I have no word to say for or about the microscopically unimportant excessivist, the dipsomaniac.
There are, broadly speaking, two types of drinkers.

There is the man whom we all know, stupid, unimaginative, whose brain is bitten numbly by numb maggots; who walks generously with wide-spread, tentative legs, falls frequently in the gutter, and who sees, in the extremity of his ecstasy, blue mice and pink elephants.

He is the type that gives rise to the jokes in the funny papers.
The other type of drinker has imagination, vision.

Even when most pleasantly jingled, he walks straight and naturally, never staggers nor falls, and knows just where he is and what he is doing.

It is not his body but his brain that is drunken.