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The risks of drinking you actually give a toss about, by pints consumed

BOWEL cancer isn’t a risk of drinking you’re worried about, but not being pissed enough by 11pm is. Here are the real risks of drinking ranked by how shitfaced you are.

0 drinks: High risk of a shit evening. Your mates are talking about the Halfords sale and you need to be pissed to care. Alcohol campaigners should factor in boredom-related brain damage, because it really feels like part of your frontal cortex has withered and died.

1 drink: May slightly raise your blood pressure. Right now you face the worse problem of being tediously sober if you don’t start hammering the booze.

2 drinks. Increased risk of obesity. Also a risk of the alcohol removing your inhibitions and you blurting out personal details/secrets you later wish you’d kept to yourself.

3-4 drinks: Elevated risk of stroke or heart attack, but that’s ages away. Currently you’re starting to talk bollocks and could end up having an argument about politics with someone who turns out to be surprisingly knowledgeable. High risk of looking like like a dick.

5 drinks: Increased chance of developing senile dementia. However your current alcohol-induced overconfidence is likely to cause you to try it on with that stunning blonde woman at the bar, resulting in rejection and feeling like a creepy sexual harasser later. A spot of dementia would be handy to forget that.

6 drinks: Liver function may be impaired. There’s a more pressing possibility you’ll unexpectedly barf on a table. 

7-8 drinks: Did you know alcohol increases the risk of throat cancer? No. Did you know eight pints increases the chance of a regrettable one-night stand where you’re too pissed to have sex properly, so it’s really awkward without any fun bits? Yes, you did know that. It may happen again tonight.

9 drinks: High chance of permanent memory loss. Also a high chance of having to cling to the bar or table to avoid falling flat on your face. 

10 drinks: Large amounts of alcohol can cause your heart to stop, killing you within minutes. It’s more likely you’ll drop your kebab, which is equally tragic because a large one is nine quid these days.

11 drinks or more: Heavy drinking can lead to mental confusion and hallucinations known as ‘wet brain syndrome’. A more immediate risk is that when you’re blackout drunk f**king anything could happen. Waking up on a park bench covered in piss is cause for joyous celebration in comparison to coming round in police cells or A&E with a broken foot.

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Driving into the Asda car park: Five times you wish you were a millionaire hip hop megastar

LIFE is full of mundane bollocks which could easily be avoided if you were a multi-platinum-selling rap artist. Here are just a few examples.

Driving into the Asda car park

While you fight for the last parking space and trudge into Asda on a drizzly Saturday, you can’t help but think life would be better if you’d produced a series of white-hot rap demos and been signed to Roc-A-Fella records.

But you didn’t. Instead you’re scouring Asda’s ‘Whoops’ section for reduced price ready meals. Your personal fortune isn’t $400m, it’s £11 in your current account plus your overdraft. Your rap name would be ‘Lil Prospects’.

Being dumped

Going through a break-up is hard. But only for normal folk. As a hip hop megastar, you’d simply direct that pain into a hit record that ends up at number one in the Billboard charts.

Also you could instantly replace your partner with any number of stunning honeyz or hot dancers. Not so much ‘plenty more fish in the sea’ as ‘a near-infinite supply of Cristal in your climate-controlled wine cellar’.

Queuing in the chemist

After 20 minutes queuing for a prescription and hearing every old dear in front of you explain their personal ailments in disgusting detail, it’s hard not to wish you’d produced several critically acclaimed albums about growing up on the mean streets of Atlanta. But you’re from Crewe, you went to the sixth form and you work at Ryman’s. Don’t be too downhearted – your haemorrhoid medication is ready!

Attending a parents’ evening

Being dragged to parents’ evening is always a shitshow. Bur probably not if you go along wearing a diamond chain worth more than the entire street the teacher lives on. In this scenario, if little Rainbow Rockerfeller is doing badly in maths, there’s no need to worry about her job prospects later in life. You’ll just give her a nothing job at your luxury cognac brand you later sell for $1bn.

Putting the bins out

The true nadir of daily life. As you tussle with a split bag, scattering a chicken carcass and dripping bin juice down your leg, you think there must be another way. And there is.

If you’d not wasted your time at school with lessons and practised your rapping you’d be a musical icon by now. You’d have no end of hangers on and associates who’d take your wheelie bin out for you. They’d probably take all those old batteries to the recycling centre too, while you sit in your home studio twiddling knobs, freestyling lyrics and getting through heroic amounts of cocaine.

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