“Words” by Paul Dickson has a chapter with 2,231 terms for being intoxicated. (it's in the Guiness Book of Records)
I wonder if he has fuzzled?
why don't you start a list here, bill?
Chester is a clever fellow. Say something clever, Chester. I don't know two hundred terms, let alone two thousand. I have had little personal experience with intoxication. After a surfeit of port, I discovered it tasted much better when regurgitated that did the dry wines. Once I fell in with some entertaining tipplers in Port Deposit, MD, not only lost count of beers ingested, but could not remember the next morning how I got home. When it occurred to me that I might have come to serious harm, I decided never to repeat that performance. I am not sure of the best word for that. I didn't meet any basketball stars. Blackout might be one of the names for the condition.
snockered, three-sheets-to-the-wind, blitzed, zonked, tipsy, whoozy, blippo, blotto, sloshed, tanked, inebriated, juiced, lubed, oiled, wasted, wiped out, lit, gonzo, high, staggering, swilled, over-and-out, gorged, sh**faced, torpedoed, doused, fried, liquored-up, plastered, pickled, stoned, intoxicated, drunk...
only a couple thousand more to go...
schnockered
Don't drive that way. The fuzz'll get you for sure.
Rendered, shikkered, steamboats,bladdered,caned, these are all Northern English, but of course your average cockney(southern) would say "Brahms and Liszt " (pissed)
the Duncster ( lethal bones)
Well, I read WW's list three times and didn't see hammered there at all. In Spanish we have cuete, hasta las cachas, borrachón,inebrio,hasta las trancas;bien, pero bien, borracho.....enfrascado, I can't think of any more just now.
Found this one in Mrs. Byrne's list I've got under construction:
gambrinous
It means full of beer. I'm assuming that it's a person who's full of beer, but that's an assumption and my assumptions are often incorrect...
WW
Correct as to beer. St. Gambrinus is the patron saint of brewers. Don't know anything about him except that for many years a full-color life-size statue of him stood on Gay Street in Baltimore across from the National Brewery, an incredible Gothic pile that looks like something out of a horror movie and has been sitting there slowly crumbling since it was abandoned more than a quarter century ago and is still awaiting someone to do a rehab job and rent it out in high priced condos. As to the statue, it disappeared years ago and no one knows what happened to it.
And what, pray, may have been this saintly person's miraculous works? It's nearly midnight, so I'll go dream upon this last thought...
WordWinded
encyclopedia.com gives Gambrinus as a
mythical Flemish king, to whom the invention of beer is attributed. He is represented in modern folk art as straddling a keg. this doesn't sound so very saintly an' all that.
here's a "Drunctionary"
which has fuzzled and gambrinous.
http://members.tripod.com/Freaky_Freya/drunktionary/drunkcentral.html
Or in the case of a tequila aficionado..."ate the worm." Jose Cuervo was an old friend of mine.......I really ate the worm more times than I can remember, I'm afraid. Ah! Such were the vagaries of youth!
Stunning sleuthing, tsuwm! Your site posted above provides quite the garderobe for John Barleycorn.
Now, I propose a challenge to coin a word for wearing a lampshade on one's head...a single word that captures that madhattery.
WordWondering...
Well oiled, has a skinful taken, steamed.
Here's a little drinking pome I wrote. It's very deep altagether and can be interpreted on many levels.
<clears throat>
OWED TA BACCHUS
by GallentTed
Oh Bacchus,
Back us.
God help us.
<takes a bow>
It's a few sillybels short of a haiku - just like some of the clientelle around here! (that's just a joke - I don't mean ta be offensive, in any sense of the word)
...a mythical Flemish king Those darn Phlegms take credit for anything.
...just like must of the clientelle around here. We ain't buying that.. much.
In the spirit of things, I just thought of bamboozled and tight. I realize I could have just gone to the Drunctionary, but these terms came to me serendipitously.
Heh! How 'bout serendipitossed?
Spirited must be one, too...
and I like spiralled, come to think of it, or gyred, or helixed. I wonder whether those are ones, too?
I think bloviated should be one...
And obfuscated...
How 'bout astygmatized?
And certainly tsuwmed should be one...
Just trying to think out of the box, tsuwm. Heh! I'll bet boxed is one, too--or should be one!
Best regards,
WordWoozie
"Her indoors" has just reminded me of her own conflation of two cockney
hi, duncan, and welcome! terms for liquidious befuddlement which takes "arseholed" and "rat-arsed" to produce "rat-holed"
re:Gambrinus as a mythical Flemish king, to whom the invention of beer is attributed.
any one who has spent any time drinking will know a few irish drinking songs-- including the classic "God bless Charly Moss, the man who invented beer!" but no matter who invented it, Beer is prove that God loves the common man, and it was for many years, it was England's salvation... for with out beer, the irish would have ruled the world.
now, it you haven't yet taken the pledge, i hope i won't find you in your cups, feeling no pain, tootled or plastered.
Rendered, shikkered, steamboats,bladdered,caned, these are all Northern English
Nope: "shikker" is the yiddish term, I believe, taken verbatim.
Bacche! Bene venies!
Gratus et optatus.
Per quem noster animus
Fit laetificatus!
Istud vinum, bonum vinum,
Vinum generosum.
Reddit virum curialem,
Probum, animosum.
Dear Faldage
Did ya write that yerself? I wrote me own. Stop tryen ta show me up - I can only read Latin when I've a few taken or elephants, pie-eyed, arseholes, langers, out of me tree,
drunk as forty cats, tight, mouldy drunk, maggoty, out of me skull, ar meisce {gaelic}.
Regards
GallantTed
No, I did not. But I conceived the notion that it is not a drinking song but a drinking game.
Mullered,mingin' , hangin', three sheets to the wind
the Duncster ( lethal bones)
Beer is prove that God loves the common man, and it was for many years, it was England's salvation... for with out beer, the irish would have ruled the world.
Recalling the Bumper Sticker thread from a while back, one of my favorites is:
Guinness: gaelic for "genius."
Guinness is Dublin's dark secret.
BTW, I used to really love the old advert for G that involved that large-billed bird (no - not Sabrina!) with the slogan, "Guinness is good for you. Just think what Toucan do!"
Speaking of birds, here's another drinking word from Mrs. Byrne, although it doesn't mean to be drunk (sorry):
zythepsary n. -- a brewery. (And the study of fermentation from another source, I've forgotten which).
Dub...
I've been hoping that someone who has Dickson's book would jump in here, but I guess I'll have to look for it at the library. meanwhile, here are half-a-hunnert or so...
besotted, blasted, blind, blue, boiled, bumpsy, canned, corned, crocked, ebriated, fap, fou, fuddled, gassed, high, jagged, jingled, jolly, looped, lumpy, moony, moppy, muckibus, muzzy, overshot, owly, pie-eyed, pifflicated, pissed, pixilated, plastered, plotzed, potted, screwed, shicker(ed), slewed, smashed, snockered, soaked, soused, sozzled, spiflicated, squiffed (squiffy), stiff, stinko, stocious, stupified, swacked, tanked, temulent, tight, tipsy, toxic, wasted, wet, whacked, whiffled, whistled, wrecked, zonked and drunk.
(excuse the repeats and misspells)
Please forgive this tangent, but this really is not worth starting a new thread over:
I read in Mrs. Byrne that the fipple is the lower lip. That lower lip is at least tangentially involved in drinking, yes?
Anyway, if the fipple is the lower lip, then what, pray tell, is the upper lip?
DD
Mrs. Byrne is a bit loose with her lip. the lower lip is called the underlip and the upper is called the overlip or uver lip. a fipple is a pendulous underlip, hanging down large and loose. that vertical groove in the middle of your overlip is called the philtrum. some mammals have a tumid (swollen/fat) upper lip, called a chiloma.
If one's lower lip is fipple, then the upper lip better be stiff.
that vertical groove in the middle of your overlip is called the philtrum
an otherwise wwftd made memorable by the following:
I have a little philtrum,
Wherein my spilltrum flows,
When I am feeling illtrum
And running at the nose.
tsuwm, is the plural philtrums or philtra?
as you point out, the singular is quite worthless, the plural even moreso.
we were up to our philtra in bumf.
Gosh, tsuwm, philtrum is just so danged clinical! Completely unpoetic. It sounds like something one would use in a laboratory.....something one would, at best, brew a concoction in.
But here's another beer word for you:
wort n. -- fermenting malt, incipient beer; anything fermenting
...from that old word tippler, Mrs. Byrne.
Best regards,
WordWort
Every morning the brewer goes from bed to worts.
Of course he's also heading yest.
Or is that yeasting head?
Ted, I like how your mind worts...
I posted on the Footnotes thread heeltap as the little bit of liquor left in a glass. I remember drinking my granddaddy's heeltap as a tyke...a tyke tippling at heeltap...
Anyway, I thought it might be good to list heeltap here on the fuzzle thread, too.
Do you think that someone who has tipped one too many Fuzzle Navels would be a fuzzled fuzzy navel disabled?
DubDub
Was the first expression two or three sheets to the wind...
And wherefore sheets?
I think this has been discussed here before, but I can't remember if we found the epexegesis (nor can I liu at the moment). it is given in OED as 'three sheets IN the wind'.
2. three sheets in the wind: very drunk.
a sheet in the wind (or wind's eye) is used occas. = half drunk.
1821 Egan Real Life i. xviii. 385 Old Wax and Bristles is about three sheets in the wind. 1840 R. H. Dana Bef. Mast xx, He+seldom went up to the town without coming down ‘three sheets in the wind’. 1862 Trollope Orley F. lvii, A thought tipsy—a sheet or so in the wind, as folks say. 1883 Stevenson Treas. Isl. xx, Maybe you think we were all a sheet in the wind's eye.
where, it is to be noted, sense 1 goes something like this:
1. A rope (or chain) attached to either of the lower corners of a square sail (or the after lower corner of a fore-and-aft sail), and used to extend the sail or to alter its direction. false sheet: see quot. 1644 in sense 4.
so, it is to be envisioned I think, that three sheets in the wind gives very poor sail control indeed!
tsuwm: I would like to see a picture of three sheets in the wind. I was tossed overboard in trying to grasp the cast of such flailing sails in the high winds.
Perhaps I should Google under "Three Sheets in the Wind" + photograph AND drawing...
Oh, and Mrs. Byrne, the little tippler, provides still another tippling term from her still:
usquebaugh n. -- Irish or Scotch whiskey.
Usquebaugh makes me think of the old term for oboe, hautboi, I think was.
Usquebaughed,
Chugalug
Mrs. Byrne has been at the bottle again:
yill-caup n. -- an ale cup or mug.
Now to find out what yill and caup are...
In the spirit of raising the cup o' kindness yet,
WW
Howya Wordy
Yer always given out about that Mrs Byrne wan. Well, take it from Ted, she's right on the whiskey score - uisce beatha literally means "water of life" and is indeed the Irish word fer whisky. Fuisce is another one.
As far as I know, it's the Scottish Gaelic word as well cos it's from the Irish they got their Gaelic. Of course, they spell their whiskey with an "e" - mustn't be from the "wherefor" branch of the Shakespeare family so - who, bye-the-way wrote in a cross between middle and modern English, so I don't think we're in a position ta be judgen his spellen. Anyways, it wasn't himself what got half his plays published. And there were no dictionaries or spell checks in them days, ya know.
Not that I'd be sticken up fer Shakey or anthin - I find him a bit long winded meself. Boren even. I mean those terrable sonnets - what are they about? 16th/17th century sedatives or what? And moreover (morover?)I never seen his name on the Nobel Prize list.
Speaken of which, might I recommend the 1995 winner - Seamus Heaney. He wrote loads of grate pomes - see below.
Yeats, Shaw, Beckett - take yer pick. "Waiten Fer Godot" is gas crack altagether, though probably better seen performed rather than red. Yeats was big inta the "Wee Fellas" or them from the Other World. It's from them I get me powers, ya know. How else do ya think a teddy bear could be so wordy and literal?
I can also recommend Jean Paul Sartre and me very favourite Albear Camoo (no relation, ya understand).
Digging
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
Follower
My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck
Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.
I stumbled in his hobnailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.
I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.
Mid-Term Break
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.
The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand
And tell me they were `sorry for my trouble'.
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand
In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.
Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four-foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four-foot box, a foot for every year.
WELL, SAY TOO FER NOW
BE SEEIN YA
GALLANTTED
And every morning the brewer hops out of bed!
Which reminds me of another term for intoxification, all hopped-up.
And, if hopped up, you're juiced-up, and, if too juiced up, you're messed up.
The morning after? Hangover. We could recall terms for that as a tangent along with accompanying terms such as the French bois ŕ la gorge...
Talkin' straight off the top o' me head (or hypothesising, as I would say in my professional capacity) these two words are just transliterations of a particular English regional dialect "yill" being "ale" - especially if there is an elision with a precending word (e.g., "the ale - -" might well come put as "th' yill --") and "caup" for cup.
(Later edit) "yill" would almost certainly be prounounced, "yeal"
Where abouts it would come from, I'm not sure - could be Geordie, at a guess. (i.e., Newcastle-on-Tyne, North-East England - strong Scottish influence on speech and culture.)
GallantTed, I loved Mr. Heaney's poems. Concise, yet telling. I, too, trailed around the farm yapping uselessly; but I've never quite figured out what use I have become instead, as he did. Thank you for posting them.
Perhaps some board member would like to know the pronunciation, of "Uisce beatha" which I had to look up
Several sites gave it as "ish keh baha".
I was feeling bemused, so I looked it up to understand better how I was feeling. Surprise, surprise! One of the definitions from some lexicon in Lexiconland had a definition of bemused as being intoxicated.
This one I like.
Bemused, but not bemused, you figure out which,
WordWoozy
I've just read several of your posts tonight, Wordwind, and if I didn't know better, I might say that you seem to have alcohol on the brain...(oh, ha ha, laughing at my own joke; bad, Jackie, bad!)
Sober as a judge, Jackie. I'd say many of us have had alcohol on the brain. And what's curious, from reading these various posts, several have admitted to drinking not at all or rarely, yet the fuzzle and fuzzled threads keep on kicking. The terms amuse me, bemuse me at times, but I, too, rarely tip the cup, although the words for doing it one time too many are fun to consider.
Samuel Johnson once defended street people who had been criticized for their drinking habits. I wish I could quote him (where's a Boswell when you need him?), but essentially Johnson was saying that these people had such misery in their lives, why take away their often chosen source of comfort.
Heh, Jackie, you and I have taken a few tips at the word keg a few weeks ago. That was enjoyable. Hic*.
Barrel regards,
WW (still licking my wounds over having been pffffft'd)
(still licking my wounds over having been pffffft'd) There, there, Dear--I always admire a gracious loser! [scampering hastily out of reach e]
Something else from M. Byrne, who is now staggering over the boards:
"zythum n. -- beer in ancient Egypt."
Did they make in out of papyrus?
Hopped-up / juiced-up / souped-up: In the late 40's and early 50's these were popular terms for modifying an internal combustion engine to add horsepower. "Hop-Up" was actually® a 'gear head' magazine that mergered with/into "Motor Life".
Let me know if you'd like an original copy...
...... beer in ancient Egypt." Did they make in out of papyrus?
No, out of the noble grain barley.
barley is generally considered an inferior grain to wheat, but it will tolerate colder, damper, and saltier soils than wheat, so it is the crop of choice for poor lands.
barley's was considered inferior, because it is not as nutritious, it lacks gluten,(a protein found in wheat) so bread does not form up as the same. still there are some of us who like barley cakes..
but barley is superior for making beer or alcohol. any grain can be malted, but barley malt has the highest sugar content, (and potential the highest alcohol).
and while i haven't yet become a lush, i can't say drinking is something i am unfamiliar with... but i don't much like beer, so i'll leave to the beer drinkers to discuss the merits of the various grains used to make beer.
It may be rice beer to you, but it's saki to me. I suspect zythum wasn't made from rice though.
I was facetious about papyrus, but here's a link that supports of Troy in the barley guess:
http://www.hmc.org.qa/hmc/heartviews/issue9/ALCOHOL.htmOn this web page there's a mention of cabbage juice as having been a cure for a hangover. Cabbages in Eygypt? Liver and learn.
Beer regards (I hate the stuff),
WW
The server is bogged down in Zythumium.
Here's a consequence of too much too many times from a word-contsuwmed being's lexicon:
ebriection
mental breakdown from too much boozing
Back to my research paper--wish the server weren't slow as a hippo trying to do a standing broad jump today.
WW
Iwas doing some reading about the Tarahumara (Rarămuri) Indians of the Mexican Sierra Madre and ran across this explanation for intoxication. It works for me!
When a person drinks the alcohol, in this case the corn beer,(it) goes to their stomach which is the area where the largest souls in the body live. And the souls don't like the smell of the beer so they leave. And that means that the only souls that are left inside the body, taking care of the body but also, um, controlling the body, are the smaller souls which are like small children. And so people say that is why when people drink they act like small children. -William Merrill, Smithsonian InstitutionI am assuming that this was part of an interview. I did a small amount of editing for clarity. Here is the link if anyone would like to read more.
http://www.powernet.net/~jackkelly/tarahumra/raramuri.html
Just one more quote from the site.
: Most importantly, the Tarahumara believe tesgüino is a divine gift. It must be consumed in order to praise God, to compensate for the moral shortcomings of others, and to ensure existence itself.
It was also stated that God gave the Rarămuri beer as a consolation prize because God lost a bet with the devil and that is why the white men are rich and the Rarămuri are poor.