We JETs are a diverse people. Some of us hail from such mysterious, faraway, and probably made-up lands as "Wales," "Russia," "South Africa" (South Africa?), and "California," but there is one thing all of us have in common: We love hooch. It's the great uniter.

Now, some people, who will go unnamed, have said I am "The Drinker" of Toyama City. This is a lie. Erroneous. I am not "The Drinker." I am "A Drinker." I'm not the biggest drinker in the city, nor could I definitively tell you who is, but I can make a case for two individuals, who will go named: Max "amillian" and Geoff "the cabbie" Davies.

As evidence to their prowess, I would like to tell you about my weekend.

At a bar in town called Sepian, the waitstaff was unfortunate enough to vigorously recruit about six of us for a nomihodai, or all-you-can-drink-in-two-hours special on Friday when we were all out celebrating Emily's birthday.

Naturally, the barstaff's elation at our patronage slowly but surely went south when they realized how loud we were. Three hours into our two hours, they decided to get rid of us. I sidled on up to the bar:

"hey," I asked one of the bartenders, "how are ya?"
"No more drinks." He said.
"No? Not even one?"

He looks at me and smiles what, in retrospect, must have been a rather wicked smile.

"ok." he says, "one more."

He takes out a glass and holds it up to the gin bottle, he looks at me questioningly. I nod. I had almost had my fill of Gin and Tonics, but if that was what he wanted to give me, fine, I was pushing my luck as it was. He presses the dispenser, a shot of gin comes out.

Then he moves the glass one bottle to the left, and holds it under the rum dispenser.

"wait a second, I-"

He pours one shot of rum in. He moves the glass another bottle to the left, and holds it under the tequila dispenser.

"really that is fine," I say, "I was just plan-"

He pours a shot of tequila in. He moves the glass another bottle to the left, and holds it under the vodka dispenser.

"Look here, I don't think I can-"

He pours a shot of vodka in. He moves the glass over to the beer tap.

"Now really, that's just obscen-"

He tops off the drink with beer. He sets it down in front of me.

"Here is your drink," he says, "chug it."

I look at it in silence. He looks at me.

"What, you don't want it?" He asks.
"Well, I mean, it's very nice of you to offer, but-"

Max comes up behind me.
"What's that?" he asks.
"I believe its half of the bar."
"Make it two," he says.

I look at him. "Are you serious?" He nods.
The bartender shrugs and makes another blackout cocktail. He slides it over to Max and starts chanting what I can only assume was "chug" in Japanese.

Max slams the whole glass in four swallows, sets it down, and moves back to his table in the rear. I am left staring at my glass. The bartender starts chanting for me. I breathe deep, take a sip....aaaaaand retch a little in my own mouth.

The bartender stops clapping and chanting. No glory for ol' Brad. Not tonight.

In the end it took me about another hour to finish that concoction from Hell, so really, the bartender's plan backfired in just about every conceivable way. Conveniently, after I finished the drink the bartender started pushing a 100 dollar bottle of champaigne on me, which I very nearly bought. Not coincidentally, Max blacked out the rest of the night and ended up sleeping under a couch. I contend that the precise point of his blackouttage probably occurred somewhere in between chug three and chug four.

Four hours into our two paid hours, they pretty much just up and threw all of us out. And that is Max's story.

Now on to Geoff "the cabbie" Davies.

Geoff is getting married, and although he may be the most family oriented of us all, he is still a very serious contender in the booze realm. Otherwise, why would I have found myself sitting next to him while he threw up out of the window of a moving cab? For the second time in as many months?

Saturday was another late night for us. You get into some of these karoke joints and you lose track of time and next thing you know you're in the red light district at a bar full of a.) rowdy Russians, b.) rowdy Brazilians, or c.) gropey Japanese, you look up and its 5am. Time to take a cab.

We were on our merry way home, chatting very civily, when Geoff stops, mid-sentence, puts up one finger as if to say (in his very proper Welsh accent) Oh dear me, good boy, I believe I'm going to vom out of the window of the carriage. Give us a second, would you? And rolls down the window.

"Geoff," I ask, "are you gonna puke?"

But he was already doing it.

You see, Geoff has a magical gift. He is one of a rare breed of people that I call "phantom spewers" because of their innate ability to puke in complete silence. Whereas I sound like a fat man choking on a polish sausage next to a jet turbine, Geoff could heave out a steak dinner in a migraine clinic and no one would be the wiser.

"You are puking!" I say. Incredibly, mid-act, head out the window, he gives me the hand motion to continue talking, so as not to alert the driver that he is flecking the rear of his cab with regurgitated Jim Beam.

I keep talking.

"Didn't we do this exact same thing in Kyoto?" I ask him. He nods out the window. Then he pukes again.
"That's amazing," I say, "you could hear a pin drop in this cab." He nods. Then he pukes again.

I talk about anything and everything I can think of. After a few short pukes, Geoff wipes off his mouth, sits back in the cab, and picks up the conversation exactly where we left off. It was perfectly executed.

I guess we'll never know whether or not the driver caught on. He didn't charge us any fee, regardless.

Geoff may have puked himself out on the cab ride home, but he was still drunk as a sailor. He apparently sat on his girlfriend's face as he tried to get into bed.

And that is Geoff's story.

I could go on and on about the kids in this town: Emily "lock and ralph" Laurie, Bryan "just one more" Holzer, Emily "weight in wine" Gumbrell, the list goes on and on.

Are we proud? Not really.
We're just trying to get by out here. And sometimes it takes a few glasses.