It was very difficult for Celestials to get drunk. What it takes is a lot of very powerful alcohol. A lot. Which is why it's generally considered a bad idea to take two of the most powerful, most competative creatures in the universe, one of whom actually kicked Lucifer's ass (but who's counting) and the other of whom is a force of nature, and have them get drunk.

Worse, as a challenge.

"Can't hold muh licker," Michael, Archangel of War, muttered. "I'll sh... shhhhh... shaow him whuh can't holdis LICKER."

Janus, Archangel of the Wind, pointed at him unsteadily. "YUH can't," he said, far too loudly. "Uh said it ONCE an'... an' I'll SAYT aGAIN."

It was at that point that they realized they seemed to be out of said liquour.

"HA," Michael said decisively.

Janus had a quick mental battle with himself and lost, sloshily. "There's ONE BOTTLE LEFT. S'SCUMBLE."

"Scumble? T...tff... tffttff...fuck's scumble?"

Janus said, still far too loudly, "It's madith APPLES."

Michael rubbed his forehead with a callused thumb. "Mustly apples," he corrected painfully.

"Yuh. Nuh - i stole this. From Gluttony. Whodit labelled BAD BATCH. We can...cun.. can splitit in HALFFfff. I betcha I can drink MUh half. And yuh ca... can't..."

"Can too," Michael muttered petulantly. "HAVE ATCHE."

Janus poured, very badly. "Ready?"

"More'n YUH'llver be."

"One - tuh-"

Three never came. They drank, and then they slumped down, almost gracefully.

They didn't hit the floor, however, as expected; they found themselves being slowly settled to the ground by light that didn't want to get out of their way fast enough and then poured back into the space they'd fallen past, not that they were there to see it.

Who was there two see it was a pair of old ladies. One was tall and thin and brittle as a stick, with a face to match; the other was short and... well, she'd probably drank rather a lot of stout in her time. A cat was accompanying them, in a manner that implied that it was just walking along beside them until it found a few bears to wrestle.

"Well, I'll be, Esme!" Nanny Ogg exclaimed, cheerily. "It's raining men!"

Granny Weatherwax looked down at the prone forms of the two strapping Archangels. "They're not men."

Nanny Ogg looked at her old friend, and then creakily bent down and unzipped their pants. She cackled to herself. "Act'ally, Esme..."

"These are angels," Granny said. She pulled herself up to her full height and cleaned some wax out of her ear with her baby finger. "...An' I can't be havin' with any of their rubbish."

Greebo showed his agreement with Granny by means of a thin stream of yellow onto Janus's face. As a cat, Greebo knew many things, but the key one in this situation was:

Never get into a pissing contest. In the end, the cat knows best how to win.