Drunk As A Skunk Novels & Stories

Wild Mayhem is hopping again tonight. The music is loud, and the drinks are flowing, but there's also something else. An undercurrent of excitement, or maybe tension? Whatever it is, I can't put my finger on it, but it has me paying attention more than I normally do. "You feel it?" Skunk asks, he walks over to stand beside me as we both wipe glasses down. "The electricity, the nervous energy?" "Oh yeah, my man. You definitely feel it too."

*********************** *ARTURO* The party was in full swing, not looking like it was going to die down any time soon and my Mum was having a great time, I walked about giving out hugs and saying goodnight, it was time to head home and cuddle my girlfriend, she should be snug in bed by now, having dropped her slightly inebriated father home, he had drunk more than usual but with our team winning I am surprised we are not all drunk as skunks. What a silly saying that is, 'Drunk as Skunks', I wonder where that came from?

Now that was a different story. Beers—hoppy and golden-hued—blunted some of their senses. Not all. The two men caught the whiff of danger on the balmy summer breeze as distinct as downwind road kill and felt themselves chill over. “Dude’s drunk as a skunk,” Danny said, pointing to the taxi with one hand and rubbing his chest through the button gaps of his plaid shirt with the other, one of his many absentminded habits. Like a few of the other patrons in the outdoor area, he staggered onto the footpath and into the glow of orange halogen lamps.

My friends got along and time passes we were all tipsy, except Skye who didn't seem to get drunk even when she drank too much alcohol. "Let's claim the dancefloor bitches!" Sunny exclaimed. The woman who loves to twerk. I stepped my swaying feet and walked toward the dancefloor. "L-Let's go! L-Let's find a hot handsome guy too! Ik!" my crazy response to my friends. I walked ahead, followed by the others. "W-Why are you w-wearing like that S-Skye? Y-You looks like a bank hold-upper," even though my eyesight doubled her posture didn't escape me. She was wearing a black oversized t-shirt topped with torn fitted pants.

- I said. - Made me embarrass myself in front of John Bon Jovi. - It was a bad moment, I swear. - You are crazy. - And you bastard. - Of everything you used to define "underclass", every word, I define you as underclass. - Drunk. - Drunk in the cemetery. - Better than the beach. - I get drunk everywhere. - Want me to congratulate you on that? Do you think it's beautiful? You can't drink like this anymore.

"Don't you think I'd know whether Ms. Sanders has siblings? Where the hell would a nephew come from? You'll say anything to climb the social ladder, won't you?" He gestured to his men. "Bring me some liquor." One of his guys immediately handed him a bottle of vodka. Rex twisted off the cap, grabbed my jaw, and started pouring it down my throat. The burning alcohol seared my throat as I choked, my face turning bright red while the liquid spilled down my chin onto my neck and clothes. Rex's expression turned vicious. "Drink it! Finish the whole damn bottle! If you dare spit any of it out when Ms. Sanders gets here, I'll throw you into the underground arena and let all the guys there have a tas

His look is super sharp, like a hunting wolf trying to smell a lie. I know exactly what his dark brain is thinking. He thinks my ears were stealing the secrets he just spoke into the line. He thinks Mireya Duskrell was on the other side of the device. "My boots just hit the stone right after your line went dead," I tell him real cool, my chest rising up and down with the biting frost. Draven finally lifts his heavy chin, sliding one massive hand deep into his leather pants pocket. His voice sounds lazy, like he is talking to a common pack worker. "My wolf was blind drunk on mountain liquor that night."

“I keep getting bitten.” Bringing my hand to my neck, I drive it over my skin, around the neck, and if I wasn’t totally sure that I was imagining it, I could swear that his stoic expression twitches. But he just grunts, putting his glasses back up and acts like he is concentrating back on his paperwork. For a second, I look at him without saying anything, and suddenly another flashback shoots through my mind. Is it possible that I was so drunk that I imagined everything? Was it a hallucination caused by the alcohol and my idiotic desire?

He leaned on a wall and lifted his head to check the door he had just walked out of as if to be sure and to have the number in his memory. “169! 169.” He sang in a slurred, drunken voice as he drunkenly staggered toward the restroom. He could have used the restroom inside, but here, where no one is, he would choose to go anytime. Oh! It looks like someone is in there. And a handsome person at that. Hayden smiled drunkenly and walked towards the entrance, where the handsome man was.

“What the fuck do you want, man?” The Latin one was more like a caged animal, his chin low as he clocked the four of them from under surly eyebrows. “Come back for more?” The other druggies were awake now. One even peed his already soiled pants, probably thinking the men in suits were cops. The others sneered with gray teeth. If there is anything like a zombie in real life, it’s a Meth addict. Nate grabbed Darrell and held his arms. “Hold on. Just wait.”