LVL 1: Just getting started.

8 beers

You’ve arrived. All you’ve had to drink are 6 VB’s for breakfast and 2 schoonies on your lunch break.

LVL 2: Feeling it.

8 beers
2 whiskeys
5 jäger bombs.

Multiple physical altercations. HE’S LOOKING AT YOU FUNNY. HIT HIM. FUCKING HIT HIM. 

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LVL 3: Buzzed.

8 beers
2 whiskeys
5 jager bombs
7 double vodkas

Unintended murders. Blood is kind of cool. You better burn down the bar and everyone in it so no one finds out.

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LVL 4: Tipsy.

16 beers
2 whiskeys
5 Jagers
7 double vodkas
2 shots of tequila
1 litre of human blood.

Resentment of the human race. Species cleansing required. You develop new strain of anthrax and make plans to spray it over the CBD via helicopter.

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“Glad I kept my year 10 science textbook.”

 

LVL 5: J-Kwon Tipsy.

20 beers
4 whiskeys
5 jagers
7 double vodkas
2 shots of tequila
11 litres of human blood
200g of human soul

You send a Viber to old mate in Iran he lets you have a couple nukes in exchange for some nudes. You bomb the solar ice caps with the intention of speeding up global warming.

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LVL 6: Drunk.

127 beers
52 whiskeys
88 jagers
91 double vodkas
12 tequilas
11 litres of human blood
200g of human soul
the smiling head of a south-korean toddler
Long neck of VB
Modestly sized tub of Vegemite.

After 12 days of scouring the North Pole you finally find a baby seal. Barely able to breath you fall on top of it, desperately clinging to it’s warmth. It’s licking the frost off your beard. Cute. You choke it to death with your bare hands, laughing hysterically, staring straight into its eyes.

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“Righto, where’s the bin round here?”

 

LVL 8: Shit-faced.

The fears of all humanity.

Consequences: T̘͓̝̜̮͚̹͋͗̅ͤ̈̌̈́hͧ̂̎ͯͤͬ͒͝e̮̖͕̞͎͕͖ ̩̰͇͍͚̄̎e͚̤̼̯ͨt̼̾́h̯̯ͭe̯̭̗ͭͥ̒ͥ̽͜ȑ͔̫̖̙̫͖̑ͅ ͬ̇ͬͦͪ̉̆҉͙̼͙ọ͕̤̬͇̜̱f̵̮͖̩̯̦̳ͩ̍̿̄͋͛̚ ͫ̇͗҉̻̳̩̗͍d̙͙̺̮͚̀a̹͉͇̭͘r̶̮͍͎͖̱̮͂ͩ͐ͤͯ̉ͅk̸͚ͥ͛͛ͫ̾̉ͅn͎̫͖̖͋ͪ̉ͪ͞e̗̼͓̹͕ͦ̽̐͒̀̒͋͞s͕̹̜̫̣̓̃̔ͭ͊̇͗̕s̸͈̭͎̟̿̾͋́̓̅ ̮̂͢ẅͬ͒̈́̚͝i̯̤̯̍̈̒̕l̅̒͂̂҉̹l̴̲͌̂ͣ͒̾ ̧̗̫̲̉s̟̗̙̥̩̊e̸̠̭̮̊ͦͮ̉̒͊ę̪̻̄ͫͮ̊̒̉ͅṕ̤̩̼̆̿ͥ ̛̠͇̱͚̉ͭ̓͐i̦̙̝ͮ̾ͦ̍̎n͍̟̼͎͖̦ͫͥ̊͒͌ͪ̚t͓̘̟͈̱ͣ̾͛̃̂͐ͬo̱͑͠ ̟̙͔ͮ̇y̢͓̣͓̭̩ͭ̔ͫ̏o̩̝̤͈̓̾̿ͦ̕u̯ͨr̭̘͖ͭͩ̉ ̗̤͜c̊̑̍ͦ̎҉̪̫͕ͅh̘ͯ̓ͨ̅e̩̳̻͖̹̜̮̓̄̔s̴͈̬̼̱̹̩ͅt̡̜͚͗̽͐̎ͮ͗ͫ ̗ͫ͋̅͗ͫa̒̆́ͅs̉͋͂̎ͣ̏ͫ͏̜̱̘͔̫ ̢̠̤͈̟̫ͩt̶̍͋a̵̩͎̻̍s̖͍̙̼͉̻̹̊͗͛̒ͩ̚t͋e̹̜̘̻͔̲ͫ̂ͬͪ̊̎̃ ̴̫͓͔͋o̩̺̝̗̦̭͑ͬ̈̔͒̽͑f̾ͪ͋͌ ̿͏dͮ̐ͯ̿̽͛̊r̙̖̣͕̄ͣ̚é̶̟͊͐̅̀͑a̞ͫͯ̀ḓ̵͎̣̠̇ͅ ̷̼s̝͕͇͖̜̦͖̽͢t̺̳̬̗̊ͪ̇̄̈ͣ͟ͅǐ̬̹̂ͪ̃ͨṅ̹̺̞̞͞g̝̖͇̖͌̂̓̿͜ͅs̱͗̌ͩͫ͆͂ͭ ͕̋͆̌͂̈́y͎̱͎͆̃ͮ̇ͫ͡o̭̖͙̾͒ͧ̈́ͬ̓̀u̐̉͒̇̚҉͍̭͕̗̲̠ŕ̵̜̬̜̝̤̼̠̐̓ ̨͔̯͓̆̊̐̆̇mͥ͏̬̟͓̬̦̥̠i̟͓̳̥̖̪͆ͭn̬͇̲̮͕̭̈̓d̥͍̮̳ͤͭͯ̀͛́ͅ.̗̾̽̆͑̚̕ ̺̺̯̈́́͆̃ͅS̻̺̞͉̣̘̅̅ͨa̡͖̹͒ͦ̋̀ͫṫ̰̲̔ͫͥ̓̆͋a̡ͥ̍̇̽ͯ͗̊ṉ̨ͬ́̓̚ ͇͚̼̹ͬͯ͆̏͌͝s̠̱̝͉̜̼̒t̟̹̓ͨ̆ͬͦͨr̛̝̭̮̣͙̭̒͑̚ő̝̗͔̼̻ͫ̽͌͞kͮ̋͒̍e̳̐͟s̨̻̝͚̳̘̓ ̢͉͙̼̻͚̜̔͆͋ͬ̆ͬ́ṫ̴̩͓̩͙͎̀̾͆̇h̡͖ͧ̊̎͊ē̼͙̠ͩͣ̽̾ͥ ͏͎ẁ̵͇̜ͪ̌͂͛ͅa̟̘̪̪͚̦ͥͬ̓̈̑ͅl̟͙̦̮̜͖̋ͯ̽ͯ̓̋ͅl͔̙̖͉͇ͦ̓͡s̱̩ͫ̀̏̒͢ ͕̣̘͖̭̯̋̊ͪ͆ͥ̈́o̲̟̩̭̜͉ͨ̊ͯ̃̐ͅf̢̪̜͈͙͖̫̲̅̑ ̛͓̘́͑̇̏̎̚ÿ̮̖͖͊͗̉̀͜o͂̓ͦͤ̃̄͗u̥̐͂ͫ̾̄͝r̴̼̦͆ͭͅ ͔̝̬͗́͆̃͟s͚̞̖̰͂͌͢o̦͇̫̯ͫ͌̊̈́̏͢u̯͕͎̘͍͜l̰̠̊ͦ̄͒ͩ̿ ̐̚҉̘̖͔͈̪͔ȁ̘̘̠͇̥̼ͣͩ͒͂ͪs̻̘̲̮͇͛͐̿̚ ̦̬̘̘̝ẙ̻̰̙̺͐̌͜o̤̝̥͖͐ͫ́u͓͞r̩̫͖͙̻̺̩̈́̾͡ ̝̭m̫̳̪ͧ͛̿ͮͫi̟̯͔͎͋ͥͦ̓n̫̦̋͋̽̑d̳̻͓̖̟͍͉̓ͮͤ͗̒̽̓͘ ͥ̋̿t̡̺̀͛̀͗ͨ̇w̮̳͙ͬ̿̀i̐̐ͨ̋͏̥̲̝r̨ͬ̂͛̄͛̃ͮl͕̏s̛ͩ͑̋ͮ̉ͭ̒ ̴͚̘͍͍̪͈͔ï̇ͮ̈͐n̝͖̗̉̓̇ͩ̑̐̈́t̹o͇̜̮̟͕̘͎ͤͩ̋̂̏ ͕͖̲͈̪̎̽̍͝ȧ͕̯͚̯̪̏͗̋̎͛̔ ̮̪̭̞̰ͧͅb̬̟̩͍̘͚ͨ̍ͧ̋l̝͋͊ͧ̉̊a͎͕͙̻͟cͯ͋͐̍͒k̡͈̪͙̽̄̋ͣ͑ͅ ̛͓͕̟͉͓̉̿h͈̺̑ͯö̟̩̮̰̘̺̙́̉͢l͉̱̚ͅe̝̰͚͇̤ͤ.̗͙̄

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 LVL 8: Reality.

That goon sack that you nicked from Davo’s 16th.

You wake up. Your hoodie is soaked in Fruity Lexia.  Your gf has still broken up with you. You have 20 missed calls from mum, you’re late for roll call and you’ve shit your pants.

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