We asked people shut out of clubs in Newtown what they thought the problem was.
"The toughest part of being metal in Tauranga was the sand, and walking down to the beach in Dr. Martens with your pants tucked into your boots."
Landsgemeinde is a wonderful chance to get hammered in public and vote for a farmer to be your "city captain."
This year, one of Berlin's districts is testing out a different approach to obnoxious partiers: mimes.
Drunk assholes everywhere are using a new app to get cars to pick them up—read about it in this comic by the artist better known as Killer Acid.
The home of Frances Willard is a boring one, but if you get drunk enough, you might just be able to see the difference between the prohibition of alcohol and the prohibition of marijuana.
We found the one club in London that will have no problem properly fucking up your evening.
Strange scenery, pink-haired girls, and French bulldogs in matching knitwear.
In the second half of the two writers' conversation, they chat class, politics, abortion, literature, Russell Brand, and orgasms.
If you were hungry and in Melbourne at some point the late 90s, you might remember Smorgy's. We look back at what made the place so memorable.
Studies have found that driving, walking, cycling, and using public transportation can be dangerous when you're drunk. So what the hell are you supposed to do?
Couples in happy, functional, spoony relationships don't give a shit about Valentines.
A cautionary tale about throwing bits of your breakfast at someone in a position of power.
Come and meet its angels.
"Everything from a cut above the eye, through to the fracture of the cheekbone or broken nose, right through to a fractured skull...that whole spectrum has declined since the lockout laws."
On Saturday night, a couple of hundred people rioted at Melbourne's Darts Invitational Challenge. We spoke to someone who was there.
Other than perhaps the day after your birthday, there is no other date that is as consistently shitty and depressing as December 31.
Peter Lambert's Friday night consists of drunken karaoke, a bag of chips, and two men beating the shit out of each other.
If the Tories are re-elected next year, they're going to give judges the power to strap alcohol monitoring devices to people's ankles. Here's how the internet says you can beat the bracelets.
Since I wrote about my drinking problem a few weeks ago, I've decided to cut back. When people ask me why, I tell them that the way in which I was living was untenable. I receive mostly blank stares.
In roughly 20 years Vietnam went from being one of the poorest countries in the world to a place where drinking until you puke is such a large part of the culture that many bars have "puke sinks" built into them.
There's a lot to read into in Seaside: the destruction of the middle class, the psychological effects of climate change, what Fireball Cinnamon Whisky can do to a community. But there's an undeniable kind of humanity in this degeneration.
I drink until there is nothing left to drink, and then I often drink some more. I can go for days without food in my apartment, but I can't stand the thought of existing in a dry household.
Apparently inhaling vodka out of a humidifier is a cheap, shitty, ineffective way of getting drunk. Who knew?