P-P-P-Pig Roast

There are few things that are genius in the day-to-day schemes people come up with. BBQ's are always a good idea, but a frozen beef patty is nowhere near the level of what I have just had: My first Pig Roast.
Picture a 125lb porker, disembowled and skewered on a stainless steel, motorized spit. This is no Ronco, "set it and forget it" rotisserie (which I'll absolutely buy someday), this is a 6 ft pit, filled with hundreds of perfect, white coals.
The founders of the feast, Matt & Mac, started the laborous cooking process at 6am and let this bad boy slow roast for a solid FOURTEEN HOURS. Now this is someone else's hard work I'd like to enjoy!

Here lies the real problem of this event: Alcohol. On more than one occasion I have been asked if I am an alcoholic? Of course not. And here's my logic:
1> There's a difference between alcoholism and deliberately drinking.
2> Alcoholics don't look forward to taking a break after a long binge.
3> Alcoholics go somewhere so they can drink, Socialites drink to go somewhere.

If this doesn't make sense, you're probably an alcoholic. "No," you say? Well they say denial is a big sign too, so case in point.

Anyway, we are loaded when we arrive, anticipating eating immediately to help counterbalance, but the feast won't be ready for couple more hours. This only causes us to drink more in the meantime. I have on a brand new, expensive shirt so I immediately get Red Otter Pop spilled on it. This vexes me. I am terribly vexed. But I am also fairly inebriated, so I still feel great. While most people drink and get beer goggles, I get narcissistic and extremely flirtatious.
I chat with a cute girl in the kitchen, whose name i forget, whose number i throw away, and ask her to make me a drink. She asks "how strong?" and i say "surprise me!"
This is a bad idea. After 3 of her concoctions, I am literally* able to blow fire (*figuratively). The party heads to the roofdeck to watch the sunset and drink some delicious mircobrewed kegs. I remember little beyond this.
I hit on a different girl, who is not amused by my slurred speech, and proceed to tell the guy following her around not to look so desperate. He informs me it's his fiance. I say "maybe she doesn't know." He looks confused, and I simply walk away to let him ponder what that means. I am staggeringly drunk. My roommate puts me in a cab, and I pass out before I finish sitting. I wake up the next day in my bed to hear all the other outrageous gestures and conversations I had, and see a trail of my clothes from the front door. This is my signature. I don't even remember if the pig was good. If you're gonna embarrass yourself, you may as well make it funny.