You know the guy who drinks so much at pre-drinks, by the time he gets to your party he smells like he’s spent the day at a slip n slide doused in rum? Ten minutes into the party and he’s already made an inappropriate mum joke, to your mum, cracked open your esky screaming something about beer bongs and taken a shit in the area you cornered off for guys to pee in. He’ll wind up passing out early, which is good, but not before he starts two fights, calls the host a ‘dirty slut’, vomits on the parents Kia Rio and rips out half your hedges while he talks about the Home And Lifestyle channel. He probably winds up doing plenty more, but that will all become apparent the following day while you clean up his path of mass destruction. All of the above constitutes ‘that guy’, a breed of human who knows no shame – at least not after half a carton of bitter.
‘That guy’ can be anyone on any given night. From the quiet guy you thought was a sikh, to the rugby player who lied to everyone about banging the school captain, there are no limits once alcohol takes hold. ‘That guy’ is also not, despite the title, gender based. Girls can be ‘that guy’ on any given night, and over my past experiences I’ve come to learn they can fill the role quite well. I once 
witnessed a girl climb atop the roof of a two story house and proceed to piss on the nacho platter 10 meters below. “Is that Cassie” onlookers gasped, “She told me she didn’t drink”. Well, apparently she lied. Perhaps it’s this unpredictability that makes the ‘that guy’ moments so story worthy. The combination of surprise and disbelief you get when your schools star violinist is screaming obscenities at the police as she gets arrested for public nudity is just too good not to tell.
As painful as ‘that guy’ can be for the host, he or she is a welcomed addition to any party for most of the onlookers. Their blissful confidence, thanks to a strong dose of one or many mind-altering substances, coupled with a complete disregard for social norms, generally results in comedic viewing. While Gary feeds ‘that guy’ more booze (“you wont, you’re scared”) and Sally takes photos to spread around on Monday, the attention will only amplify his stupidity. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow” an ethically responsible onlooker will say. “No I’m not you fat autistic weirdo” is the reply, as ‘that guy’ downs another beer and throws his empty bottle at the neighbors roof.
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