Come on, let's hear it.

I was 15 and my Dad used to work at a pub in Manchester. I was having a lovely time drinking Stella Artois and chatting to everyone. After my sixth pint though it hit me. I have a vague recollection of my Dad propping me up and then me sliding down the wall. My Dad and my brother had to help me walk home. Most people are in denial when questioned about how drunk they are. My Dad told me that I responded with "...I'm pissed...". My last recollection is sitting on the toilet then throwing up in the bath. Good times.

How about you guys?