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This is a question Booze Related Disasters

We want to know about your worst experiences with alcohol. Woken up in bed with your mum? Stole a donkey? Shat yourself in Harvester? Funniest stories will be used on B3ta Radio and also preserved by the magic of the web on this very site.

(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 2:28)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

one of my old housemates had a tendancy to do funny things or things happen to him whilst drunk including:
there was the incident of covering himself head to toe in tin foil at 2 am waking his us all up by knocking on our doors and shouting "I AM YOSHIMITZU" (tekken character).

on another occasion he forgot his front door key one night so tried to get in the house by climbing through the front room window (a bedroom), he got stuck halfway through, housemate was in bed, going for it with his girlfriend and sees him trying to get through. jumps out of bed naked and goes out the front door, drags mate out of the window and into the house whereby he is pinned to the floor by naked housemate whose girlfriend assists in pulling down mates trousers and then has a hoover applied to his genitals as a punishment for interrupting them and trying to beak into the house
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:43, Reply)
On a camping holiday in Cornwall my friend decided to drink a bottle of vodka at 11am. By 1 (in the afternoon) he had passed out. A few hours later myself and other sober friends were in the site swimming pool when we heard shouting, screaming and grunting as vodka boy tried to find his way into the pool. This was proving difficult for him as there was a cunning trap to stop stupid people getting in.. a fence. Eventually he found the entrance and proceeded to jump into the pool fully clothed and them then vomited creating a chunky film to the previously crystal clear waters.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:39, Reply)
Road Sleeper
I used to start an evenings drinking by starting it off with 2 or 3 pints of 'Blastaway' (bottle of diamond white/bottle of Castaway alcopop) and then go and drink 5-6 pints of lager.

Anyway, my mate Keith and I went out after the usual start-drinks and then got plastericated at some crappy club in Leicester where I lived at the time. Walking home we passed a 'Burmah' garage and nearly pissed ourselves when we realised it spelt Hamrub backwards. On getting near the house I fell over and couldn't get up. I woke up to a Taxi driver shouting at me. I had fallen asleep in the middle of the road, Keith had gone inside the house which was 20 feet away. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, it was snowing and there was 4 inches of snow on the ground.

I got Keith back a few weeks later when I shaved one his eye brows off and wrote 'Jane 256994' on his forehead in permanent marker when he ahd passed out at our house after a big night out. His girlfriend Gemma loved that.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:39, Reply)
friends 18th...
...bought lots of stella and a bottle of white rum, got wrecked, friend pull my trousers off, splits my pants and now I am naked. The guy whos 18th it was his Dad was doing us a BBQ, I run over to the flaming remenants with my skirt like boxers and my wallet, set my pants on fire and attempt to set £15 on fire, friends stop me doing the £15 but it's too late for the pants, I chase the guy who stripped me with a pair of flaming pants. But these are then taken off me, I start "dancing" in front of the guys Dad naked, who calls a friend to take me away and get me dressed.

So I wake up in my tent needing a piss, get out of the tent, and piss on my friends tent, then fall over the guide ropes of the tent, get up and start pissing on my own tent.

Get woken up in the morning, by my friends opening the door of my tent, throwing a tenis ball in, which was closely followed by a St Bernard Dog...
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:36, Reply)
back before i was legal
which isn't long ago... i got very drunk at a friends birthday party and found her vegetable and fruit bowl. i found it very funny to go around trying to get people to "bite the carrot". i got everyone in the party to do it, and then later started throwing vegetables around. i got through the entire bowl of fruit and had the piss taken out of me for ages. at the same party i decided it would be funny to recite the entire lyrics to the "avalanches" song "frontier psychiatrist" to a friend. she was very very scared, as i'm sure you'll understand if you know the song.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:28, Reply)
I once woke up
in the front room of a friends' house, fully clothed, with a large potato in my coat pocket.

No hangover, as I recall.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:24, Reply)
St Patricks Day 2004
So I venture to my local after work, and start drinking Guiness at about 5.30. So the offer of the month is 'Buy 5 Pints of Guiness, get the sixth free' and also being St Patricks Day, you get a free Guiness hat after 5 pints.

By 11pm, I have two hats, have drunk 13 pints and this means I've also drunk the most in the pub, meaning I get a Guiness Flag (it's pretty BIG.)

So off to the train station I venture, get home, dump all my work stuff get into bed...suddenly I need to go to the toilet, so I get up, and have already started pissing myself by this point (wouldn't YOU after 13 pints!?) I go to my cupboard for some reason, pull my boxers off and piss in the cupboard. Wake up in the morning and remember nothing, until I smell the piss, look pver to where it's coming from, notice a huge wet patch, and a pair of soaking wet pants...blunder.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:24, Reply)
After a heavy night on the beers
I got in my car and drove home. Being completely shitfaced, I failed to notice the two pedestrians crossing the road, and *KERBLAM* I slammed straight into them. One of them was killed instantly, the other was paralysed from the neck down. Still, you've gotta laugh, eh?
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:20, Reply)
also due to boredom as well as being drunk
although mostly through being drunk
after kicking out time (early on a sunday) on one of those balmy nights last summer, decided to hold a party on the grassy roundabout (pic, behind war protesters:) community.webshots.com/s/image5/9/25/61/62392561KcwYqK_ph.jpg) at one end of the Kingsway in Swansea... cue several crates of lager, lambrini and plastic cups (I kid you not, I'm v domestic, no doilies though)...ended up going on for 3-4 hours and with about 20 people... coppers kept driving past but partygoers were placated by free booze, sitting-on-the-grass vibes, and someone playing guitar and peeps singing...so no trouble.. until some eejit started setting off fireworks at about 4am and managed to set the bush of leaves at the top of the palm tree in the middle of the roundabout on fire..cue mass giggling flight, and mirthful calling fire brigade ("the tree's on fire, hee-hee, on the roundabout, haha.") a few days later the local daily rag had a story that the council/police were planning to open a wet house on the kingsway so pissed-up-idiots would have somewhere to go if they didn't want to go home...hasn't happened yet
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:16, Reply)
After attending a client's Christmas party in London
I headed back to the hotel very pissed indeed, got into the room, got the kit off and hit the sack almost at the point of unconsciousness.

I suddenly awoke stone-cold sober, finding myself stood upright in the lift, stark naked, with the lift descending to the lobby. It was a glass lift too.

The doors opened and I leapt out and hid behind a big plant. Only the night porter was there. I shouted "Get me a f**king key for room 303 now and don't ask any questions." The startled man quickly got a key and slid it along the floor to me. I grabbed the keys and went bacl into the lift with only the tiniest of door opening devices to protect my dignity.

I got back into the room, locked the door and put a chair up against it. I lay on the bed and fell asleep straight away.

The next morning when I checked out, they asked me if I'd had a nice stay. I said they should do something about the lift.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:14, Reply)
Work christmas do
We were well chuffed. Our head office had agreed to pay for us northern monkeys to come down to London, stay in a fancy hotel in Islington (remember this, you'll need this information later), and go out and get pissed on the companies account. Which, naturally we did. Everything was going swimmingly, until someone on the table next to us ordered a jug of something pink. Being well past the point in the evening where drinking more and more seems like a good idea, we called over a waitress, pointed at the jug and ordered several (to this day, I still don't know what was in it).

Upon leaving the club (which was in, roughly, Picadilly Circus), we realised that getting a Taxi in London on a friday night without booking was not something that was likely to happen. So, our boss, who had once lived in London, convinced us that he knew the way back, and that it wouldn't take long to walk.

Which, to be fair, it wouldn't have done, had we not somehow managed to end up walking down Oxford Street, heading west (non-Londoners - Islington is north-east of Picadilly Circus).

On the way back, at least one member of the party redecorated the front of Freeloader.com's offices with technicolour vomit, and we very nearly got into a fight with some local lads over a traffic bollard which one of us had walked into and knocked over. It took us several hours to get back to the hotel, and the minibus journey home the following day was quietly subdued.

The following year, we decided to use the bricks from the giant Jenga set in the bar to spell out the name of our studio (we're a games developer) on the floor, only to have someone from senior management come and dance all over it. This felt oddly appropriate in a way. One of our guys spent the rest of the evening telling the bar staff in the club to get themselves drinks and put it "his" tab, whilst pretending to be the director of marketing. I think I tried to breakdance to Cypress Hill at one point in the night.

We didn't get a Christmas party this year.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:08, Reply)
Stupid, stupid, stupid
Final year of university (not first, for a change) and I get a phone call from a friend who I haven't seen for ages and we agree to meet up. We go to a cheap student club, at some stage we stand at the bar, drink tequilas, get belted, dance for a bit -- all standard stuff. Then I feel I want to go home, a procedure that begins with going to the bus stop. This I do. There I make the acquaintance of two extremely shady characters; the part of my brain that usually tells me when people are Up-To-No-Good has unfortunately been deactivated by alcohol. They ask me if I would like to “smoke some gear” and I think, yes a bit of the ol’ mary jane would go done well now, so why the hell not?

So we head off to find a place to “smoke some gear”. Why don’t we just spark up at the bus stop? This is a question that fails to pop into my booze sodden brain. Why are we, in fact going to one of those city loo /automatic cubicle type things, to smoke? Again I don’t ask. We jam ourselves in the thing and smoke a kind of pipe-like device. My brain goes into a very unsteady orbit, just inside the moon’s trajectory. Eventually I notice that the stuff we are smoking is not green or brown but in fact very white. What is it, I ask. Crack, they reply. Marvellous, I say. We leave the toilet and they suggest going to a party where there will be more “gear” and “loose women”. Great, I reply. If they had suggested that I inject heroin into my eyeball with a rusty needle I would have probably agreed to that too. But before we can go to the party they need money, and –whatdoyaknow— there’s a cash machine right there. So I withdraw 50 pounds of my student funds but don’t give it to them. We get into a mini cab, head for the nearest dealer and I hand him the cash instead. Interestingly they keep the stuff in their mouths in small wraps and can talk away without you noticing it’s even there. Anyway, we drive around some more, go to some more toilets, smoke some more crack, and I eventually realise there is no party. I want to go home. Give me some of the gear, I say. After all, it is technically mine. They refuse. Eventually I relent, leave my new found friends to the gradual and wholesale destruction of their lives and wonder home in a daze. I remember my saliva was as thick as glue in my mouth and feeling very very bad about myself.

And that was the story of how I smoked crack when drunk. Needless to say, it hasn’t happened again.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:04, Reply)
Being a very uninteresting kind of chap, happy to stand by and watch other's misfortunes, the only vaugely amusing tale I have is from when I was a rude little under-ager of about 15. Out on a friday night with a couple of mates drinking the lager (of the shame...) that my 18 year old sister had purchased for us.
Didn't want the parents to cotton on of course, so bought some three packets of extra-strong mints to mask the beery breath. Ended up burning my mouth by eating them in about 5 minutes.
Fresh minty breath for days though, even if it did singe the eyebrows of anyone who came anywhere near.
And parents didn't notice that I was pissed either, as I sat with glazed eyes in the corner watching a recording of Gardener's World with them. Not until they found a load more cans in my room a few weeks later anyway. Sneaky feckers.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 12:01, Reply)
I was 14 and at my local park...
I had just managed to get my hands on Vodka for the first time. Me and a friend shared about half a litre between us, straight, in about 10 mins. The best bit was when we got up feeling fine but by the time we had walked to the other side of the park we were completely pissed.
The rest of the night is all a bit of a blur except the interesting walk home, about a mile away.
The way I remember it is like this:
Seeing two people dressed as stormtroopers.
Sitting on the floor with people shouting around me.
Looking into someones eyes with them saying "do you know who i am" over and over really quickly.
Finally i remember laughter and my frontdoor key being handed to me.
In the morning i was told that on our way home we staggered into the local hard nut twat and a friend of his who tried to mug us where i decided it would be a good idea to give them all i had, which was my door key. Luckily they
thought it was funny and i avoided a beating.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:59, Reply)
on the night of the superbowl
I went out with my team-mates (i play for the Derby Uni American Football team) to a bar we'd hired.
Well, as you can probably imagine, after the 4 hour odd game we had consumed plenty of pints, shots and the beer funnel had too seen much action. Someone then decided it'd be a good idea to play 'covert slaps' (a game where the object is to slap someone clean round the face, sneaking up on them like your a ninja) - and in honesty i shouldnt have joined in, because it got me riled.

So walking home in my state of incredible drunkenness i decided it'd be a good idea to pick up a traffic cone and throw it at every Debenhams window on the main street.
5 mins later cue flashing lights, sirens and a pair of handcuffs with my name on them.
So a night in the cells ensued, followed by a caution in the morning by PC Plod (fight the system!!).

And endless ribbing by my teammates, which has now earned me the nickname OJ, as in OJ Simpson...

sorry for length guys!

(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:57, Reply)
I went out for a session with the brother in law one Balmy Saturday night. Got Mega Hammered,, went to the chippy and couldn't see what I wanted so I said I would have 'whatever the fat birds havin'. After this My memory was at a blank. I awoke next morning with blood all up the walls, gravell in both my left elbow and knee and gravy on my specs. It turned out I had ordered Chicken chips with gravy and I had been targetted for termination by the 'drunken bastard' sniper near a kerb (in other words I tripped down a kerb. I have never eaten that shite from the chippy again. I then went to the pub in the morning (as England were playing their first world cup match) pissed out my head, but that was soon sorted out by 10 pints and a Sausage and egg sarnie. Bootiful. There were also at least 3 others who had been attacked by this sniper in the pub as well. I have plenty more drunken stories but this one is about the best.

My next one involved a party where my ex was, and getting into a fight with her boyfriend. I was then taken home in his car by my mate and I threw up in it. Revenge is sweet :)
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:57, Reply)
Postcodes and nightbuses
Once I had a few too many drinks and needed to get home from a party at someone's flat. I staggered outside and wandered around looking for a bus stop. I found one and after about half an hour along comes a bus called N19. I then lived in Archway (postcode N19). "Brilliant! It's going my way", I think in my pissed state and hop on board. Let's just say that the London nightbus system and the postcode system do not work together in this way. It was not a quick journey home and involved an expensive cab ride after arising from a stupor and finding the bus at Hyde Park Corner.
Oddly enough, if I had gone in the other direction I could have walked home from the end of the line - Finsbury Park. There's no justice in this world for drunkards.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:56, Reply)
Not me but a friend...
Many moons ago when we were young students in Bradford a friend of mine had a birthday, as you do. We did the usual drinking to excess in the very cheep bars around the Uni all day and then repaired to 'Pickwicks' nightclub for some cheeky after hours. My friend (lets call him Russ, as that's his name) decided he'd had enough and partied out. On the walk home he discovered that he rather desperately needed a shit, but the walk wasn't too long and so he wasn't too worried. Not too worried that is until he got home and checked his pockets to find that he didn't have his front door key. No problem thought Russ, I'll go round the back to the kitchen door and see if its open. It wasn't. However Russ spied that one of the kitchen windows was slightly ajar, and so he decided that he'd haul himself through the window. All well and good until he got himself half way through the window when he slipped, the window sill hit his bowel and he shat himself! There was only one thing left to do, so he pulled himself through the window in to the kitchen, shook the shit into a bin bag, placed his trousers and pants in the washing machine. Then to bed, but Rus couldn't get into the rest of the house as the door from the kitchen was locked for added security, so Russ passed out behind the door. A few hours later the Russ's house mates returned to be greeted by an awful smell. They hunted high and low for the source of the stench, and eventually found Russ asleep in his own filth. Now this would have been bad enough, but not only had Russ passed a perfectly functioning outside toilet at the back of his house, but he had his house key on a string round his neck so he wouldn't lose it!!! What a fuck wit.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:56, Reply)
About 2 years
ago I was round at a mates house drunk as a skunk, I stood on a wine glass and shattered it. Instead of putting it in the bin I hid it under a cushion on a sofa. Next a gatecrasher at the party sat down rather quickly on the seat, getting a rather sharp piece of glass up his arse (and I mean up his arse). The unpopular gatecrasher then had to walk 20mins to the local hospital to get the glass removed and have 4 stitches. He doesnt know it was me, but everyone was glad he left. He had to stand in tutorials for the next 2 weeks
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:53, Reply)
Whiskey and swedish snus
Just remembered this one, again early 90's shortly after meeting my future wife (didnt know this at the time) was taken to a family party over the christmas period. All started out very well food drinks chat etc. Met some of her visiting relatives (not blood) from Sweden. Well the missus got quite pissed and spent a good deal of the evening telling here 18 stone 60 Malboro a day ex black watch grandfather that I could drink more whisky than he!!!! fucking loon !! I declined at first but as I got more pissed and bravado took over I decided this would be a good thing to do just didnt count on the whisky being delivered in tall glasses. I lost 3 times baddly then got into a swedish vodka drinking match with visiting relative who also introduced me to very strong snus (snuff that you stick under your lip) as the nicotine hit my head began to buzz and I began to drool black tar like gack. Left party early after producing a foot hile pile of puke in the garden and was put to bed at the wifes parents house where I puked again black snuff puke all down the valance. This was the first time her parents had let me stay, nice. Her parents were so proud of the long haired, ear ring wearing cheezy quaver she planned on marrying.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:51, Reply)
Leaving dos
We got drunk on bubbly at a leaving do once, started drinking lunchtime down th epu, then 4 o'clock came, and about 15 of us met up down the pub where we proceeded to drink about 50 bottles of bubbly, 10 of red and white wine, as well as a few beer and spirits (we found out the tally the following day, when the tab was settled).As that place closed quite early, a colleague and I decided to go down the road, where we swiftly moved on to JD and coke, as this place was clog, we found another one, anyway we went from bar to bar until about 3-4 in the morning. At this point we decided that it wasn't worth going home, since we'd have to be back in the office in a few hours , since we had the keys, we decided to nip back in the office, and fell asleep on the floor there to be woken up at 7.30 by people coming in to work.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:50, Reply)
Came home very drunk once
and being somewhat unsteady on my feet decided to sit down on the bog and wee girly style.
Woke up five hours later still sitting on bog but slumped against the wall (we had a very small toilet).
My legs didn't work as I'd cut off circulation to them, I had to pitch myself forward and crawl out out of the lavvy, took about half an hour for any sensation to come back into my legs.
The ring round my arse stayed for about a week and a half.
Sadly, it never occured to me to get a photo of it.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:46, Reply)
My friends and I wound up in a shitty town in the California desert...
... called Ridgecrest. It's right next to the China Lake weapons testing centre, so the whole place is crawling with military personnel. It also proudly boasts no less than SIX police forces... So we decide to go to the only bar in town and keep a low profile. Which we did.

Until my friend put "candle in the wind" on the juke box, and we spent the rest of the night chasing vodka-redbulls with jagermeister.

WARNING - this combination makes you psychotic.

We eventually started punching each other in the bar, then left, at which point one friend crossed the main road through town, 6 lanes wide, to get a coke from a coke machine in a cage. At which point the rest of us decided the best thing to do would be to throw rocks at him, across the road. Which we did.

Not stones, but rocks. In a town with 6 police forces and 50,000 military personnel. At his head. Amazingly, none of them hit him. Amazingly, we didn't get shot.

I took off my shoes and walked barefoot over cacti, and somehow we made it back to the motel, where we had another punch up outside involving boiled eggs. The motel, of course, full of high ranking military officials. One of my friends slept in a chair, with his eyes open, and another slept on the carpet and pissed himself. We all woke up the next day absolutely amazed that we were still alive. Miracles can happen, I guess.

OK, it's not one of the worst experiences, probably one of the best. Ho hum.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:33, Reply)
Barbecue anyone?
It was at a mates party a while back, which involved a BBQ, and we'd all had a couple of pints, and one of my friends couldn't find the thing we were using to turn the burgers and sausages over with, so we decided to use the garden rake. It was too long, but we weren't pissed enough not to think about holding the handle nearer down.

A few more pints later, and we were to pissed to think that, so in order to solve our problem of having a long rake, it was decided that one of us should climb onto the shed roof and do the BBQ from there. I was of course the one who it was decided to be.

So, I got up onto the shed roof with the rake, and started doing the BBQ, with remarkably good control seeing as I had had about 5 pints in the past 45 minutes.

The only thing that went mildly wrong was when, unbeknown to me, they moved the BBQ just a smidget further away from the shed, and I fell off the roof into the garden pond...

To put the clincher on the whole thing, another friend who ddn't know that the BBQ had been moved said that he would do it instead. SO he climbed up onto the shed roof, and did exactly the same thing about falling into the pond.

Unfortunately, I hadn't climbed out of the pond by that moment, and he landed on me, pushed my hand through the plastic lining of the pond, and into the mud underneath, and the next morning the pond was no more...

I may have embellished this ever so slightly...
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:33, Reply)
Not so much a disaster - but I woke up one morning with a load gravel and sand in my bed acompanied with a giant cut on my head, unfortunarley no traffic cone and no memory.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:31, Reply)
Another underage drinking tale, but without much actual booze involved. I don't remember a lot of it to be honest. We all had some booze, and I drank two litres of water in about five minutes, then went into the Cambridge Junction merry, but fairly sober. Suddenly, something odd happens and I feel very strange. I hold onto a pole I find for ten minutes telling everyone not to look at me, then threw up all over a table and some merchendise. More vomit than I thought a human could contain, which I think was mainly from all the water. With about 50 ska fans staring at me, I decide the rock horns are in order, while still puking. That has to be the most embarressing and stupid moment of m life. I had to buy some t shirts and felt shit for the rest of the night, but had to stay because I couldn't get home. I'd like to say the bands were worth it, but I can't.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:29, Reply)
Sure: I can handle my drink.
I was working in an office in Leeds when I let it slip, rather foolishly, that it was my birthday coming up. The entire office decided to pitch in and buy me a drink at lunch. Me being the polite type, I felt it rather unseemly to turn down free vodka. The problem was that it was coming a bit thicker and faster than I originally envisaged, and I rapidly succumbed to the scourge of the binge drinker: losing count.

After a while, the pub began to sway, and I began to panic. I realised that there was no way I could either clear the EU drink mountain in front of me or return to work and conduct myself in a manner appropriate to a major Mutual Life Insurance Company from East Anglia (even taking account of the fact that it was a Friday). So I pulled my jacket on and legged it for the station.

Problem. I couldn't find my season ticket and I was too drunk to count money. I couldn't even find my pockets. What I didn't know was that I was wearing my jacket upside down. So I sat down on the plastic seating in the concourse and wilted with my head propped in my hands. I got a bit self conscious after a while when I heard a child ask "Daddy, why is that man dribbling?" ("Come away, Thomas, he's trying to sleep..."). So I got up and walked outside. Where I slumped down. I got a bit comfy for a few minutes and then decided to go back to work. It was now 10 to four in the afternoon, and I'd been asleep for the best part of two hours on the pavement outside.

I got back to work and announced my arrival with "Right! Who's going out then?" On being told a) that there was an hour to kick off and b) that there was a senior manager in the building, I was clocked in and shut in the store cupboard, where I proceeded to amuse myself by singing absent-minded selections from Camberwick Green ("Windy Miller, Windy Miller/Sharper than a thorn.../Like a yumpty-tumpty-tumpty/when he hmmm-di-corn....").

I ended up going out until 10:30 when I finally admitted defeat and left the pub to a standing ovation.

So: that's that. I was going to tell you lot instead about the time I went to the pub after work, met an old acquaintance, drank far too much Guinness and catastrophically shat myself on the way home. I rang for help and a lift home.

When I got back to the house it turned out my other half, caught rushing out in a flap, had told them I'd fallen and injured my leg. So a neighbour came out and offered help. I sat in the car petrified and she made some load of bollocks up about me being very "proud and self reliant..." and it being best to let me get out of the car in my own time. Of course when I got out he came out again anyway; so I backed away from him covered in my own filth and bolted into the house, much to his utter puzzlement.

But that will wait for another time, don't you think?

Oh, and a bit of advice. Never fall asleep with your keks around your ankles in one of those 20p-a-pop Superloos. The door opens after 15 minutes, y'see: and half of Grantham gets a gleg at yer nads.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:29, Reply)
God, I'm hungover this morning. This week's question is not helping.

More hilarious student drunken nonsense. After a drunken stagger round all the bars on campus - the "Campus Fourteen" - we returned home somewhat the worse for wear.

One friend passed out fully clothed on top of his bed. The next morning he awoke, got up and showered. A strange smell of vomit lingered in his room. But from where? Not the bin. Not the wardrobe. Not under the bed. How odd. He finally discovered it: before passing out on top of his bed, he had vomited on the duvet. And then folded the top of the duvet down over the vomit and slept on top of it. This meant that his weight neatly strained the liquid component of the vomit through the duvet and sheet and into his mattress, leaving a compacted solid residue stuck to his duvet cover. Nice.

The flatmate in the room on the other side of mine, meanwhile, awoke with his head hanging off the side of the bed to discover that he had vomited on his clock radio. When I saw him, he'd unscrewed the top and was spooning vomit out of the speaker with a teaspoon. His parents - who had given him the clock radio as a present - were due to arrive that morning to take him out to lunch.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:28, Reply)
Come on, we've all done it. Getting absolutely shit-faced on Stoli shots and then persuading an ex girlfriend to share a cab home, (with some trepidation on her part) then puking out of the cab window, after which turning to her (with vomit dribbling down your chin) and trying to kiss her while saying "I shtill realllly luvv youuu!".
After which she gets the cab to stop and the driver to chuck me out, straight into a conveniently positioned ditch by the side of the road and then driving off and leaving me there in the middle of fucking nowhere.
No? Oh well it's just me then.
(, Fri 19 Mar 2004, 11:28, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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