he tries to rub her inner thigh as everyone in the room falls over from laughter. (Video)

• Ryan must be then assisted down a flight of steps and escorted back to his girlfriend’s house. Walking proved too difficult a concept for him to master and I was forced to literally carry him for the last 30 feet.

• From what I was told the next day, Ryan then proceeded to vomit for a good 20 minutes, after which he quickly passed out, undoubtedly leaving his girlfriend sexually unfulfilled.

John’s evening started out with a devastating pre-game session that would’ve made John Belushi proud. Given that he’s pretty much a complete sucker for peer-pressure, encouraging him to pour shot after shot of cheap booze down his gullet was no problem whatsoever. Combine his massive intake of hard alcohol with a brutal punishing of a box of wine and you have a potent recipe for disaster. Total drink tally: 8 shots, 7 glasses of wine, 3 beers … before he even left his house.

It just so happened that #1 seed Frank was also doing his DOMC first round match that same night (competitors don't go head to head until the second round). In a lapse of judgment on my part, I had told Frank to come over to John’s to partake in the drinking festivities. Upon arrival, Frank decided to give John a friendly pat on the back which ultimately led to him being slammed into the wall, head first, by John.

“John! You aren’t allowed to body slam Frank,” I screamed at him, “He’s not even competing against you -- you’re not even in the same bracket for fuck’s sake!” John pulled me closely and whispered in a drunken slur, “It’s psychological warfare. I’m in his head.” Honestly, I think I’m going to invest in a taser-gun for the next round of matches because there is no way to rationalize with these belligerent fucks.

As is usually the case with the DOMC, after a wicked frontloading session (quite possibly the stupidest synonym for “pre-gaming” -- as invented by the Dean of my university and other un-hip old people who are out of touch with today’s youth) the gathering then moved to another location where a party was already in full effect. Not only did John bump up his social awkwardness points by ripping his shirt off in front of several petrified senior girls, he pushed the envelope even further by allowing a few of his girl friends to take off his jeans in the middle of the party. Don’t ask me how or why, but somehow John was sporting a half erection when his pants came off.

Witnessing John at half-mast, I came to two conclusions:
1) While John may have been noticeably hammered, he was clearly not drunk enough if he was able to get aroused. A true DOMC competitor would be so utterly blitzed that even if he wanted to perform sexually, he wouldn’t be able to on account of the “whiskey dick.”
2) That in future instances, I refuse to analyze the intoxication level of any DOMC competitor by their erection.

After the whole exposed package situation, I tried to distance myself from John for a couple of minutes in order to erase that image from my memory and to pound a few beers of my own. Ten minutes later, I walked back into the living room to find John where I had left him but he was no where to be found. What the fuck, where the hell did he go? Why is it so hard to keep track of a drunken man? I mean honestly, if John could barely walk by himself how could he have wandered off in such a short period of time?

I quickly formed a crackpot team of drunken party-goers to locate our missing Irishman.We looked everywhere -- He wasn’t in the bathroom, wasn’t by the kegs, and he wasn’t passed out in the back yard. At that point I was ready to call in the bloodhounds when one of my friends ran up to me, “It’s okay,” he said, “We found him completely naked taking a shit at his house.” Phew, close call.

The rest of John’s shirtless adventure consisted of numerous beer chugs, retardedly impaired mobility which almost cause him to collapse a beer pong table, making others at the party feel awkward to the point of avoiding him, being yelled at on the phone by his ex-girlfriend, pretending to act like he was sober in his phone calls to his ex-girlfriend, and dancing on a table with girls while wearing only his boxers.

All in all, John consumed approximately thirty drinks for the night and served up some of the finest social awkwardness I’ve seen in a long time. While it wasn’t the most exhilarating of performances, as I have seen John perform amazing drunken feats on numerous occasions, it was however good enough to prevent Ryan from staging an upset.

Here's how the match was decided:

Case closed on yet another DOMC competition!