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This is a question Morning After Souvenirs

I once woke up in a tent after a particularly drunken holiday pub crawl, clutching a tap. There's a drowned, sunken village somewhere in Wales because of my act of petty theft, but I cannot remember. Tell us what - or who - you've brought back from nights out.

(Suggested by Bicycle Repairman)

(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 13:44)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Oh and put washing powder in Walthamstow town hall fountain- big bubble lolz.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 13:04, Reply)
A small tree, a big tree, a sign saying keep out - MOD property, a concrete house bird table plus pedestal, some fairy lights, a sign saying teas, coffees, pies, rolls and cakes, road cones, a naval flare, a girl called dirty bev, an eight ball from a pool table in a bowling alley, and many many more.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 13:02, 5 replies)
Antibiotics - Avengers Assemble!
Was at my nieces the other night, was quite drunk, getting my stuff as I was leaving the house, picked up the rest of my whiskey, the new issue of Empire and other bits and for some reason picked up my nieces boyfriend's antibiotics. (I can't remember or have no idea why).

Returned them the next day, and to cut a long story short missed out on seeing Avengers with some mates!.

Ah well going to see it this afternoon.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 11:20, 4 replies)
Short & Sweet
I liberated the 12foot long sign from the old Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh
Woke up in my flat on my bed, still dressed clutching a kebab and the sign was propped up in the hall
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 10:21, 1 reply)
Stranger getting a gawp at my friend's vadge
It was a quiet night out, but one of those boozy ones where you happily forget, rather than blotto. My dear girlfriend woke up the next morning and couldn't remember whether she had pulled the plug on her tampon or there were two absorbing its merry way.

Being a little wobbly about internal things, she couldn't poke around her own insides and none of us has the stomach or uterus for it either (really, that's taking friendship a little too far).

Off she trundled up to the emergency ward.

A doctor ended up showing her into some side room, as emergency was chokka block, where she laid down on the bed and, legs akimbo facing towards the door, laid back and thought of a small island far away.

The horror then of when the door opened, a doctor and another patient came face to pussy with her. Time stopped, the image was seared and hasty apologies were made while she burst into hangover tears of shame.

No tampon and a pretty awful story was the only souvenir.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 9:57, 12 replies)
Road signs you say?
Wasn't drunk when we got it but those 100 km\h signs on the side of the road are fucking huge. We passed 1 that was half hanging off early one morning before work (after the night before tho!) and with a little *ahem* help we managed to get it off - barely fit into the tray of the ute.
Anyhoo, we built a low box base for it, bolted it on & many a drunken & debauched night was spent sitting around and using our "Old 100" coffee drinks table in our activities.
EDIT: Unlinished 12 mm steel edges hurt like a motherfucker when you barked your shins on it.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 7:36, Reply)
Taking a page out of Humpty's book... Sort of.
I've just got home.

It's 5.20 in the morning. There's a naked bird who looks like Jennifer Lawrence in my bed.

Neither of us are drunk. We spent the best part of three hours cooking, talking, cuddling and shagging.

She's the best thing in my life at the moment


Because, as you read this she is sitting upright in bed wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts, smoking and proofreading this post.

Ever since I met her, I've been sober. Which speaks volumes.

Sorry if this post is a bit off topic :)
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 4:23, 20 replies)
tom.joad has reminded me
Some acquaintances of mine (who shall remain nameless) visited Amsterdam for a lad's holiday, during which they managed, in broad daylight, to steal the red carpet from the Hilton hotel. This thing was bloody enormous - eight feet wide and thirty or forty long. It took three of them to carry it back to where they were staying.

They left it in their dorm room with a note pinned to it reading "This is not the red carpet from the Hilton, and there is not a dead hooker in the attic".
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 3:00, Reply)
Popped out for a few jars and a friendly chat with girl I fancied.
Nothing serious mind, but testing the water and finding out how she felt about me.
She suggests cider, I agree - although I seem to have some kind of genetic problem with cider (my dad is the same) in that it makes my legs wobbly even when I feel fine.
Not wanting to make a poor impression on the "1st date" I get stuck into the draught cider, matching her pint for pint. She's a tall girl who can handle her drink and I feel good to be with her and after more than a few pints am feeling warm and happy.
At this point I pop off the barstool for a p-break and manage to get my foot caught in the bottom bar, falling gracefully over.
She laughs. I laugh too. I return feeling much better and resolve to go steady on the booze.
Too late, I've already had enough for serious damage to occur.
Realising I'm now in a bit of a pickle I suggest we leave and I walk her home.
No more than 3 steps outside the pub I fall over, ON MY FACE.
She helps me up, we try again.
I fall over on my face on the kerb.
My sister arrives, laughs and calls a cab seeing that I won't get anywhere using my legs.
I stand and fall over backwards into the gutter where the rain runs down my collar.
I give up trying to stand and await my fate. I have been given a bag of frozen peas for my swelling face.
Time passes.
I awake in my bed and feel a bit rough. Standing slowly I walk towards the bathroom.
The duvet follows me. It is attached firmly to my elbow by a large crusty clot of blot.
I soak my elbow in the sink to remove the duvet.
A glance in the mirror reveals a face not dissimilar to the bit in Terminator where his face has been blown off with a shotgun.
I call work and tell them I'm sick.
I retire to bed a broken individual with a hole in my elbow like a cat's arse covered in ketchup.
One eyelid has split at the corner like an overripe fruit.

I no longer drink cider.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2012, 2:32, 1 reply)
Highway code
This is a tale of that moment when the situation you find yourself in causes your hitherto drunken state to be replaced in an instant with clarity and bemusement.

One night, many years ago, I had gone to the pub with a mate (he subsequently turned out to be an absolute bellend who got busted for drink-driving and we don't speak anymore. But that's not really important here). Please bear in mind that at the time, I lived in a dry area. It was 25 minutes walk from my house to the nearest pub, and about 45 minutes to the nearest good pub. We of course chose the good pub (it had its own brewery and even gave us loyalty cards, dammit!). So we find ourselves at closing time, 5-6 pints down and 45 minutes from home (which as any drunkard will tell you, equated to upwards of an hour's stagger)

On the way home, we came upon the scene of some road-based modifications. Namely some keep left signs that had been replaced that day. The new signs were installed and happily informing traffic not to drive into a traffic island, but the old signs were lying at the side of the road, discarded and not yet collected.

You've all seen the sob-story adverts on TV asking you to sponsor an abandoned dog. But you never see the adverts asking you to think of the abandoned keep left signs. What if the workmen never came back, and the sign was just left there to decompose? That would be a tragedy. We did the only thing we could do. We rehomed the signs.

I picked up mine (they're surprisingly light, if a little bulky), put it on my shoulder, and marched (stumbled) purposefully home. Once there, I carried it up the stairs, and left it on the landing, no doubt planning to do something with it in the morning. Then I went to bed.

Now, dear reader, as I'm sure you're aware, things we do when drunk can sometimes be forgotten when we're sober. What was logical at the time now seems as breathtakingly stupid as voting Tory. They can also be forgotten when we're still drunk but have had an hour's sleep.

And so it was that the pints from before had decided that my bladder need emptied, and I woke up. Running on instinct alone, I left my bedroom and walked down the hall towards the bathroom. Except halfway there, I saw a keep left sign. "Hmmm", thought my drunken self, "I'd best keep left". So I kept left. Left, sadly, was the closet that led to the attic. And that closet was where we kept the spare toilet rolls. "Toilet rolls! I must be in the toilet! Best get my cock out and start pissing then"

It was at that moment that I realised just what in the fuck I was about to do, and let me tell you that holding the end of it to try and avert disaster while running to the actual bathroom is what we refer to in the business as REALLY FUCKING PAINFUL.

Nevertheless, disaster was averted. I've since moved out, but the sign's still there, albeit in a less dangerous position.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 23:27, 3 replies)
After a heavy night in Amsterdam we woke to the compulsory banging heads and blurry recollections. One of my mates had been especially wasted and vaguely remembered getting thrown out of somewhere..

He got up for a piss, but whilst beginning to urinate he noticed a new sensation.. there was a condom still on his nob!

Thrown out a brothel mid-shag is the explanation we have decided is most likely.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 23:19, 3 replies)
After a particularly drunken NYE party...
I made the acquaintance of a young lady who never even told me her name, just dragged me outside for all manner of naughtiness. In the morning I got back in my car to find her earrings on the floor, her knickers wrapped round the gearstick, and £40 in various denominations.

Cheer oh-nameless-one, it was a grand slap-up pub lunch for me and my mate the next day.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 22:18, 4 replies)
a long time ago..
Three mates and I went out and about for drinks on my birthday. We'd had a few lovely pints, and we thought that we'd have a nice walk back as the buses were stopped now, and so off we set. The two girls gallantly carried in a piggy back style by our handsome partners. Across a busy road that had a central reservation with kerbs, causing my husband to pitch violently forward, dumping me face first in the carriageway. I actually remember pulling my hands back as I fell, in order to protect my newly-painted nails.. I've still got a scar on my face...

We righted ourselves, and carried on walking as if nothing had happened, passing another,now empty, pub. There were lovely big wooden picnic benches outside, just sitting there. "I always fancied one of those!" said him indoors, and so the two chaps grasped the bench, hefted it shoulder high and swayed off down the road. Very very slowly down the road. So slowly, we got bored and walked off ahead to put the kettle on, find alcohol in the cupboards and that kind of thing. After a while, back at the house we'd done all this, and were drinking tea and wondering, when suddenly, from the bottom of the garden, there came a rustling, and a giggling noise, with some muffled thuds.. "They've never brought that back?" I said, and ran outside into the darkness.

Sure enough, there was the huge picnic table, and the two daft lads, having carried it for two miles, over two locked gates, and down a narrow entry... Funny thing is, they couldn't lift it the next day...
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 22:17, Reply)
At uni we had a game
We'd get shitfaced and go into town in groups of two, and search for treasure that the people of Preston has discarded. Whichever group comes back with the most interesting item wins.

The most memorable find was an apparent new pair of jeans that one group found, still in the bag with the receipt. It later transpired that the previous owner had shat himself, bought new jeans, put the shitty ones in the bag and dumped them.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 22:08, Reply)
Is going to be this week's topic of choice, I'm sure.

So anyway. Came back from an excursion to the Union via the kitchen, with the intention of creating yet another magnum opus of culinary regret from humble Tesco Value beginnings.

Unfortunately this is not to be. Because blocking the Lec Turbo Larder is a bin. Not a pedal bin, or a wheelie bin, but a proper municipal bin the size, weight and pliability of a Dalek. I spend a brief moment boggling at the alcohol-fuelled superhuman strength and ability of at least two very drunk people to coordinate their actions that would have been required to get this bin into its present bacon-denying location, before being interrupted by the door slamming.

The door has heralded two very smug, very drunk, and slightly stoned flatmates turning up. They sit down at a table and look very pleased with themselves for the six seconds before a very angry resident tutor walks through that same door, bringing with him an instant sobering effect.

"It's always been there." (shrug)
"Then why is the bin just outside YOUR hall of residence missing?"

Silence. Confused looks. Shrugs. Resident tutor gradually realising that refuge in audacity has been taken, sighs and shakes his head.

"Well, whoever took the bin from outside, I'm making it your responsibility to ensure it's back where it belongs tomorrow morning."

After he leaves, two contrite flatmates get up and attempt to return the bin from whence it came. Unfortunately shorn of drunken "this is such a good idea!" enthusiasm they no longer possess bin-relocating superpowers, and get picked up by security halfway through dragging the bin disconsolately across campus and fined.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 21:15, 1 reply)
Money, Teaspoons and Undying Love....
After a particularly heavy night out with my friends and the vodka fairy, I awoke to find £50 more in my purse then I had started the evening with, a phone with all sent and received messages deleted, several tea spoons and no idea how I had got home. After several frantic texts, my friends claimed I wasn't by myself at any point, none of them had any money missing and that I had got out of the taxi first and one of them had seen me in. It also transpired that I had also declared undying love to several exes and my best friend and god knows who else. I have no idea where the money or the teaspoons came from...Damn the vodka fairy, she is such a bad influence.....
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 20:40, 1 reply)
Eight or nine of Birmingham University Women's Rugby team.

(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 20:11, 8 replies)
I pity the fool that goes to bed drunk
When I awoke I rolled over and found myself face to face with Mr. T. I will admit to whimpering out loud. Turned out to have been a life-size piggy-bank bust placed there while I was sleeping/passed-out by my "friends." To this day I clench in private places just remembering the initial shock and fear.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 19:09, Reply)
This pea was last roasted eight years ago
When I was about 12, I had the 'flu. It was the standard feeling-like-hell, always too hot or too cold, influenza bit.

I mostly awoke in the middle of one night, in a puddle of sweat, feeling far too warm. So, in my addled state, I decided to open the window, which was within easy reach, right next to my bed.

This was a very old rattly window, and some synapse misfired as I placed my palm flat against the glass. Instead of pushing upward, I pushed forward.

I remember my hand going through the glass, resulting in a nice breeze. I also remember waking up later that morning wondering where the puddle of blood in which I awoke had come from.

Ever since, I have an inch-long, half-inch-wide, scar on my left wrist which prompts people to think I tried and failed at suicide.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 18:28, Reply)
I woke up the morning after an all-day session in the West End of London,
completely naked but for a woolly mustard-yellow scarf, a three-inch burn on the back of my right hand and a packet of parsnips from Tesco reduced to 20p.

I'm assuming it was a top night.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 16:17, 4 replies)
Was working at the Edinburgh festival fitting up the Pleasance courtyard. After a night out in Whistlebinkies, woke up dressed as a pirate. Hook, hat beard, sword, eyepatch, the whole lot. Still don't know how or why this happened. Still called Pirate Andy.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:58, 1 reply)
Walking home from a pub one night
One of my mates decided that he needed a shit, but couldn't go because he had no way of wiping his arse.

My answer to this was, as I've been told later, was to climb up an Ikea flagpole in Croydon, and liberate the flag for him to wipe with.

He still didn't go and woke up the next morning wrapped in the flag. Bastard didn't even give it back!
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:57, Reply)
I woke up
naked, with an enormous hard-on, on stage in front of a massive audience. I attempted a quick song and dance before the slow-hand-clap began.

Then I woke up.

And I was actually on a roundabout in the middle of a busy junction, wearing a pair of seal-skin slippers, a mini-skirt, tank-top and a jester's hat - but no pants. I looked up into the face of a jolly policeman who asked me where I got the penguin from.

And then I woke up again - this time I was the ledge outside the sixth story window of a New York office block, at night, wearing a nappie and matching turban...

(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:56, 5 replies)
Was having a slightly tricky time of life, so did the sensible thing and went out and got utterly twatted with a mate.

Woke up the next day, in my own bed, next to my own missus, but with two of my fingers taped together and a fair bit of pain in said finger.

Looking at my sore hand, I asked my missus what the fuck had happened to it.

She replied: "you don't remember? Have a look at the latest picture on your phone"

Painful picture in first reply...
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:55, 16 replies)
Keep left sign
My friend Gareth once brought a keep left sign back to my flat after a party (the same party at which I was nearly raped by the water polo team). He said it was just lying in the street, and he picked it up and brought it back. My flatmate Jamie who accompanied him home reckoned it took him at least 20 minutes to kick it from its moorings first.

I wired it up to a plug and used it as mood lighting.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:40, 1 reply)
Christ alone knows how they did it
A friend from school, like many other people, had the habit of pinching street furniture at the end of a night out as a souvenir.

He had quite a collection of signs and the like from all over the region, but he topped it all one particular night when he and his brother stole the life-size Jesus from the cross outside the local chapel. There’s a photo of them cheering with Jesus between them, with his outstretched arms hugging them in typical lad night out pose.

It caused a bit of a furore, and the guilt consumed them for ages as they debated what to do with their trophy. They fretted and fretted, until eventually the chapel reasoned they wouldn’t get Jesus back and just bought a new one. The brothers kept theirs.

The finest part was when they watched the replacement Jesus get nailed onto the cross.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:30, Reply)
Poosome threesome
On a mate's stag night, one fella disappeared off to chat up a couple of ladies. This he did with great success, persuading them to indulge in troilism with him, which he enjoyed greatly before his triumphant return to the uni halls the stag party were staying in. Over breakfast he had just started the bragging when a cleaner appeared and asked if he'd been sleeping in Room XYZ. He admitted he had and she said: "We had a little accident didn't we?"

He nodded.

"You should clean up, shouldn't you?"

He nodded again and shamefacedly left the table to return to his room.

Turns out what he had come back with from his debauched night out was an inability to control his bowels. His great, boastful moment of triumph was completely drowned out by the bollocking he got from the cleaner for shitting all over his bed.

Karma's a bitch.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:05, Reply)
During the absence of a flatmate
We went to the pub the night before he was due back, had a few and suddenly it seemed as though it'd be the heigh of hilarity to collect all the crap we could on the way home and *dump it all in his room* as a lovely homecoming present.

We then bent all our alcohol-addled brains to the task of finding unusual and amusing things that we could steal. The eventual hall included, as well as all the usual suspects, a functioning set of temporary traffic lights, A stand for free newspapers (with newspapers included) and a door. We had to lever the lock off his room with a screwdriver in order to get this stuff in but it seemed worthwhile. So we dumped it everywhere, the free newspaper making a particularly impressive mess as they scattered all over his furniture and belongings.

The next morning we awoke, beset by hangovers. Over breakfast we barely looked at one another such was the shame of the deed we had committed. And silently, rubbed by guilt, we collectively decided to clean up. In spite of throbbing heads and nauseous bellies we cleaned that room: put the bigger items of the balcony, threw the trash away, laundered his bedsheets, hoovered the floor, did our best to repair his splintered door.

And so he arrived home, not a mess, but to the cleanest room in the entire house and a bunch of sheepish and extremely ill flatmates.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:02, Reply)
"Where the bloody hell did this come from?"
It was the autumn of '91 and I was attending University in the infamously debauched city of Newcastle.
Of the night in question I remember very little.
A fleeting memory of some attractive local girl telling me to "fuck off".
Some guy extinguishing his cigarette on my arm while laughing.
And then a blank...
A deeper darkness...

I awoke totally confused.
I still had my clothes on, including my shoes, my head felt like a lump of rock, my arms were like lead, I could barely lift them … and both myself and my bed was covered in a fine layer of sand.

"Where the bloody hell did this come from?" said my welsh student flat mate downstairs in a rather loud and annoyed voice.
"Uh oh", I thought.
The guy was built like a brick shithouse and, stereotypically, played rugby and had very little patience for shenanigans.

I heard them all go out and timidly decided to see what drunken trophy I had brought back from the previous nights escapades.

It was a traffic cone.
Which is a bit of a student cliché.

However, it wasn't your standard traffic cone.
It was one of those very large yellow striped motorway ones with a tonne of sand in the bottom of it.

I had set it atop the table in the centre of the room and the top very nearly touched the ceiling.

As there were no roadworks for miles around none of us could work out where I had picked it up.

It took two of us to lift the damn thing off the table and put it in the garden.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 14:27, 1 reply)

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