Four Loko Stories
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Here are some Loko Stories:

oralfixation: drank two fourlokos, drunk dialed the kid i had a crush on, found out he didn't like me, sobbed hysterically, got naked, wrapped myself in a cheetah-print snuggie, and proceeded to wander around my dorm telling people about my heartbreak.
Loko: 62
Not Loko: 67
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loked: My first experience with four loko started with me leaving a party where the neighbor was waving around a gun at all the fucked up kids and ended with me and all of my girlfriends running around naked in the local elementary school park in the sprinklers in front of all of our guy friends. Since then, everytime i've dranken four loko i've ended up publicly naked with no recollection except for the interesting photographs.
Loko: 62
Not Loko: 68
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Live Webcam: Check out this Armory Square, Syracuse webcam on a Friday or Saturday night to see some interesting stuff!
Western Loko: Drank too many lokos.....when i woke up i thought i was skiing down a snow capped mountain in the alpes gripping on to 2 skii poles but in reality i was giving 2 dualing western style hand jobs to 2 amigos with curious but gentle mustaches all while my thumbs were free for exploration...
Loko: 62
Not Loko: 68
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ging minge: I was on lokos and I straight up made out with a girl with a huge snaggle tooth
Loko: 62
Not Loko: 71
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Wilson the Hammock Man: Need to pass out after drinking too much loko? Check out these sweet camping hammocks!
Capital: Drank 3 lokos then made this: http://www.ipoopedacapitalf.com
Loko: 62
Not Loko: 72
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Too Loko: I downed about 2 4Lokos and ended up fucking some kid behind a building on my college campus. Oh Lokos, You totally diminish my morals.
Loko: 62
Not Loko: 72
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LokoTaco: So there I was... Sitting at my computer looking at DMV site information to find out what I needed to do the next day to get my license replaced from when I lost my wallet on Halloween. Apparently Batman gauntlets weren't meant for storing wallets. I get a text from my friend asking if I wanted to come over and partake in watching the excellent lineup of Thursday night shows. At first I hesitate putting myself in a drinking situation on a work night when I've already dug myself in a hole losing my wallet and everything inside. Then I realize my night of staying in would probably involve working out and trying not to fap, so I got changed and headed over. I'm sitting in the champagne room enjoying a harmless can of Blue Light when I spot a ridiculous looking yellow and black empty Four Loko sitting on his bar. I figured the stuff would eventually be banned so I spontaneously decided to drive to the gas station and buy one, just to say I've tried it. Naturally, being sans-drivers license from my bad decision to not wear pockets under my Batman costume, I was unable to provide proof of age to buy this stupid can of ghetto hooch juice that I barely wanted in the first place. Not being content with the embarrassment of being seen drinking one, I decide the logical thing to do is have a freshman buy it for me. One of the freshmen in attendance had a fake ID that he said he had bought Four Loko with earlier at the store around the corner. I assume it will be quick and painless due to the proximity of the store from my friend's house, so I toss him in the car and drive over. We get there and it's closed. I mention the gas station and he says they "probably won't accept his fake ID". Wow, I have reached a new low. The retarded pointlessness of the situation is starting to come to the surface. I decide I might as well go all-in since my chips are already low, so I drag another freshman with me to the gas station and hand him some money so I can sit in my car and look even more retarded. Never should I have thought the "hey mister" situation would come back and reverse itself on me as "hey kid". He comes back with FOUR cans because the guy at the counter said there is a special deal where it's cheaper to buy more than one. Whatever, at least I won't be the only one there drinking this thing. One can is obviously all I want though, because I don't need to dig myself deeper with work and errands to run the next day. We go back to my friend's and he hands me one of the ridiculous looking cans of blue raspberry Four Loko that resembles pants you might see on a fat chick tailgating at a Bills game. I open the huge idiotic can and expect a horrible taste resembling the bottles of MD 20-20 that Lindley used to sneak into the movie theaters, but I'm pleasantly surprised that it's not as bad as I expected. Which, of course, still tastes like shit by anything other than malt liquor standards. I proceed to consume the Four Loko while watching Always Sunny and The League. I eventually finish the can and notice that I'm feeling a bit dizzy. I attempt to reset myself by grabbing another beer, which I hope will also get rid of the feeling that papa smurf had ejaculated blueberry pie filling into my mouth. I begin a conversation and immediately realize that although I only feel slightly buzzed, I'm finding that my motor skills seem a bit off and I'm actually slurring a bit, which is rare even in my frequent scotch-induced-retard-strength phases of drinking. I look across the room and see the freshman incoherently bumble over to the bar and open his second can of Four Loko. I then start to consider that a small bowl of spinach and cottage cheese is not a sufficient base layer for a giant can of 12% alcohol malt liquor. In my Four Loko induced state I immediately get in my car and drive to Taco Bell where I decide inviting two XXL Chalupas to the stomach party is my best option. I sit in the parking lot and eat one. About 3/4 of the way through my eyes widen as I realize the current contents of my stomach, and what will most likely be heading through my intestines like a runaway bullet train. The first fart pops out, and the smell can only be described as "Satan's afterbirth". I quickly finish the rest of the XXL chalupa and begin driving home to the safety of my toilet. Having underage kids buy me alcohol, drinking blue ghetto rat piss, and eating late-night haggard food seemed to foreshadow the possibility of me shitting myself in my little powder blue, V6 Mustang. I give it a little more gas (pun intended) in my attempt to reach home base quickly as I think the night can't get any worse. That's when I saw the red lights behind me... Sure enough, the evil spirit inhabiting the can of ghetto swill I had consumed prior had summoned an officer of the law to come and punish me for my sins. I drop an F-bomb, then pull over roll down my window. OfficerLoko: "Where are you headed?" Me: "I'm just going back to my place after watching some TV at a friend's house." OfficerLoko: "Where exactly is that?" Me: "Rendezvous drive." OfficerLoko: *gives me an odd look* "What? Did you say you had a rendezvous with someone at your house and you had to drive?" I can't tell if he's making a sarcastic joke or if he actually didn't hear me. Either way, this causes my stomach to get even more queazy than it already was. Me: "Rendezvous drive is the street that I live on, just a few streets away from here." OfficerLoko: "License and registration please." Me: "Here is the registration, but I lost my wallet last week and my license was in it. Here is my old college picture ID though." (the irony is uncanny...) OfficerLoko: "I noticed your license plate light wasn't working, that's why I pulled you over... There's a pretty strong smell coming out of there, how many drinks have you had tonight?" Me: "...three [canned] drinks." OfficerLoko: "You sure that's all you had? Your eyes look pretty bloodshot and tired and I can smell you from out here." At this point I'm starting to realize that the rancid smell of human shit and taco bell is not on his list of favorite things. He begins to act more stern. Me: "I've been pretty tired lately from staying up late... and there is Taco Bell in the car." OfficerLoko: "Hmm... Why don't you step out of the car, I'm gonna have you do some tests just to show that you're good to drive." Unfortunately I had taken my coat off in the Taco Bell drive-thru and didn't want to make it awkward, so I just got out and left it in the car. The combination of freezing my balls off and feeling like napalm could come shooting out of my rectum at a moments notice had me noticeably trembling, which did not help my performance. First he did the pen trick where I had to follow it with my eyes. This one was a piece of cake and I followed it flawlessly, which seemed to anger him since this is supposedly one of the surest ways to tell if someone is too inebriated to drive. He literally kept moving the pen back and forth for probably 2-3 minutes hoping I would slip up, but I kept focused until he was done. Noticeably frustrated, he had me count from 2 to 16, then back down to 2 but skipping the number 7. I excel at this type of thing normally anyway, so I did fine. He then tells me to say the alphabet starting at H and without singing it, which I also easily complete. Not yet satisfied, he has me stand still and lift one foot 6 inches off the ground, holding it while counting to 60. Luckily this did not involve having to move around, so I also passed this test easily. He pulls out a breathalyzer. I vaguely remembered someone telling me you could "refuse" to take one at the time, but I figured that would give him probable cause to arrest me, so I decided to take the risk and hope that my "three cans" of alcoholic beverage actually looked like "three drinks" on his little booze-o-meter. Besides, I remember messing with one of my friend's breathalyzer at the bar recently and felt like I was more sober now than I was then, which apparently was within the legal limit. He glances at the reading, then puts it in his pocket. Finally, he pulls the ace out of his sleeve and has me walk a line on the road heel-to-toe, turn around in a specific way, then walk back. At this point I'm shivering a lot, tired, and afraid to bend at the waste. I look down and notice that I'm wearing black leather Aldo shoes that have that stupid narrow-nosed flat end to the toe that does not contain an actual part of your foot. Fuck. I contemplate whether this would be possible in these shoes even in a sober/warm/post-deuce state. I completed the walk as asked, although there was awkward contact whenever my heel hit the empty narrow tip of my shoe, which caused me to slightly stumble a couple times. Satisfied, he has me get back in the car while he goes and sits in his. I sit there for what feels like an eternity, cursing the concept of caffeinated malt liquor. He eventually comes back over with what looks like a large wad of paper towels you would grab when preparing to clean up a mammoth pile of liquid dog shit. As he gets to the window I instantly recognize the thin glossy paper and grayish text... Those are tickets. OfficerLoko: "Well, I could technically arrest you and bring you in for being borderline on the legal limit, but you seem coordinated and coherent enough to be driving. However, since you LIED to me about your "three drinks", I'm going to give you these tickets. These are fix it tickets that you can avoid a fine for if you fix ALL of these tomorrow." He hands me the pile of tickets and gives me a "good luck with that" look, then tells me to head straight home and gets back in his car. I scramble to put away my ID card and registration as a clench my butt cheeks like I'm in a prison shower. After getting home and unleashing the demons (and dropping an array of F-bombs), I finally take a look at the details on the tickets he gave me. FOUR tickets, for the following: - NO/INADEQUATE PLATE LAMPS - FAILED TO CHANGE ADDRESS/REG - FLD/NOTIFY DMV CHANGE OF ADDRESS - UNINSPECTED MOTOR VEHICLE EXP SEPT 2010 Cost of a FOUR Loko: ~$3 Cost of the equivalent of FOUR chalupas: ~$5 Cost of FOUR tickets: ??? Cost of FOUR hours spent today going to the DMV and Mechanic: ??? Finding at least FOUR ways to humiliate yourself in one night... Priceless. Oh, and don't drink and drive, assholes.
Loko: 61
Not Loko: 43
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the Viking: I had one four loko and decided id rather drink warm natrual ice.
Loko: 61
Not Loko: 53
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Sassy: Drank four loco. Argued with my ex husband. He murdered all my co workers.
Loko: 61
Not Loko: 57
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Dizz: A friend suggested I try a LOkO. Downed it, then I piled a few 7 and 7's on top of it. Later that night, I played pool with 2 biker girls who looked amazing at the time. At this point I was blacked out because I woke up with scrapes, cuts and bruises underneath my eyes and have no idea how I got them. Hopefully I didn't get rolled on by the Biker Girlz boyfriends. I hope thats not the case, because I have no idea and my boys who drank the LOKOS dont know either
Loko: 61
Not Loko: 58
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