What's the deal with all this vomit?

It's 3:35a.m. on a Tuesday night and I'm awoken by an intrinsic urge for porcelain. As I approach the bowl of bowls, I notice a curious residue seeping down the seat, and a little on the wall, which abruptly (but temporarily) makes me lose my digestive appetite. As I regained sanity in the midst of this developing-slime, I wondered to myself: who's the wise guy getting hammered on a Tuesday night? I regained consciousness among my lingering sanity to the obvious: my roommate (or one of them therein). But how? Among further investigation (going to his room) I could see a television left on, a bowl of cereal half-eaten, and my roommate right there in the middle. Which left me to wonder further, on a more existential level: does the drunk determine the man? Or the man determine the type of drunk they become? So deep... a query on this later.