Blotto

Dear old Squiffy was always rather a lad for the wassail-bowl. When I met him in Paris, I remember, he was quite tolerably blotto.

I drank a lot of wine – and afterwards, at Les Vikings, Akvavit – and was completely blotto (well, not completely, but enough to talk a lot and get the Hungarian talking and not be bored).

I stayed home for a couple days and got blotto four times. I did the usual bad drunk routine; cried a lot, moaned about my life.

Remember, Blanche DuBois was a blotto and her trip to New Orleans didn't get her anywhere. Nuff said.

His [Joe Jonsson's] drawings and rollicking humor about burglars, cardsharps, turf punters, jockeys and "blottos" (drunks) were a continuation in theme of the work of the early Bulletin artists Alf Vincent and Ambrose Dyson.

These borderlines are outnumbered more than five to one by the "blottos," drivers with BACs [blood alcohol concentrations] of 0.20 and higher. Put this 0.08 idea to the commonsense test: We're going to improve highway safety with a program aimed at a few "borderlines," while five times as many "blottos" continue their boozy ways? It'll never work.

Behind the lighted displays of bottles, the smudged wall mirror reflected hazy red pool table lights and the words Dino's: Getting Vegas Drunk Since 1962 in large white letters on a back wall. His old man had groused when they had first painted that sign. "Makes the place sound like a bunch of blottos."

The authors' most penetrating work seems to me, their contribution along the lines of the interview with the child, the use of sketches, blottoes, etc. "Draw a picture of this house. Who lives there? Show where the different members sleep" […]