The insertion of foreign objects into the rectum intestinum of Homo sapiens is nothing new. As you’ll remember from history class, the Maya administered tobacco and hallucinogenic enemas for religious purposes, and also probably because they were bored. They were kind enough to leave behind stone reliefs and figurines documenting the deed—now we use web videos and blogs for similar purposes. And we got rid of the cumbersome spiritual aspects of inserting tubes into our butts as well. This is called progress.
The latest round of anal-centric tittering occurred in late September when University of Tennessee Pi Kappa Alpha member Alexander “Xander” Broughton (yes, presumably pronounced “bro-ton”) was treated for severe alcohol poisoning after “allegedly” butt chugging boxed wine (the proper bro-menclature, I believe, is “Tour de Franzia”). Butt chugging—in case you were blissfully unaware—allows the alcohol to bypass the liver’s filtering and metabolic processes so that the ethanol drains straight into the bloodstream via veins to the vena cava. You're basically short-circuiting the body's poison defenses by putting liquor in your ass. It’s supposed to be an intense and near-instant buzz.
The university subsequently suspended the frat’s chapter, and that would have been the end of it. Except Xander then held an unintentionally(?) hilarious press conference. Surrounded by his lawyer and the entire UT chapter of Pi Kaps, Xander denied previously knowing anything about butt chugging, castigated the institutions accusing him of the act, promised retribution against the media outlets so fascinated with his story, and, through his lawyer, made it very clear that “he is a straight man and he thinks the idea... of butt chugging is absolutely repulsive.”
I’m a straight man, too, and one who knows, unlike Xander, that it’s totally not gay to put things up your butt. How could I not be intrigued by butt chugging? It seems like a terrible idea, sure, but young people have done many silly things that have brought joy to millions, like Facebook—could drinking through your ass be like Facebook? Turns out, no. It is terrible, as I found out when I experimented with it the other evening. Still, it does allow one to see the world from a different point of view. And not simply because I spent much of said evening flat on my back, glutes floating in midair, angling a booze-loaded enema bottle. No, it’s deeper than that. Deeper, too, than the enema’s one-and-a-half inch, pre-lubricated nozzle that penetrated my interior sphincter. The point is, fresh perspectives blossom after butt chugging a glass of Franzia and a half a pint of vodka.
Perspective 1: Doggie Style
I insist on “Sunset Blush” for the wine. The name suggests a kind of tenderness one’s bum might find acceptable, even inviting. I also purchase vodka and whiskey, for comparison as well as a quicker fix. Across the street from the liquor store, the pharmacy sells two-for-one enemas. “They should advertise it as ‘twin-emas,’” the Significant Other (SO) announces cheerily (for fairly obvious reasons, she’s remaining anonymous).
Back at the house, I carefully pour two shots of Sunset Blush into the enema bottle. The classic elbows-and-knees doggie-style with a drip towel underneath seems like the most respectable option.
Behind the closed bathroom door, my rear shimmies skyward as I try to steady my weight with the left forearm while the right contorts uncomfortably behind, poking clumsily for the entry point. A few deep breaths help ease the pigeon baster inward and a cool blast of Sunset Blush hits my innards. Not too bad. No stinging. Maybe a little more drippage than I’d like. But my sphincter revolts. While trying to coax my anus both physically and verbally (“Shhhh, it’s OK. It’s OK”), I take stock of my own compromising position. I feel, well, there’s no other way to put it… it feels so damndegrading. For fear of sounding flippant, I won’t say that I finally connected emotionally with my feminist sisters who deride doggie-style sex as a form of demeaning subjugation. But yeah, there’s pretty much no way to feel empowered when you’re on your hands and knees and something is going up your ass. After that epiphany, I wipe off the excess Franzia, pull up my pants and go to the kitchen where the SO and I make pizza.
Perspective 2: Stirrup style
I had expected a quick rush of inebriation, or, at the very least, heavy blushing of the upper cheeks. No dice. Just sore quads and slight dizziness from a heady blood-rush. I measure out six ounces and try it again, this time leaning against the tub with my left leg hitched to the low-hanging towel rack and the right sticking into the sink. Considering the difficulties I had the last go-around, I lather the enema up good with Vaseline.
Positioned like a woman in a gynecologist’s stirrups and over the initial novelty, I work the enema like a physician going through the motions. I begin to drift back to simpler times:
My old roommate and I used to drink so much that we got bored with the basic mechanics of intoxication. We hunted down exciting alternatives. Thankfully, he worked at a store that sold all manner of hippie kitsch. He stole a small fog-creating fountain shaped like a mountain spring that we filled with booze, hoping to get drunk on the whiskey fumes we collected in a bottomless two-liter bottle. It was a disappointment and worse, a waste of whiskey.
The frat bros who “allegedly” butt chugged must have been bored, too. What’s left after numerous games of beer pong, beer 30, shotguns, shot o’clock, belly shots, keg stands, ice luges, beer helmets, and Edward Fortyhands? Only some overused beer bong tubing and the next logical step. If, as I suspect, Xander was so bored and so aroused by the novelty of butt chugging that he actually broke culturally-accepted drinking rituals by performing the taboo act with such gusto that he was sent to the hospital with a BAC of .40, well… quite frankly, I applaud his effort.
What does bother me, however, was Xander’s homophobic non-sequitur at the press conference as relayed by his lawyer. A good number of hetrosexual men enjoy “kinky” activities like anal fingering, butt plugs, and strap-ons. Still, prejudiced tool or not, he was onto something when he derided the media for its reckless, giggly coverage. Everyone was so amused by the act itself that Xander’s incredibly ill-informed and homophobic statement was essentially ignored, or maybe it’s taken for granted that a 20-year-old bro hates gay people.
Is our culture doomed? I ask myself, as I finish putting what is now a full glass of Franzia into my ass. Things are looking bad. For one, I ain’t drunk. Secondly, my hand is cramping. And worst of all, I’m getting bored.
Perspective 3: Quarterback sneak
My friend arrives as I’m loading a second shot of vodka into the enema bottle. He only stays for a short while. He thought I was kidding about the whole butt chugging thing. During his brief stay, we contemplate better potential positions. With the first vodka shot, I had tried what I called the “quarterback sneak,” which consisted of me standing in what’s more a less a football lineman’s stance. A little less seepage, but still some struggling behind the line. At least the vodka didn’t sting as I had anticipated. Every time, there’s gurgling as the enema empties. It feels strange. Overall: C+
Having to leave the conversation to take my dose is annoying, like being the only smoker at a health-freak party. After a brainstorm, we conclude that the best way to butt chug is to lie completely flat with the legs thrown all the way over the head. “You gotta relax your leg muscles,” says my friend, repeatedly, as he demonstrates the position. This was the preferred method in most of the butt chugging pictures and videos I’d seen. Hell, the boys from Jackass did it that way.
This time, two shots of vodka go in with nary a drop spilled. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite take. The others made my intestines rumble and made me feel like I might shart. Now I’m definitely holding back something fierce. I sprint to the bathroom and almost don’t make it. What comes out is mostly clear liquid. And dear God does it burn. I wipe good and try to walk it off. “Come on! Ralph and rally!” I yell to myself. I’m back in the bathroom a few minutes later with another two shots. This new position seems to work best, even if my rectum is really beginning to smart.
Perspective 4: Brown lotus
The SO was initially apprehensive about the project, her primary concern being our possible dash to the ER. She hates driving at night. Me being hell bent on butt chugging, she took control when she could. For one, she preferred the term “Butt Chug Babysitter,” to my suggested title, “Butt Chugging Supervisor.” Then, slowly, she kinda got caught up in the whole thing.
After yet another shot in that new position, which I decide to call “brown lotus,” there’s still no intoxicating feeling. I do some googling, hoping to find a helpful step-by-step guide. The only thing Google helps with is my spelling: “Did you mean: how to buttchug?” Seeing me getting frustrated, the SO suggests “skimming,” i.e. soaking a tampon in vodka before inserting it into a cavity. She says we’d have to go to the store tomorrow for an applicator. I tell her I’m on deadline. She suggests that, perhaps, she can blow pot smoke into my ass. Her reasoning being, “Hey, as long as we’re putting stuff up there that’ll fuck you up…”
Back in the lotus position, I hear the SO charging toward me. “Can I do it?” she asks in a way that sounds suspiciously like a command. I don’t even have time to respond. With my legs over my head, the SO is perfectly framed. She’s got a steely-eyed look on her face and is holding the enema bottle like a gun.
“Honey, you look a little disturbing from this angle,” I tell her.
“I could say the same thing about you, honey.”
There’s neither warning nor sympathy from her. She gets it in so deep, I can’t even feel the enema working. Until, of course, she says, “it’s hard to keep it in,” and begins to wiggle the pigeon baster with such force I shed a tear.
The next dose is also my last of the night. Partially, it’s because I’ve put the entire half pint into my ass. It also feels like I’ve got an Indian burn on my rectum. But the main reason is that the SO wants to go out drinking with some girlfriends. She’s as bored with this little adventure as I am. Without saying much, we walk into the bathroom like it’s another day at the factory. I lay down and she administers the enema. The entire process takes less than a minute. We’re pros now.
Perspective 5: Lying Prone
The SO and I go out for a few traditional mouth drinks. Surprisingly, a few of her girlfriends have never heard of butt chugging, or thought it was some alcoholic version of “2 Girls 1 Cup.” At one point, I excuse myself and drop some loose stool into the toilet. It smells cleanish, like supermarket salmon.
Like I said, what I’ve been attempting is more akin to butt sipping than butt chugging. To watch actual butt chugging in action really is an interesting site. One Vimeo post shows a man lying completely prone with a beer bottle shoved into his crack. The bottom has been removed and his friend giggle as they pour some purplish liquid into the container. What’s amazing is watching his butt cheeks work. They move and slither like a snake digesting a mouse. It reallydoes look like someone orally chugging. I can’t do that. I don’t want to.
Lying prone in the bed that night, I can feel my asshole tingle incessantly, like I have a phantom butt plug. It’s not as bad as a spinning room or a hangover, but from now on, I’ll probably stick to more socially acceptable forms of alcohol consumption. Like drinking recklessly until I puke. At least then the changes are good that I won't remember the previous evening.
Want more butt stuff? Stick these up there: