"The bars just closed--Ariel should be calling any minute!"

Listen closely, children. One of the most chilling side affects of alcohol is not listed on the warning label of your favorite brewski. I speak of the dreaded Drunk Dial. Oh, Ken, don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about. Hell, I *69-ed your ass last Saturday.

Drunk Dialing is a sneaky little bugger because we never plan for it. "Making a complete ass of myself" is usually not scribbled in my Palm when I'm making weekend plans. Even on the day of, we're confident of success. A la Stuart Smalley, we tell ourselves, damn, I look good. I'm the shit. I don't need anyone but myself, I got big plans, I am GOING PLACES, thank you very much. But 6 Kamikaze shots and 8 Bud Light drafts later we're speed dialing exes like we're on the goddamn Titanic, blubbering into the phone about how we're lonely and depressed and tired of watching "Joan of Arcadia" by ourselves.

Thanks to text messaging, the Drunk Dial now has a far worse spawn--written testimonial of our idiocy. One of my friends has a paramour who "drunk texts" her on any given weekend. While we're fairly impressed with his digital dexterity whilst besotted, 90% of his messages come out completely retarded:

"Hey BAB U R hoT cant w8 2 C 1FgghkH?!!"

Needless to say, he hasn't gotten so much as a boob rub for his efforts.

The problem of Drunk Dialing has become so widespread that in some countries people have decided to take precautionary measures. One can only hope that someday we, too, can put child locks on our cell phones before we enter the bar.