Drunk City

"Hasselhoffin'" before step one.

In a list of the drunkest cities in America, Wisconsin had seven in the top ten and five more in the top 20. I mean, we kicked some serious ass… Maybe a little too much ass. Some might say excessive use of alcohol is a bad thing.

The organization that posted the report was a familiar foe of mine: 24/7 Wall St. Months ago, their “Spit Venom at Nick Olig” brand of journalism accused Fond du Lac of laziness. Now my city has made their binge-drinking list at number seven.

In the wake of a second indictment, I was angry. My ego had been wounded again. I wanted to write another smart-alecky rebuttal, but I got sidetracked by double-bubble bargains at various bars for something like eight days in a row. After that, I wondered if perhaps 24/7 Wall St. was spitting venom directly into my soul not out of spite but as a wakeup call. Maybe their intentions weren’t all that wicked.

Risking taunts of “sissy” from the locals, I abstained from alcohol for a week. Plus, I got some exercise and sunshine. It was nice. Maybe not “Hammered on Pabst playing Zelda” nice, but a healthier lifestyle did have its charms.

That’s when I resolved to get cleaned up, and more importantly, to give my life to a Higher Power—a perfect, omniscient, almighty entity.

And by that, of course, I’m referring to 24/7 Wall St.

This website is so omnipotent They can create extra hours in the day and more days in the week in order to spend time on studies outside the realm of global finance. Here’s a conundrum: Could 24/7 Wall St. make so many hours and days They Themselves could not fill up with first-rate reporting? I don’t know, but 24/7 Wall St. does. They know everything.

In pursuit of redemption, my journey toward becoming a devout 24/7 Wall Streeter required a dozen steps.

Believing 24/7 Wall St.’s Drinking Study in 12 Steps

1.) I admitted that I was powerless, and that my only source of power was 24/7 Wall St. Picture Vin Diesel from that movie Boiler Room where he’s a stockbroker scammer, and he’s got me in a sleeper hold. I pass out. Vin Diesel whispers in my ear, “Now you are ready.” Welcome to my meditations.

2.) I reasoned that I could only regain a sane outlook on life if I believed everything 24/7 Wall St. told me. “Buy low, sell high”? Sounds extremely complicated and I wish they’d dumb it down for me, but I believe They must be right.

3.) With that unwavering belief, I submitted my will to the care of 24/7 Wall St. That means that when I die, my will states that my Super Nintendo and collection of 29 classic games be given to the staff of 24/7 Wall St. And if I ever own anything cooler than that, They’ll get that in my will as well. I made a toast to this pledge with N-A beers—enough O’Doul’s Ambers to give me a nice little buzz.

4.) I took a personal inventory and assessed my follies. Yikes, I put on a pot of coffee for this one. Eight cups. The most glaring mistake I made was accusing a certain media outlet of shoddy research. They weren’t wrong for stating that the population of Fond du Lac—the city, not the county—is 101,577 even though every other source of information says it’s 43,021.

5.) Admitting those follies not only to myself but also to 24/7 Wall St. and another person came next a few days later. I was immersed in my art project of spelling “24/7 Wall St.” in giant letters made of empty O’Doul’s bottles, but I found time to post a remorseful “My bad” on Their Facebook page. All that apologizing got me hungry, so I went on a food run. I’d like to thank Denise from Jimmy John’s for making me a sandwich while I told her about my follies. (Emotionally needy, easily depressed, I want more ham and less veggies even if it slowly kills me.)

6.) Now I was ready for 24/7 Wall St. to remove my defects of character. Does that mean I can finally have shredded biceps and an enormous penis? I’m a believer, so I gotta trust that 24/7 Wall St. is gonna come through for me.

7.) I humbly asked my 24/Sevenly Father to remove my shortcomings. I already made a dick remark, so let’s move on.

8.) Writing a list of the people I had done wrong by slandering Them was key. Then it occurred to me, I had done this in step 3 when I wrote my will. They get Donkey Kong Country and NBA Jam when I die? Um, hello Make Amends List.

9.) OK, hard to put my Make Amends List into action without dying, so let’s put a bookmark in that one for now. Less importantly, though, I could make amends to Denise for holding up the sandwich line and testing her patience for 10 minutes while I admitted all my flaws. But it was late at night when I figured this out and the Jimmy John’s was closed. I didn’t have a pen and paper handy at the drive-thru window to write “I’M MAKING AMENDS!” So hopefully they were cool with the graffiti.

10.) Continuing to take a personal inventory and owning my mistakes was the next step. Yeah, this was basically a redo of a previous step, but let’s face it, the Ten Commandments had a few reruns too. Twelve steps, Ten Commandments—hey, even numbers are just better. They make division less messy. Indeed, as 24/7 shows us, even comes before odd.

11.) Improving my conscious contact with 24/7 Wall St. was the penultimate goal. I had to stay in a prayer-like trance to Them, so I devoted every waking moment to my 24/Sevenly Savior by reading Their content on my phone. Sure, I crashed through a corn stand and kept driving as I scrolled through articles and got kicked out of church for cheering an absolute banger called “Ford F-Series Claims 40% of May Pickup Sales,” but I feel it was worth it to gain knowledge about the stork market. Stack market. Stock market, that’s it.

12.) Finally, I had to share my message of awakening with friends. There were cops blocking the graffitied window at the Jimmy John’s drive-thru, so plan B was to call my friend Jake in Milwaukee. I told him about my enlightenment. He sighed and said, “If we’re to believe everything the media shows us, doesn’t that also mean that stockbrokers have been known to load up on coke and Quaaludes and toss little people wrapped in Velcro at targets, Wolf of Wall Street-style?” “But Jake,” I murmured, “That was just a movie.” “A movie based on a true story, bitch,” he replied. “If you’re looking for something to worship, you can do better than a gang of twisted snobs.”

What he said made me re-watch Wolf of Wall St. with an open but skeptical mind. And wow, did my friend have a point. Don’t get me wrong: Good movie, entertaining.

But it’s about people with no integrity. Those twisted snobs were out to humiliate that dwarf—plus everyone who works at McDonald’s. How does being a cheating, depraved criminal make one feel oh so superior? What a bunch of assholes.

That’s how I was reborn as a skeptic of 24/7 Wall St. I wrote this story fueled by a four-pack of Pabst tall boys, cut with two O’Doul’s Ambers halfway through because, you know, I’m getting more mature deeper into my 30s.

Thank you for reliving my transformative journey to hit the reset button. You suck, 24/7 Wall St. I retract my will.

As for my fellow Wisconsinites, remember, drinking is best when we don’t overdo it. Lord knows we don’t want to be too hungover to vote when the day comes to legalize weed.