f13.net forums - The "I was so wasted" Thread

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April 23, 2024, 02:04:20 AM

we're back, baby

It seems my weekends offer up endless fun with the drink, so I thought I'd share a story and then open it up for others to relay their favorite drinking fiascoes.

My story begins with me at work during a week when I was very perturbed about my workload. I was looking forward to a weekend up at my friend's lakehouse, where he has a nice pontoon boat and a couple of waverunners. The weather was supposed to be beautiful and it was that thought that kept me going through the weekend. On Friday, I was first out of the office to beat the traffic up to the house, and I arrived with a handle of Vodka and an appetite for imbibing.

The drinking began around 7PM, close to dinnertime. We started simply on Screwdrivers, and moved from there to Vodka tonics. I decided to make a change on drink 5 and start making Madras's. The Braves game came on and we began to watch, because baseball is great when you're drunk, and we played some poker. I ended up getting beat on an all-in with pocket queens to pocket aces because we both flopped a set and bet hard. Nothing I could do about that, so I drank even more. At this point I've switched to White Russians for dessert. It's at this point we realize that my friend and I have cashed the bottle of vodka, so we know we're rolling deep. Of course we decide its time for a late night drunken Booze cruise on the boat, so we get his younger sister to drive us around at about 11PM.

We pick up a friend of mine from across the lake and his girlfriend, and we all start drinking again. I proceed to grab the bottle of Ancient Ancient Age Whiskey we brought and take pulls off of it while chasing it with Coke. There wasn't much in there, so I finished that off quickly and chucked it over my shoulder into the lake in a humorous fashion. My friend then says something jokingly derogatory to me, and in my drunken state I believed it was a good time to jump on top of him and mock-hump him in front of his girlfriend while screaming, "Take it like the bitch you are!" Hilarity ensues, and in the process my hat goes into the lake, never to be seen again.

At this point my memory gets very very hazy, but we dropped off my friend and proceed back to the house. The next thing I remember there are drops of water hitting me in the face. I look around and I'm the only one lying on the boat with a towel over me. A soft rain is pattering down around me. I check my watch to see that it is 6:30AM. Basically, I ended up passing out on the boat and my friends left me there, and they've been calling me "Sailor" since then. Good times.

Heh- that reminds me of the nap I took on a floating dock one drunken evening. Haven't been able to drink white wine since (I basically chugged a bottle of Johannesberg Riesling after the keg ran dry. Bad idea.).

Most of my worst drinking stories start around the phrase "after the [insert beer container here] ran dry."

I stopped doing anything beyond casual drinking when at a college party I found myself drinking gin straight from the bottle. I figured that was far enough.

Bruce

It's not far enough until you have to hold onto the grass to keep from falling off the earth.

Years ago on friday night I drank myself inot a stupor with beers, vodka and numerous tequila shots. Strolled out of the bar at closing, jumped on my motorcycle and headed for the hills. I came to bridge which was essentially a blind corner. As I reached the other side I discoverd a car stopped in the road for what reason I'l never know. I slammed in the rear of the car on the drivers side, cracked my nuts on the custom speedometer as I went over the handlebars, bounced off the rear window and slid off into a ditch leaving the poor bike wedged on the car's bumper.

I know I had quite a long chat with the cops but dont know what I said. I do remember walking into the back of the ambulance under my own power. At the hospital thay found a broken collar bone, both eyes swollen from my goggles when I hit the window and road rash on my face and forearms. They spent a lot of time examining me for a concussion but the whole time I kept saying "never mind that check my nuts, theyre killing me!" They assured me my nuts were fine.
I got a ride home and slept for about 5 or 6 hours I woke to the mother of all headaches and than I looked down... My balls were the size of grapefruits, no lie.
I put on my baggiest sweats and headed to a doctor known to be liberal with dispensing pain killers. He was a chinese doctor and had a thick accent. I explained to him my adventure from the night before and he immediately began examining my head for a concussion( no one seemed to believe I didn't have one) . At that point I said "What I'm really concerned about is my balls, have a look". I dropped my drawers and the expression on his face was priceless. With his asian accent he exclaimed "Hory Makerel !!!" His face turned beat red and it was all he could do from busting out laughing. He handed me a promo box of Demerol (30 count, nice) said "Here you gonna need these". Then he gave me instructions to run a hot bath every 4 hours, as hot as you can stand and soak in it. He said it would prevent the blood coagulating in my nuts from the bruising which would follow. If I didn't follow the procedure there was a good chance I'd lose my balls. So for the next three days I ritually soaked in a hot bath every 4 hours.
Fortunately the procedure worked and my balls recovered. I still ride and I still drink tequila just not on the same nights anymore.

Balls the size of grapefruits? Man, I thought passing out on a watercraft was bad, but that's a good one. I've got more, but I'll wait till I'm bored at work again tomorrow. For the rest of you, lets here some from the good old days.

Except maybe Bruce. No offense, but the last confessional will last me for a while.

As a freshman, I drank my way (straight vodka) into the hospital and then threatened to kill everyone in the ER room multiple times. Also in college, I was so drunk that we tried a dine and dash at a middle eastern cafe and got the holy fuck beat out of me by the waitstaff. I also got fired from a college job for drinking copious amounts during lunch (I was leaving in two weeks anyways to go to law school so didn't give a shit). The three of us went back to the office to find notes saying we were shitcanned. We went back to the bar and the owner comped us all night (including spendy scotch) when he found out we got fired because we were in his place.

I'm actually amazed I got out of college alive and without ever being arrested.

Ah, good times.

Quote from: Paelos

That's okay. Like I said, I stopped "getting drunk" early so I don't have any terrible stories to tell.

Bruce

Quote from: Paelos

Basically, I ended up passing out on the boat and my friends left me there, and they've been calling me "Sailor" since then. Good times.

When I was in college, at the end of every year, my fraternity would go on a two day canoe trip. It was a large, mostly slow river, so we drank heavily and did as many drugs as we could manage to keep dry. There were three places that were at least a little challenging. My partner and I would stop about a hundred yards past them, and wait for coolers and various flotsam to come floating by and snag them. Then we would wait for the soaking wet drunk guys to come by, ask them how they were doing, and offer them a beer.
Once we were at the camp site, we'd break out the rum, and share with the poor unfortunate newbies. Arghhhh. The Pirate life for me.
One year we had a particularly drunk newbie stand up, walk about 20 feet away from the campfire, stand next to a tree to piss, and about half way through he passed out, and fell backwards. So he's laying there, still pissing, up in the air in a perfect arc right back down on his chest. Probably the only time in my life I've ever literally rolled on the ground laughing.

I have no idea what happened during the month of June 1997. Coincidentally, this was the month I turned 21.

Bring the noise.
Cheers............

My second story opens with the evening of year end, and my friends and I decide that instead of trying to brave the Atlanta crowds, we shall head to Athens where there is no cover and more young hot chicks to hit on. We decide a nice dinner with our close friends and girlfriends is the way to start the evening, but not having decided this until late, we cannot get a reservation at the restaurant of choice until 9PM. So, we start drinking before dinner at a little after 5PM. By the time dinner rolls around, we are pretty well into the sauce, but by no means drunk. We head to the steakhouse where we order bottles of wine, and at this point I'm sure we get a little louder with our jokes and comments than the other patrons were used to.

My friend to my right is getting tanked, and orders another cheaper bottle of wine in the least discreet way possible. Basically, he calls over the waitress stares at the list, and asks if they have any Mad Dog. Then he laughs to himself and points at the cheapest wine on the list. Others are beginning to clear out of the restaurant, whether because they were done or because of us I can't be sure. We are now officially the table of "those guys." We're laughing loudly, telling dirty jokes, and making a general racket. The waitress comes to us with the check, and doesn't even bother offering us any dessert. We get ready to go and I say those famous words, "Let's do car bombs!"

So we head to the Irish pub, and we do a car bomb. However, I have to do two car bombs in a row because one of the girls wasn't feeling up to it, and I bought them. Then its off to our local bar favorite for a drink that we made up with the bartender one night that tastes remotely like an alcoholic mint chocolate concoction, except its almost all liquor. We are now officially wasted, and in good form. One of the guy's girlfriend's proceeds to poke me in the stomach and challenge me to shots. Not wanting to hurt the girl, I decline at first, until she calls me a pussy in front of everyone. At that point its on. I order 4 Kamakazee's and slam both of mine, then stare at her. She drinks one of hers, tries to drink the other one, and takes off down the stairs to the bathroom, falling down them in the process on her ass. Then she threw up...in the MEN'S bathroom. Classic. Her boyfriend was not pleased, and so he would not be joining us for the rest of the bar trip.

We then headed to an island themed bar where my cleptomaniac friend noticed Jimmy Buffett signs on the walls. He proceeds to yank down three signs and hand one to me to put under my coat. I'm way too drunk to realize what is going on, so I just waltz outside nonchalantly. The other two morons get asked to leave by the bouncers, but they didn't notice the signs. So, we escaped with those, and decided we'd had enough. We head back to the house on foot because we couldn't get a cab, and we ended up passing out on the couches in the main room of the house while Fast Times at Ridgemont High was playing. I awoke the next day feeling crappy, and not knowing what happened. I had about 30 seconds of confusion before I recalled that we stole a bunch of crap and should be in jail. It literally went like, "Man what the hell did we do last...HOLY SHIT we stole a bunch of crap!"

I'll through in one of my few really "crazy" stories, and amazingly enough, it didn't end with me yakking my brains out on a bush. Most of my other drinking stories do.

The year was 1989, a small, Presbyterian private college here in town. That's in Mississippi for those who don't know. My roomate and a bunch of the dorm guys decide it's time to hit The Dutch Bar. Now, the bar is not Dutch, and I really have no idea why it's called that. It was famous for two things only with the college crowd of that time; .50 cent pitchers on Wednesday nights and an inability (or unwillingness) to check IDs. So most of the 18-year olds like myself would congregate there on Wednesday nights. I ended up in the back seat of a car with 4 other guys, one of whom we called "Doc" because he looked like Kiefer Sutherland's character in "Young Guns." Fuck off, this was the 80's. Another was Jeff, the socceer guy (because our school didn't have a football team, socceer and tennis were our big sports), I forget the 3rd guy, and the 4th was Astor, a Honduran exchange student, and one of the nicest guys you'll meet. My roomate brought his own car.

Now the Dutch Bar was not large. I've been in more expansive closets. It was a seedy, hole in the wall dive, one of those places with grime on the walls that's covered with grime. Two pool tables were stuffed into a side room, and the bathrooms were barely functioning toilets in a hallway right beside the back door. On the busy nights, it was literally wall-to-wall people, assholes to elbows and everything in between. It was such a popular hangout on .50-cent pitcher nights that they usually ran out of draft beer by midnight, forcing you to pay more for bottled beer or shitty cannned beer to get your swerve on. And we did, oh lordy we did.

There was much beer drinking to be had. Playing pool was out, because the table was called all night and seeing the yokels playing pool assured you that playing pool would end in a fight. As a matter of fact, at least once that night, fights were started over the pool table, with pool cues being used as weapons and the participants tossed out. Now this place was half college kids, half mid-20's rednecks. It was the kind of place where Bon Jovi sat on the same jukebox as Hank Williams, Jr. and it was even money that one or the other of those would end up being played and sung by every person in the bar. Loudly and drunkenly.

We'd been there for hours, after the kegs had already been tapped out and the cans of Keystone were being bought and emptied like barrels of water. Someone suggested, as always happens, racing beers, and since most of us were half-lit, it sounded like a good idea. Little did we know that unassuming, quiet little Astor was a raging fucking alcoholic. An angry drunk, the kind you don't take him to mother, and sure as fuck not the kind you stick in a crackerbox redneck joint serving half-dollar pitchers. Astor starts downing beers like they were canned air, absolutely embarrassing the girlie-men like me. But it's all good, because shit, we're all happy drunks right?

Well, it is a school night, so since most of us are lit and class is tomorrow, we decide that maybe 11:30 pm is late enough and start prepping the guys to slink home in a drunken stupor. Jeff is nowhere to be found, but the rest of us were in the same cluster so we start to head off. Only Astor doesn't want to go. And I mean, he REALLY doesn't want to go. He's having FUN, mother-fucker. So we spend 10-15 minutes trying to talk him towards the door, but he ain't budging. Then we start pushing him towards the door, and that doesn't work out too good either. He was maybe 5'7", 5'8" on a good day, but he was solid, a wiry, stacked little mound of Latin American muscle. He starts pushing and shoving back, and with such crowded quarters, he naturally bumped people. A bouncer came over, six foot plus brick wall of blubber, bone and buff in a tuxedo, saying that we had 30 seconds to get him out. I asked for just a minute to handle the situation and then my stupidity got the better of me.

Now, I'm all of six feet nothing, and have weighed a buck-25 since high school. I'm stringier than Ethiopian chicken. I don't have any bulk, but I'm lithe. Or something. So I grab Astor in a full nelson and start pulling. Which seems to be working, for all of about five seconds. All of a sudden, the scenery changes as something moves Astor, and I go right along with him. Near as I could figure, the bouncer decided to move Astor himself, and since I was on his back like a fucking tick, I went with him. We landed on my back on the concrete, Astor on top of me. So Astor gets up and starts cussing about taking this guy down. I get up and somehow find our little group surrounded by three sides of beef in cowboy hats.

Now, these weren't just rednecks. No, these were the actual Hinds County Community College Rodeo Team. Fuck, they could have been the goddamn rodeo STEERS from the size of them. Hannibal Lector would have eaten for years off these pieces of meat. If you've ever seen a man that's 5'8", 250 pounds with not an ounce of muscle on him, well I saw 3 that night. And they were all thirsting for Honduran blood. I never did find out why, but my roommate, Mr. Smooth Talker, somehow talked them down from pounding the ever-living shit out of Astor and anyone around him. We manage to get Astor around the back of the place to the car, opening the door to discover Jeff getting his horn blown in the front seat. We jerk Jeff out of the car and proceed to try to work Astor into the car, which took much cursing and shoving. On the drive back, we have to listen to drunken rantings about how he's "A MAN. A MAN WILL NOT BACK DOWN FROM A FIGHT!" and some other machismo bullshit, all while he pounds the shit out of the dashboard.

After finally getting him up the stairs to the second floor dorm, the last hurdle appears, in the form of what the college called Resident Assistants. These are the goody-two-shoes who narc on the people in the dorms for the administration. Luckily, this was one of the "cooler" ones, who didn't really mind us drinking. Since it was a Presbyterian school, drinking of any kind, even LEGAL drinking, was verboten. As I'm trying to explain why we are stumbling into the hallway loudly and Astor is pounding on the door at 1 AM, the dam breaks right in the doorway of Astor's room. His Jamaican roommate is rudely awakened by the sounds of hurled beer, all over the doorway. At that point, I went to my room and passed out.

Luckily, those were the days when hangovers really didn't mean much.

If you want some great 'When I was pissed' stories - http://www.tuckermax.com/ - they may be true, they may be all bullshit, but damn they're impressive.

Edit - Hmm, appears they are doing weird things to tuckermax.com right now - half its links are broken. When they come back, check em out. They are well worth a laugh.