First Pint of Beer

Ah, here it fucking goes, tickling the old dendrites, the fizz and buzz. Cold pint slides down the throat, and guess who's on the frontline? Me, the bloody command centre. Oi, liver, get ready, we've got ethanol on the way, break out the enzymes, lads.

Splash—into the bloodstream it goes, molecules of alcohol bobbing like cheeky buoys in a red sea. What's this? Ethanol molecules, little pricks, binding to GABA receptors, whispering, "Calm down, mate, chill out." And I'm here amplifying inhibitory signals like a DJ cranks up a beat at a rave.

Dopamine, you beauty, get in there! Hit the synapses like a hammer on a nail. Joy, pleasure, here comes the dopamine rush, neurotransmitter of the 'life's good' memo. And serotonin? Don't be shy. More of that feel-good shit flooding the system. Ah, serotonin, making every sodding thing seem just peachy.

Then, there’s the little army of glutamate receptors putting on the brakes, but alcohol’s the cheeky cunt at the party, isn't it? Telling them to sod off, dulling their voices. Result? More inhibition, less excitation. The balance tips, things are slowing down, slowing right down.

Hold tight, heart rate's dropping a beat, slipping under the comforting blanket of alcohol’s effects. But oh, what's this? Norepinephrine neurons, usually firing like a machine gun, now just popping off like a lazy fart. Response times? Slower than a snail on a lazy day.

Cerebellum, mate, you’re in for a laugh. Coordination? Stability? Let's just throw that out the window, shall we? Watch this, walking's going to be a hoot, like steering a canoe in a hurricane.

And then the higher functions, dear prefrontal cortex, my control panel, starting to slack, letting inhibition slide. All those filters? Fuck 'em. Say what you feel, right? Blur the secrets, the inane chatter, the borderline offensive jokes.

But wait, dark clouds on the horizon, too much and the central nervous system throws a tantrum. Threat level midnight! Alarm bells, I'm flooding with cortisol because stress, mate, stress. Hangover looming like the grim bloody reaper.

Shit, it’s a full-on brawl now. Immune system’s throwing punches at phantoms. White blood cells on high alert, inflammation flaring up like fireworks on New Year's.

Hold the phone, serotonin levels dipping too low, dopamine’s spent, out for the count. Here comes the crash, the mood drop, the regret, the morning after. GABA's still whispering sweet nothings, but it's hollow, mate, like comfort food gone cold.

All systems strained, liver working double time, kidneys filtering the fallout. Exhaustion sets in, the body crying for water, for rest.

But we'll do it all over again, won't we? Because despite the chaos, the storm, the aftermath, it’s life, isn’t it? Thrilling, punishing, intoxicating. From the first sip to the last, every moment lived in the glorious, messy now. Cheers, mate, to the next round.