ditzypuppet

[ditzypuppet]

Iam I'm bibh!! Yaay I' had horible day yestrerday so I'm gettin sonted:)

[ditzypuppet]

Planning on smoking and drinking myself stupid today n tmrw

[ditzypuppet]

Here's the full thing. I do plan on making 2 other versions of this, one of them more feedism-oriented. This one is purely intox, and the first time I've done so, so please let me know what you think!

Friday night is when you can revert back to your true nature.

And that is a drunk hedon.

You spend all week primmed up and put together, managing the responsibilities of a job, a household, a social life. You're relied on to make decisions, to follow them through, and subsequently handle any consequences that may arise.

But after your first toke and shot of the weekend, none of it is your problem. You feel the tension unwind from your shoulders, your back slouch a little more into the couch, and your pinned up smile melt into a real one. Now you can let go.

You could put on the tv, or listen to music and make art, or just scroll the internet, and let your desires take over.

You take a hit of your joint, sipping your first drink of the night between inhales. The smell of smoke wafts away along with the day's worries. The drink is chugged back to time it with the last embers burning out.

The high starts to screw your smile sideways, and you quickly take down another drink. Now is when the fun challenge of the weekend begins; get fucked up as quickly as possible but delay passing out as long as possible.

You feel the alcohol start to spread warmth from your stomach up to your cheeks, but it's not working fast enough, so naturally you need a shot. And maybe another, just in case.

You set up your space with easy access to your bong, edibles, a case of cans (24 pack; you've learned a 6 pack won't get you to 8pm), the still mostly-full bottle of vodka, and any other essentials like snacks and water.

You set up your movie and pull up its drinking game rules, and crack another can.

You drink more than the rules dictate, and open another one fifteen minutes in. An edible ends up in your mouth. That'll be a nice surprise in about half an hour.

As you watch you feel your mind start to get fuzzy. The lights of the tv are a little softer, the jokes a little funnier, the couch a little comfier. High energy thoughts can't even enter your brain, so they can't nag at the back of your mind and dampen this evening.

Close to the end of the movie your first bout of hiccups wracks your body, making you hold your belly and giggle. You've made a tradition now where as soon as the first hiccups stop, you take another shot. This "shot" is you chugging from the vodka bottle, going until the burn in your throat is too much.

Finding the remote to put the next movie on is hard, and so is operating the buttons, but you have lots of practice now and get it with little issue.

There's a drinking game for this movie too, but it's a lot harder to remember the rules and sometimes remember that you're playing. Don't worry, you're still drinking at a steady pace. Such a steady pace that halfway through the second movie you start to question what the hell is happening (you've seen this movie a few times already.) You giggle as you try to follow the plot, and you giggle as your body fights gravity trying to reach the bong.

Several rips later you lay melted into the couch, red eyes staring at the flickering tv. You think your mouth is dry from cottonmouth, but you've also been sitting there slack jawed and drooling just a bit. Alternating between your water and beer is remedying it, but it's also blurring your vision and sending heat to every extremity.

How long has the movie been finished? The screen has been recommending what to watch next for a while, but you've just clued in on that. Time to move on to something else.

The cans littered on the couch clank as you shift your body to get up, rocking up and nearly tumbling onto the coffee table.

Whoaaa, everything is swaying, like being on a cruise ship in choppy water. Miraculously, you bend over and pick up the half empty beer case without ending up on the floor. You put the vodka bottle in the box as well, having enough mind to keep one hand free to catch your falls.

One step, two steps, a little stumble to the side and back. The bedroom feels so far away. A particularly dangerous wobble makes you hug the hallway wall, using your shoulder to guide your melting body.

You make a quick stop to the bathroom and as you wash your hands you get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are bloodshot, but it's hard to see that as your eyelids droop, adding to the doped up look of your screwed smile. Your mirage sways because you do, the act of standing still far too complicated a task to manage.

Walking isn't any easier, but you make it to your bedroom without incident. You turn on some fairy lights and some music and lay next to the beer case in bed. Everything swaying gives the comforting inertia of laying in a hammock being rocked by the breeze. Breathing comes easy as you fully relax, only able to feel the dull fuzziness of intoxication.

You want more. So you sit up just enough not to choke as you drink and brink the vodka to your lips. That burns feels like pleasure now, and the shudders that traverse your body when you finish spur you on to drink more.

You scroll online lazily and admire everyone else getting wrecked tonight. A bold competitiveness rises up in you, determined to stay ahead of the others. You sit up more so you can feel the effects of the alcohol more, and it doesn't take long before you start to careen sideways, booze zapping all ability to stay upright.

Someone challenges you to walk to the other side of your room and back, and to chug vodka halfway through, if you make it that far.

Your legs tangle as you try to roll off the bed, but you manage to land on your feet. And then your butt as you fall back onto the bed. Attempt two gets you up, but you nearly topple over when you lean to pick up the bottle.

The world is a tilting balancing beam, and you're sure you're going slide off sizeways. You stumble sideways, back and forth, so much that you easily double the amount of steps it would have taken to get there in a straight line.

The wall meets your shoulder unceremoniously, and you lean on it like your life depends on it. Your balance certainly does; there's no way you're freestanding anymore.

The burn of vodka is triumphant, as is the spittle connecting between the neck of the bottle and your poisoned lips, as is your first step back towards the bed.

The second step is where you falter. No longer do you have the support of the wall, so your body quickly accepts help from the floor. Luckily you don't buy good vodka in glass, so the plastic bottle bounces harmlessly away.

Crumpled and dumb, you lay there giggling and wiggling, the pleasure of being so drunk and out of control brushing over your skin. Reaching for the bottle takes a few tries between your compromised folded position and your heavy disobeying arm, but you manage and tip it back, getting most in your mouth, but a good amount dribbles down your cheek and chin.

Hic! Your body jerks from the sudden spasm, limbs following through with the last of the twitch. Hic!

You try to roll over, but you can't even move you head and keep your eyes open at the same time. Gravity pins your shoulders back, forbidding enough momentum to get to your side.

So you just lay there, an entire bottle of vodka and countless beers pulsing through your veins and the power of joints, edibles, and the bong clouding your stalling brain. You don't need to think, you just need to feel.

You feel your head loll side to side, giggling as the world shifts. You feel your diaphragm hitch with every pesky hiccup and the contents of your stomach slosh with every involuntary movement. Most of all, you feel heat wash over your body in crashing waves, soaking your mind in nothing but pleasure, sending sensitive tingles down your spine, and a lusting desire for more.

Your beer is on the bed, and your toys are in the drawer beside it. Getting there might actually be impossible. For now, at least.

Conciousness starts to slip away from you, and you make a promise to yourself to move once you come to. You'll still be drunk as a skunk and unable to walk, but you might be able to crawl by then. Then you can get a head start on your Saturday activities.

You're so out of control that you're passing out on your floor, unable to move the few feet to your bed. Hedonistically sloshed for pleasure, but so fucked up that you can't do anything after the build up. Moans spill out of you as you try to squirm, just making yourself frustratingly more turned on.

But those moans quickly silence, because your debauchery has finally completely taken you over, leaving you passed out on the hard floor, drool dripping from your gaping mouth, eyes rolled back, and despite your state, arm reaching towards what should have been your next drink. What will be your next drink. When you're sober enough to move, but not enough to think.

There's no need to think.

[ditzypuppet]

Here's the full thing. I do plan on making 2 other versions of this, one of them more feedism-oriented. This one is purely intox, and the first time I've done so, so please let me know what you think!

Friday night is when you can revert back to your true nature.

And that is a drunk hedon.

You spend all week primmed up and put together, managing the responsibilities of a job, a household, a social life. You're relied on to make decisions, to follow them through, and subsequently handle any consequences that may arise.

But after your first toke and shot of the weekend, none of it is your problem. You feel the tension unwind from your shoulders, your back slouch a little more into the couch, and your pinned up smile melt into a real one. Now you can let go.

You could put on the tv, or listen to music and make art, or just scroll the internet, and let your desires take over.

You take a hit of your joint, sipping your first drink of the night between inhales. The smell of smoke wafts away along with the day's worries. The drink is chugged back to time it with the last embers burning out.

The high starts to screw your smile sideways, and you quickly take down another drink. Now is when the fun challenge of the weekend begins; get fucked up as quickly as possible but delay passing out as long as possible.

You feel the alcohol start to spread warmth from your stomach up to your cheeks, but it's not working fast enough, so naturally you need a shot. And maybe another, just in case.

You set up your space with easy access to your bong, edibles, a case of cans (24 pack; you've learned a 6 pack won't get you to 8pm), the still mostly-full bottle of vodka, and any other essentials like snacks and water.

You set up your movie and pull up its drinking game rules, and crack another can.

You drink more than the rules dictate, and open another one fifteen minutes in. An edible ends up in your mouth. That'll be a nice surprise in about half an hour.

As you watch you feel your mind start to get fuzzy. The lights of the tv are a little softer, the jokes a little funnier, the couch a little comfier. High energy thoughts can't even enter your brain, so they can't nag at the back of your mind and dampen this evening.

Close to the end of the movie your first bout of hiccups wracks your body, making you hold your belly and giggle. You've made a tradition now where as soon as the first hiccups stop, you take another shot. This "shot" is you chugging from the vodka bottle, going until the burn in your throat is too much.

Finding the remote to put the next movie on is hard, and so is operating the buttons, but you have lots of practice now and get it with little issue.

There's a drinking game for this movie too, but it's a lot harder to remember the rules and sometimes remember that you're playing. Don't worry, you're still drinking at a steady pace. Such a steady pace that halfway through the second movie you start to question what the hell is happening (you've seen this movie a few times already.) You giggle as you try to follow the plot, and you giggle as your body fights gravity trying to reach the bong.

Several rips later you lay melted into the couch, red eyes staring at the flickering tv. You think your mouth is dry from cottonmouth, but you've also been sitting there slack jawed and drooling just a bit. Alternating between your water and beer is remedying it, but it's also blurring your vision and sending heat to every extremity.

How long has the movie been finished? The screen has been recommending what to watch next for a while, but you've just clued in on that. Time to move on to something else.

The cans littered on the couch clank as you shift your body to get up, rocking up and nearly tumbling onto the coffee table.

Whoaaa, everything is swaying, like being on a cruise ship in choppy water. Miraculously, you bend over and pick up the half empty beer case without ending up on the floor. You put the vodka bottle in the box as well, having enough mind to keep one hand free to catch your falls.

One step, two steps, a little stumble to the side and back. The bedroom feels so far away. A particularly dangerous wobble makes you hug the hallway wall, using your shoulder to guide your melting body.

You make a quick stop to the bathroom and as you wash your hands you get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are bloodshot, but it's hard to see that as your eyelids droop, adding to the doped up look of your screwed smile. Your mirage sways because you do, the act of standing still far too complicated a task to manage.

Walking isn't any easier, but you make it to your bedroom without incident. You turn on some fairy lights and some music and lay next to the beer case in bed. Everything swaying gives the comforting inertia of laying in a hammock being rocked by the breeze. Breathing comes easy as you fully relax, only able to feel the dull fuzziness of intoxication.

You want more. So you sit up just enough not to choke as you drink and brink the vodka to your lips. That burns feels like pleasure now, and the shudders that traverse your body when you finish spur you on to drink more.

You scroll online lazily and admire everyone else getting wrecked tonight. A bold competitiveness rises up in you, determined to stay ahead of the others. You sit up more so you can feel the effects of the alcohol more, and it doesn't take long before you start to careen sideways, booze zapping all ability to stay upright.

Someone challenges you to walk to the other side of your room and back, and to chug vodka halfway through, if you make it that far.

Your legs tangle as you try to roll off the bed, but you manage to land on your feet. And then your butt as you fall back onto the bed. Attempt two gets you up, but you nearly topple over when you lean to pick up the bottle.

The world is a tilting balancing beam, and you're sure you're going slide off sizeways. You stumble sideways, back and forth, so much that you easily double the amount of steps it would have taken to get there in a straight line.

The wall meets your shoulder unceremoniously, and you lean on it like your life depends on it. Your balance certainly does; there's no way you're freestanding anymore.

The burn of vodka is triumphant, as is the spittle connecting between the neck of the bottle and your poisoned lips, as is your first step back towards the bed.

The second step is where you falter. No longer do you have the support of the wall, so your body quickly accepts help from the floor. Luckily you don't buy good vodka in glass, so the plastic bottle bounces harmlessly away.

Crumpled and dumb, you lay there giggling and wiggling, the pleasure of being so drunk and out of control brushing over your skin. Reaching for the bottle takes a few tries between your compromised folded position and your heavy disobeying arm, but you manage and tip it back, getting most in your mouth, but a good amount dribbles down your cheek and chin.

Hic! Your body jerks from the sudden spasm, limbs following through with the last of the twitch. Hic!

You try to roll over, but you can't even move you head and keep your eyes open at the same time. Gravity pins your shoulders back, forbidding enough momentum to get to your side.

So you just lay there, an entire bottle of vodka and countless beers pulsing through your veins and the power of joints, edibles, and the bong clouding your stalling brain. You don't need to think, you just need to feel.

You feel your head loll side to side, giggling as the world shifts. You feel your diaphragm hitch with every pesky hiccup and the contents of your stomach slosh with every involuntary movement. Most of all, you feel heat wash over your body in crashing waves, soaking your mind in nothing but pleasure, sending sensitive tingles down your spine, and a lusting desire for more.

Your beer is on the bed, and your toys are in the drawer beside it. Getting there might actually be impossible. For now, at least.

Conciousness starts to slip away from you, and you make a promise to yourself to move once you come to. You'll still be drunk as a skunk and unable to walk, but you might be able to crawl by then. Then you can get a head start on your Saturday activities.

You're so out of control that you're passing out on your floor, unable to move the few feet to your bed. Hedonistically sloshed for pleasure, but so fucked up that you can't do anything after the build up. Moans spill out of you as you try to squirm, just making yourself frustratingly more turned on.

But those moans quickly silence, because your debauchery has finally completely taken you over, leaving you passed out on the hard floor, drool dripping from your gaping mouth, eyes rolled back, and despite your state, arm reaching towards what should have been your next drink. What will be your next drink. When you're sober enough to move, but not enough to think.

There's no need to think.

[ditzypuppet]

Making out while completely wasted >>>

Needing to grip tightly onto each other because the room is spinning too much to stay upright

Your eyelids being too heavy to keep open, needing to force them open manually to get a fuzzy glimpse of the other person

Your tongues both slow and sloppy from the booze, just lazily curling and sliding against each other

Letting out slurred little moans and whimpers without even realizing it

Probably drooling all down each other’s chins but being too far gone to care

Bonus points if one person passes out mid makeout and the other person is too fucked up to notice :3

[ditzypuppet]

✨manifesting ✨

a stoner feedee gf who can’t get up off the couch but you don’t know if she’s too full to move or just that high

[ditzypuppet]

Watching it get harder and harder for someone to get up, fit through doors, in cars is so sexy. Just slowly losing control and letting the fat take over

[ditzypuppet]

thiss is suuuch an oldd videoo but mdrunk an thoughht oh well whgy not sincd i dont have tons of more rexcent sruff tpost..

so take a vidd of me stumblin cuz mm too drunk..

[ditzypuppet]

Stone outfro mymund talk to meee

[ditzypuppet]

I vome to inform u vyys i e been high for 3 days dteaifht q my bf and weve been sych good dtoner dumbasses

[ditzypuppet]

abyway heres a walking video :3

[ditzypuppet]

I mhonna go an on annn bender hsksnsj I wanna ne dotned for days

[ditzypuppet]

I am so stined someone talk to me and call me a lazy dumb fatass

[ditzypuppet]

High agaaainn haha