For those not familiar, here is a working definition we’ll use:

pre-game [pree-geym]

+ verb: to drink alcoholic beverages prior to a social engagement to make it more enjoyable

It is an activity that all you socialites/urbanites/hipsters/yuppies partake in on a weekly (if not daily – no judging) basis. Some of you may even feel like experts given its integral role in preparing to “Let the dogs out.”

I definitely felt like my group of comrades was a part of the pre-game expert fraternity. That was until one eventful night on South Beach.

As any responsible South Beach visitor knows, the first stop is the liquor store to arm your room with the necessary good-times juice. Who are we to violate rules? Good-times juice CHECK. After reaching varying levels of “I’m going to say something ignorant,” we set out to find the nearest collection of scantily dressed women gyrating to the latest offensive rap songs.

In true Miami fashion, we were given three choices upon arrival: A) buy 3+ bottles; B) wait in line until everyone, scantily dressed women included, leaves and they actually let guys in; C) go back to the room (hoping we didn’t wrinkle our outfits such that they could be used another day). We went with option A which appeared to be the correct choice for the first 90 minutes. Around the 2 hour mark is when things got shall we say…ignorant…

The following highlights what was pieced together by our crew:

+ As a true veteran of not giving up the cookies, I have devised a full-proof method for keeping said cookies from making an unexpected late night appearance. What is this genius method you ask? Go the fuck to sleep. The only problem with this brilliant plan…I was still in the club. Being a 6’0 tall man, one VIP couch is evidently not big enough to host a watch my eyelids contest…which only becomes an issue when your VIP section neighbors decide they’d like to use their over-priced couch. After being awaken, I realized I needed a plan B…so I go to the bathroom to regroup. Now there are two problems: 1) the bathroom is on the other side of the velvet rope…and the dance floor…and two packed bars…and a Soul Train dance line…you get the point; 2) my legs are listening to the music more so than what my brain is telling them. Thanks good-time juice! It was like an R. Kelly song minus the grinding…just bumping. So I make the executive decision that I have one more trip in me across this room and it will have to end at the door…that or I’ll be taking my pants off and preparing for bed in this club. Plan C was off to a good start except it didn’t involve telling anyone I was leaving…oh and that pit stop at a trash can to leave some cookies.

+ Two of the other homies didn’t quite realize they’d only be leasing their good-times juice and would be asked to give it back before leaving the club. So being the green fellows they are, they decided to recycle the bucket that brought the good-times juice for returning their portions…iteratively…for multiple rounds. Needless to say, the bottle waitress earned her tip that night and most likely was not a fan of the gift left behind.

+ After realizing an exit was in everyone’s best interest, a quick roll call revealed the crew was one homie short…this springs the group into a game of drunken hide-n-seek.  The minor hiccup in this game is the boundaries of the hiding were not shared with all players. Fast forward through nonsense conversations with the bathroom attendant, random questioning of attractive party-goers, unanswered texts/calls, and some aimless wandering…the group finds the lost comrade tucked into the sheets with the pillow in a headlock at the hotel.

With all that said (and more importantly experienced), pre-gaming is still a favorite activity of UBF. However, we recommend planning ahead to avoid any of the aforementioned events. Do you have any memorable (or not) pre-gaming stories?

Aside: Dear Miami nightlife, I understand you don’t need me or my homeboys to survive. However, forcing me to buy more liquor than the entire offensive line of the Miami Dolphins can consume is not the business. I hope that we can someday come to a compromise.




About usbottlesandfriends
The tales of unpredictable truths from those guys your mom warned you about.

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