The Fabled Week-Long Bender: How And Why It Happens

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drunk guy bender

There comes a point in every college student’s career when drinking literally becomes a part of who you are. It isn’t merely a way to let loose on a Friday night while you try and tame some strange or a way to celebrate the end of a tough week of classes; it’s just what you do. Part of your identity. To some, this may be frowned upon and even labeled “alcoholism,” but you live your life based on the wise words of Thomas Jefferson: “You’re not an alcoholic until you graduate.”

Below, we will take a journey and explore the different methods of reasoning and judgment used when one attempts to complete the ultimate achievement in undergraduate drinking culture: The week-long bender.


You wake up bright and early on Monday morning, ready to tackle this week head-on and get some serious shit done before the upcoming weekend. You have 30 minutes before your first class. You still haven’t showered, need to shit, and what kind of animal tries to accomplish anything without a hearty breakfast? You realize you don’t have enough time to do all these things before class, so you decide to forgo class #1 so that you’ll be on your A-game for the next 2 classes that day.

You head off to class in the early afternoon, full of hope and excitement about how much you’re going to accomplish this week — you’re finally going to do it! You’re going to do homework ahead of time, study for next week’s tests this week, and you’re definitely not drinking until at least Friday night.

Two classes later, you’re done for the day. You decide to grab some food and hit the library for a little bit since it’s still early and dinner isn’t for 2 hours. You throw in a lip, click through a few slides, swipe through a few hundred possible Tinder matches, and take a nice shit at the library. Solid study time. At dinner, your pledge brother suggests you two hit up trivia night at this kind of hipster bar that night. Normally, this is the last place you’d want to be found, but first place wins $50 and you could really use the beer money for the weekend. Plus, the hot chick you sit next to in Econ might be there, so why the heck not?

You stroll in, grab a table, and convince yourself it’s okay to order a couple tall drafts because you’ve gotta lube up your brain machine so it’s in proper working order for trivia. You and your buddy try to avoid conversation with all the hipster weirdos for a while until you spot something magical: a group of hot sorority girls sitting across the bar with the same idea as you. You end up convincing them to team up with you right before trivia starts. You’re fucking killing it, getting (almost) every (other) question right, and these chicks are loving you. You take turns buying rounds for the table, and before you know it, you’re all hammered, trivia is over, you didn’t win the $50, you’re out $75, and it’s 2 a.m. You try and spit some game to get the hot brunette to come back with you, but it’s Monday and these girls are classy; they ain’t splitting up that easy tonight. She gives you her number and says to text her tomorrow. You call it a night and head back for some sleep before your mandatory 9 a.m.


You wake up at 8:50 a.m. with a headache, but considering how much you drank last night, it’s really not that bad. You grab a bagel and a water and hustle off to class. You actually can’t skip this one, and it’s your only class that day so it can’t be that bad. You sit in the back, sign the attendance sheet, and zone out. Before you know it, an hour and fifteen minutes has gone by and you’re done for the day. Back to the house you go, and off to sleep you go for a few hours.

You wake up feeling refreshed and alive. After some texts back and forth with the hottie from last night, you learn she’s going to the $1 taco/tequila night at the shitty bar you and your boys frequent. Looks like you’ve got some plans for tonight. You round up a crew that wants to get weird and head out for a night of cheap booze and questionable tacos. You find your chick there, spend all night trying to impress her, but ultimately end up striking out. Fuck her; she has weird hair anyways. You drown your sorrows in $1 tequila shots until you can hardly stand. You somehow make it back home, and after a gentleman’s hurl in the yard outside the house, you’re ready for bed.


Today’s classes are the same as the ones you went to two days ago. Been there done that — back to sleep. You get up around noon with a terrible hangover and, after drinking shower water for 5 minutes, you decide the only cure is more booze. Besides, it’s hump day, and since Thursday is the new Friday, it’s only a day before the weekend starts. You nurse a few cold Nattys that you found in your mini-fridge and then see who wants to join you in the mother of all college activities: day drinking.

A few guys are done with classes, so they text some chicks to come over to the house and hang out on the front porch for some afternoon cocktails. Before you know it, you’re 10 beers deep and you feel surprisingly good. You decide to get a little Captain in you since some hot blonde mentioned she loved rum and there happens to be some up in your room. She accompanies you and, after three shots, you’re naked and bumpin’ uglies. Not bad for a Wednesday. From this point on, the rest of the day/night is a blur, but you already convinced yourself that you can skip tomorrow’s class since you already went on Tuesday. Unfortunately, you forgot that one more absence will drop you a letter grade. But hey, Cs get degrees, right?


You awake to the smell of piss and bright rays of sun shining through your blinds. Fuck. You haven’t pissed yourself since freshman year, but whatever — you got laid yesterday so you can do whatever you damn well please. You strip the bed, spray some Febreeze on the mattress, and pass back out. You wake up at 3 p.m. hungry as fuck, so you get some food, shower up, and start figuring out what the plans for tonight are. It’s Thursday, and everyone knows Thursday is the new Friday.

There’s a social that night, so you invite the hot brunette from Monday night. She’s “studying” for her “test” she has tomorrow. Bitch. So you text the blondie from yesterday, and she is all too excited to join you that night. She shows up with some of her sisters for the pregame and you hardly recognize her. She’s a soft 6 at best. Wow, you were a lot more drunk that you thought yesterday. Whatever, you decide to put those beer goggles back on and see what happens.

The social ends at 11 p.m. and you all head to 25 cent mixed drink night at the packed club that lets freshmen in. It’s close to the house and you’re broke as shit: it’s a win-win. You pound some watered-down gin and tonics and dance a little bit with your new lady friend who has magically morphed into a 9 again. It’s time for some sexytime and a good night’s sleep — back to the house you go.


As any upperclassman worth their salt knows, Friday classes are a myth. They don’t exist despite what your schedule says. You’ve never been to one, hell, you’ve barely even thought about going to one. So needless to say, it’s officially the weekend.

Some brothers are heading out to play a quick 9 holes at a local golf course, and you brought your clubs up after break so you decide to join them. A quick 9 turns into a drunken 15ish holes before you call in the rescue squad (your angry risk manager) to come give you a ride back home. Someone mentions Mexican food, so naturally you’re all salivating at the thought of burritos and margaritas. You get dropped off and get even more hammered. You all somehow make it back to the house, and you accidentally pass out on the futon in your room after you claimed you were going to “rest your eyes for a few minutes” to sober up. Poor showing tonight, but you had a long day and you could use some sleep, so fuck it.


You’re pissed about missing out last night, but looking back you’re secretly glad you got a magical 13 hours of sleep in. You feel great, and today is hot and sunny, so you organize a crew to grab some tubes and head down to the river for a day of floating and drinking. You start pounding brews around noon and you’re feeling fine. You’re a well-oiled machine at this point, and you even remembered to pack some water since your piss was legitimately brown that morning. You enjoy a nice day on the water, come back, and continue the festivities into the night. You pregame at the house, bar hop for a while, get drunk food, and head home around 3 a.m. A classic Saturday night. Nothing to write home about, but man was it fun.


The effects of the past 6 days are really starting to take their toll. You have a headache, you’re sore from swimming, and where the hell did this dude on your futon come from? You wake him up and find out he’s in your Stats class. You apparently saw him last night at the bar and invited him to come back and blaze but passed out before he could get the bowl packed. He’s also pretty out of it right now, so you say fuck it, let’s wake and bake.

Your headache is gone and you’re listening to some good tunes when you suddenly get the hungover/high munchies. You remember there’s a brunch place with bottomless mimosas just off campus, so you find someone sober enough to drive, grab a few brothers, and head there. You’re in heaven. Everything tastes awesome, and the mimosas are hitting the spot. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to get drunk off the mimosas… Wrong. You were still legally drunk when you woke up, and after 6 or 7 glasses, you’re back to your normal self — drunk.

You head back to the house, stopping by the gas station on the way to grab a few tall boys and a fifth. You pull a couch out onto the lawn. A few casual beers and cocktails on a Sunday afternoon never killed anybody. After 3 beers, you somehow end up splitting a case with a few guys. Before you know it, it’s dark, you’re drunk, and you have class the next morning. You do the responsible thing: take a shower and hit the hay, because you know tomorrow is going to be hell.


You wake up and take a look at your class schedule for that week. 4 tests, 2 papers, a group project, and a grad school interview. Shit. You pop an Addy, chug some coffee, and kick ass all day. If you’re not in class, you’re in the library busting out pages and going over possible interview questions. You’re headed home after a long day of studying when you look at your phone and see a text from your pledge brother:

“Trivia? I’m buying.”

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