After posting the entry, I continued upon my course of pitchers of Budweiser. I'm told I got through at least four, although I don't recall any more than two. Between the bar and the raging headache the next morning, all I remember was putting the things back in my rack. With this drunkenness now a day in the past, I am totally amazed that everything (save my flashlight) got back down. Even more surprising was that I didn't vomit. Mumbles did, all over himself and everything else in the vicinity. Everyone around me has confirmed this - and that's most necessary, since there's a good few hours missing from my memory.
It was the kind of night that reminded me of the heady days if Sputnik and Yuri Gagarin, of Plymouth and Souda Bay. I really hope that when I get out of the Navy, being this prone to excessive consumption abates. The most unsettling aspect of the post-action analysis was that at no point did I realistically consider calling it a night. The stop point and the blackout point were equivalent. I don't know who got fucked up worse; me, or the Ohio State football team?
We need to get home...STAT.