I suppose it worked out in the end...
A night out in London, actually at the open air theatre in Regent's Park. We weren't really in the mood for a night out because we'd just been gazumped on our dream house, but we already had the tickets and our friends were determined to go, so off we went. And we thought we'd have a few drinks to cheer ourselves up in case Pirates of Penzance wasn't up to the job.

As it turned out we needed more drinks to cheer ourselves up. After the play was finished our friends set off home, but we'd just opened another bottle and thought we'd stay to finish it. This was our second mistake.

Inevitably it got to closing time at the bar, and we tottered off to the railway station. Now, those of you who know Regent's Park will know that there is a road encircling it called "The Outer Circle", which is about a couple of miles long.

So we hit the Outer Circle and started looking for the sign pointing to the railway station. I'm sure that there is one of those, but we were either too busy talking or too sloshed to spot it, but after tottering round for a considerable time it suddenly occurred to me to ask "How many zoos are there in Regent's Park?", because I'd seen at least three of them.

Apparently there is only one, so it seemed that we had a problem. As we considered our options, a band were leaving their gig in a white van, and I flagged them down and asked for directions. And a lift, which was politely turned down - I say "politely", he looked quite worried actually. But he gave us directions to the station, at least.

So we followed the directions and eventually came to a zoo, by which time it was about 1.30 am and we had definitely missed the last train. But we really had no idea where we were. Luckily, there was a sort of police bunker nearby with a yellow phone, so I picked that up and asked for help.

The nice man on the other end of the phone told me that if I turned around and faced up the road (I did so, falling backwards against the wall of the bunker, no doubt causing much shaking-of-heads by the cops watching the cctv), then turned left, then went along a bit, then turned left into somesuch street I'd find a hotel.

"Thank you Officer" I said, and we set off as directed.

When we got to the zoo we turned randomly down a street out of sheer desperation, and as luck would have it we found a hotel. Which was full, but nil desperandum because the receptionist called another hotel for us, who quoted a rather eye-watering £380 for the night. Ok. Desperandum, then.

At this point we decided that we'd be better off hiring a taxi to take us home, so we called one of those. He elucidated that we were going to Chesham, and said this would be £30, which sounded a lot better than £380.

So off we went, giving directions to Chesham - it was before the days when Sat-Navs were everywhere - and that seemed to surprise the driver.

"Where did you say you were going?" he asked.
"Chesham" we said.
"Oh. I thought you said 'Cheshunt'"
"Oh." we said.
"I'm going to have to charge you £60 then" he said.

We didn't care, but I didn't have enough on me, so when we got to Chesham I asked him to stop at a cashpoint. Which was shut down for maintenance. There was another one around the corner though, so I made a gesture indicting that I was going there but which apparently looked like "Run!" since he locked the doors on the car with my girlfriend inside.

3:30 am is apparently maintenance time for cashpoints, because the other cashpoint was shut down too, and so was the next one I tried.

"The cashpoints aren't working, but I'll write you a cheque" I said to the driver. He didn't look enormously happy about that, but took us home and I got out a chequebook, and - with enormous concentration and one eye shut - wrote out a cheque for £60.

And off he went. We collapsed onto the sofa.

Two minutes later there was a knock on the door.

I'd written him a cheque using my girlfriend's chequebook. Oops.

And that is how I learned not to drink too much in unfamiliar parts of cities.

No, wait. That is how I learned not to let the sober people leave me alone in unfamiliar parts of cities, and to carry an A-Z. Yes. That sounds like a better moral.
(richardm, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:13, 3 replies)

This has haunted me for years.
Ooooooooh I was at a sexy lady's house party and liquored up on eight cans of Irish Harp. Seventeen, thrusting, and full of spunky lust. Despite the aggressive boil on my nose and my flaking scalp, I fancied myself as quite a catch. I'd just successfully muttered along to Rapper's Delight (the LONG version bitches), and was working my way through U Can't Touch This. In short, I was on fire.

Idly playing the air drums, my roving eye scanned the party and fell on a dwarfish young woman who had been hounding me for some months. I had, weeks previously, sucked her mouth for sport, and found it to have a curiously pungent taste – like plaque and cigar smoke mixed with dogshit and chips. Mmmmmmm.

She kept casting dewy-eyed glances my way. Those curiously black-ringed eyes on her unfeasibly large freckled head had me all confused. Extending one stumpy finger from her awkward and pale boy-hand, she sexily beckoned me over, running her other hand through her mannish hair. Giddiness swept through me. I stepped outside for some air. Oh, goodness, a bunch of folk with a bottle of vodka. Give us a swig on that.

Gulp gulp gulp

and –––––––––––––––––– morning.

I'm in a bed. I'm still at the party house. I'm alone. But dark thoughts are nipping at the back of my mind, like an Alan Partridge striptease fantasy. And there's a form on the floor, covered in duvets.

Gingerly I leaned out of bed and pulled a corner of the duvet back, revealing a chillingly large vision of wine-stained teeth, distended eye lids and a masculine short back and sides. She was sleeping, and dressed. I was safe. But still … those ominous flashes in my mind. Fleeting, millisecond sensations of a nipple like a tube of Polos being rolled sickeningly between my fingers like a cannibal's spliff. A cow's long black tongue thrashing around in my mouth.

No. It couldn't have happened. I'd remember something like that. Wouldn't I? Yes, I would. And I didn't. So it didn't happen. Fuck it, time for a shit.

I wobbled my way out of the bedroom, across the landing and into the bathroom. Plonking myself down on the throne, I started playing through the events of the evening. It was fine. I got drunk, went to bed and went to sleep. That's it. Nothing dark happened. I'd have remembered. I'm sure I would have remembered.

Then something struck me. Or rather, the absence of something struck me.
The bathroom was completely quiet.
Silent.

I was unleashing a gallon of piss into the toilet bowl, and yet the whole room was fucking SILENT.

Not wanting to, but unable to resist, I slowly looked down between my legs.

Bobbing off the end of my cock was a grossly swollen condom full to bursting with piss and sperm, and covered with red slime and matted pubes.

Have you ever heard a man howl like a dying wolf? I have.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:11, 9 replies)

Perspective
Had a nastily big night out and rocked up to work with my eyes hanging out of my head, looking pale and feeling shaky. I was struggling through the morning and I mentioned to a co-worker, a rough and worn bloke in his late 50's, that I was unbelievably rotten the night before.

'Like fuck' he said 'You haven't been drunk until you wake up with 3 days worth of shit in your underpants'.

Point taken.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:00, 3 replies)

The night out went fine
It was my birthday, I'd drunk heroic amounts of alcohol and indulged in some frankly massive drugs. I'd been to the pub and a houseparty and got myself completely spangled, so the missus bundled me off back to my place and the last thing I remember was getting into bed with her and closing my eyes.

The next thing I remember was her standing over me, screaming that I was a every bastard under the sun, storming out and slamming the door behind her. A few things lurking at the edge of my incredibly-hungover brain alerted me that something was deeply amiss: firstly I couldn't remember what I had done to provoke such a Hiroshima-style outburst, but the clue probably lay in the fact that the door she had slammed behind her wasn't the door to my room. It was a door that I didn't recognise, and while I was definitely in bed, there was someone next to me. Who wasn't my girlfriend.

"Wha-" was about all I could manage. "What the fuck...?"

I was in my (female) housemate's bed, with no recollection of how I got there. At all. Not a glimmer.

Later, I got the full story from the now-mollified missus and the bemused housemate: I'd got up in the night to have a piss on unconscious drunken autopilot and of the two doors leading out of my room to the bathroom I'd chosen the wrong one, and woken up my girlie by trying to climb into the fitted wardrobe. She guided me out of the correct door to the toilet* and went back to bed. Once I'd finished pissing, I'd come out of the downstairs bog to find myself again presented with a choice of two doors. I'd gone through the wrong one, got into bed and fallen into the dead-sleep of an unconscious drunk. Perpendicular across my housemate's bed because she had her room oriented differently to mine. Having tried to wake me up and failed, she'd got out of bed to put some clothes on (apparently she was also stark naked, I have no memory of this either) and settled down to try and get some sleep. My girlfriend had woken up alone, jumped to the wrong conclusions and gone ballistic. It took a while to explain that one, especially when even I didn't know what had happened.

*At least I hope she did, it's just occurred to me that there were two doors there as well, one leading to the toilet and one leading to the kitchen :(
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:59, 1 reply)

Getting home.
Getting home wasn't funny. The train was timetabled for 11:20, so I left at last orders to catch it. It was freezing - below zero, definitely, and by 11:50 the train hadn't shown up and an annoucement said there'd be a replacement bus. Eventually that showed up with no heating, so I sat huddled on one seat, nose in a book, waiting to get back to London.
We got back to Kings Cross for about 1:30am, where the bus stopped and threw us all out. The prostitutes were out in force, and I was told that I'm good looking enough that they'd do me 'two for the price of one', but I declined. Whether I'm actually that good looking, or whether they just wanted to get some money to give to the pimp so they could stop hanging about in fishnets at 1:30am on a below-zero morning I don't know - didn't want to know.

I got the night bus back to Victoria with the last of my cash and set off to walk home from there - it's not that bad a walk, perhaps 30 - 40 mintes, and by that time I was cold enough not to really notice it any more. As it was, I amused myself whilst walking by writing scenes where literary characters from different genres met people they really could not have met ("Do you know what I'm going to do?" Announced Mr. Toad of Toad Hall one bright, sunny summer morning. "I'm going to buy the biggest, fastest motor car I can find without roll bars or seatbelts!"
"A wise cousel, my leige", whispered Grima in his ear...)

Just round the corner from my house there are a string of old emply shops, and standing outside them were a bunch of policemen. Police aren't an unusual sight near us; the nearby estate breeds a seemingly limitless supply of young men who divide their time equally between going to the gym and dealing crack, and the police occasionally round up the latest batch so I didn't think much of it.
As I got closer, however, I realised they were just hanging about. There were a couple of girls there too, looking fazed. As I approached the body language of the group shifted subtly from waiting anticipation to 'keep away' vibes. But still they just stood there, saying nothing, ignoring as I approached. It was a very unusual moment.
Then I saw the roll of carpet at the focus of the group, and the feet sticking out of one end, and an arm and top of a head sticking out of the other, and the blood. The body lay stiffly, and no attempt had been made to place it in the recovery position or help, or anything. The only thing moving was a thin trickle of half-coagulated blood from the side of the carpetting.

I walked past, head down, trying not to look.
But all of a sudden, I didn't feel much like writing comedy any more.
(davywavy, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:56, Reply)

Bailing on the cab
It had been a long and boozy day. Watching the playoffs in the afternoon I found myself slightly worse for wear with two pints and a double whisky in front of me at 5 in the afternoon.
This would have been fine if I didn't need to go to an awards ceremony, where I was part of the comittee, for 7pm. As often happens in these kind of situations, narcotics seem the sensible option for propping myself up and "sobering" myself up for more drinking.
By 10.30, I've got a lot more energy, but am far from sober. The awards has turned into a farce, with the comedian storming of stage (justifiably) at the level of ignorance in the audience. This turns into my excuse to leave, as I need to get the cash to pay her and can get her to drop me off back to the pub.
This is where things turn hazy, I know I chatted bullshit at her all the way back, I know I got to the pub, I don't know how I then went out clubbing, but I do have the memory of the journey back.
At the club I hijack some poor punters pre-booked taxi, which is luckily going back to my home town. Some part of my brain thinks, "you could bunk the fare", something I've never done before, so I take him down a bit of a dead end road, where he pulls over and I run away, like a drunken loon, not stopping until I get home.
It's from here that the night goes banzai. I stumble in, muttering to my wife that I've been bad. Totter upstairs, where I fall over, twat my head and a claret fountain kicks of from my scalp.
The wife finds me, hunched over the sink, mumbling that I have to clean the blood from it. She kindly points out that it would be a better idea to stop the blood pissing from my head and dirtying up the sink first. It's about this point that I pass out and my terrified wife stays awake all night, making sure that I don't choke on my own vomit.
The next day I wake, feeling like death warmed up. And now Karma starts to take an interest in my life.
I go to the mirror to inspect the damage from the previous night, and find that I have a nice deep cut in a horizontal line in the middle of my hair line. I realise, with no humour, that from now on, as my hair recedes, I will look like I've got a giant jap's eye on my head.
It doesn't end there. Later I bump into an old friend, who I haven't seen for ages. He reminds me that I saw him in the club last night.
I was too drunk to remember, I inform him and tell him of my exploits, to which he replies "You cunt!" He'd ordered that taxi and the firm had his phone number, called him and told him he'd have to pay or the police would be called. He felt obliged to pay, as his extra curricular activites were far from legal and he wanted no sign of the police. So I end up paying him back for the taxi.
All in all, a dreadful night out resulting in injury and money loss, serves me right for being a cunt to the poor fellow trying to earn a living.
Appologies for length, etc.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:48, 1 reply)

I honestly cant remember anything going well....
....once the gravy jug was full of archers.

Long story, probably boring, will do my best to keep it rolling. It may help if you set your mind to 6th form adolescent boy to help you get in the mood of how this still, to this very day makes me shudder with just how much of a class a tit I could be in my yoof.

I think im going to put this in the reply as its likely to be so wagon, and possibly boring, that i dont want to knock otehrs off the page. give me time to write it up though you impatient bstards.
(Smellyape liking http://www.b3ta.com/bpma/, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:35, 1 reply)

Last night, wow
Took my daughter to Bournemouth as she was seeing The Script at the International Centre.

I went back to my car where I read a book, drank a can of Tesco own-brand energy drink and scoffed a huge packet of Twiglets until my fingers went brown and the car stank of Marmite.

Then, at 11pm, we drove home, but got LOST IN PARKSTONE.

Click "I like this" if this has ever happened to you.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:32, 7 replies)

Went to a party, I danced all night
I drank 16 beers and I started up a fight.

But now I am jaded, you're out of luck
I'm rolling down the stairs too drunk to fuck.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 9:09, 7 replies)

I was struggling to think about where to start
but finding myself a still bandaged from a fall down stairs at the Roundhouse,buying my £40 phone back for £50 from a crackhead outside Victoria station at 4am before being told by the policeman that I decided to call AFTER the event (why I didn't do it before I will never understand) that there are no CCTV cameras focussed directly on the forecourt outside the station so they would never find him. (Really? None? That's reassuring) is pretty high up there on 'nights out gone wrong'.

The problem is I don't have a story to tell about how I got there, because I can't fucking remember.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 8:43, 3 replies)

Not me but a friend
Regained his senses once, think it was around January 3rd or 4th. Still in the nice white tuxedo that he wore for the New Years party, only it was dirty and stained. He had no clue where he had been in the meantime or what he had been up to.

We all admired his determination.
(spinoza, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 8:00, 2 replies)

One ugly Friday night
In my first year living in Korea, I was invited to a Friday night punk show in Seoul. It was in honour of the drummer of one band, who was going away to complete his mandatory two years in the military. This means of course, time to get pissed up.

I lived an hour away, and my girlfriend at the time lived right up the street from the club. By the time I showed up at about 11pm, she was already plastered, and I played catch-up. But she had a serious headstart, and passed out somewhere in the back of the club.

The show ended, and I carried her home. Not the first time it'd happened, and it wasn't that far away. Whenever she passed out, she'd be totally out cold, dead weight, and I'd have to put her over my shoulder and fireman-carry her home. So, I tucked her in, and it was only a little after midnight. All the others were off at the bar still drinking. Myself being still not drunk enough, I opted to join them.

Long story short, we drank well into the night, maybe around 4am. As we were leaving, we discovered a car that had been abandoned right in front of the bar. Some of the guys opened the door and hopped in. I climbed on top of it and ended up kicking in the rear window. Didn't take a lot of force at all. I immediately felt guilty and ran off.

I met up with everyone in the main park where we always drink all night when it's warm, and stayed there a while longer, afraid to go past the street with the abandoned car.

Finally I made it home. I crawled into bed, and immediately got sick. I leaned over the bed and barfed on the floor. I rushed down to the washroom, leaving a trail of puke all the way to the toilet. Afterwards, I tried cleaning up the evidence, but I was in no condition to be alive.

Morning came, and my girlfriend woke up first and saw all the barf. The last thing she remembered was me carrying her home and putting her in bed, so she assumed I'd been the sober one through this all, and it was herself who'd made the mess. By the time I woke up, she had everything all clean.

In retrospect, I probably could've kept it a secret from her, but I had this weird guilty feeling nagging me to come clean.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 7:45, 2 replies)

Pretty tame ones, in comparison.
Still, these are about the worst I've done. Last summer, I stayed over summer break at university to take some courses really cheap and quickly. In between the summer and fall semesters, the RAs didn't really care what when on in the residence halls, so a friend and I decided to have a party in his room. I'd recently acquired a bottle of Balkan 176°, and we all decided a night of drinking 176 proof vodka was an excellent idea. Everyone was excited to try it, and we figured it would kick start the party with 750mL of that split between 10 students. When the party actually rolled around however, only the Japanese exchange student, Kazuki I believe was his name, and myself were willing to drink it at all after having smelled it.

Being manly men, and with some pretty girls about, Kazuki and I decided that mixed drinks were for pussies. We'd impress these girls with our masculine ways (ie, stupidity) by doing shots of this Bulgarian rocket fuel. Needless to say, Kazuki and I don't remember much of that night. From what we've managed to piece together, the evening unfolded as follows. He and I tried to drink each other under the table, going shot for shot and swig for swig. With the Balkan 176° eventually finished, we looked around the room, and started on the cheap Scotch we found. That done, we split a six pack of beer and went back to our rooms. I made my was across the building, down two flights of stairs, unlocked my door, and climbed into the top bunk on my bed (there was no ladder), and remembered beforehand to put my remaining liquor in the freezer again. Apparently I slept through someone from grounds keeping coming to my room, and removing the knob and locking mechanism on the door to my suite with a loud drill, then replacing it with a new one. I was pleasantly surprised to wake up the next day without the massive hangover I was expecting.

The only other incident I can recall involved getting spectacularly drunk at a friend's place, and stealing his Sour Patch Kids. The next day I woke up with a 2lb bag of a candy I didn't particularly like on my chest, and having to walk back over to return them. Fortunately, my friend hadn't noticed they were gone and appreciated me bringing them back unprompted.

That's about the extent of the wild nights in my life, which seem to pale in comparison to some of these.
( Ithyphallophobia, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 6:39, 3 replies)

fuuckinng yesa
1sst..ha.me isd thj frts heer/
(Mao's stepson is doing his bit for East/West relation's, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 6:29, 3 replies)

Drink & Devonda Do Not Mix
Like the post below i have a natural affinity for finding myself in very unusual situations:

The time i decided to try and enter a bar with an oily battered sausage half hanging out of my zipper and then trying to persuade the female bouncer to take a nibble of it.

Same night after unsuccessful entry i came around mid-thrust inside a fat ginger and calmly "backed-out" and walked out of the hostel dorm with my pants round my ankles and bits of said battered sausage down my leg.

Or the night when i went for the record of drinking as many ABC'S (Absinth,Barcardi 151 & Charteusse) Shots in one session. There wasn't even a previous record i just decided there was one to beat.

On the sixth shot i thought it would be a great idea to bring home a 32 year old mum of two back to my place for a but "my place" my drunken mind translated as my "girlfriends house" and "some fun" was my attempt at a menge a trois.

Needless to say when mum of two asked me where we were walking to and i slurred "meesh gurlsfeeend hoose" she scarped and my girlfriend found me later walking round the confines of her front garden looking for her.

Or there was the time more recently that i got wasted with local Thai guys and decided to drive my scooter home only to crash in the middle of the road get mugged and then pass out while filling my shorts with shit.

Needless to say i try to steer clear of the devil juice where i can..
(Devonda, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 5:38, 1 reply)

Look, I've been waiting patiently for weeks
but this is bullshit.

Next week can we FINALLY have a question where people can show off about how drunk they got PLEASE???
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 5:34, 3 replies)

Too many of these.
The night I woke up in the middle of someone's floor covered in pink vomit and naked from the waist down.

The night I climbed into my wardrobe and tried to piss in it in front of my horrified housemates.

The night I smashed my chin open because I was too drunk to think to use my hands to save myself whilst falling over.

But mostly, this night.

It's the summer holiday of my first year at uni. The weather is beautiful, the bank have foolishly agreed to give me an overdraft and no one has moved into my new shared house yet except me, meaning I can turn it into a party house for the summer and have loud sex with my new girlfriend in every room. Life is pretty sweet. Until I discover said girlfriend is still shagging her ex. I promptly dump her and commence feeling like shit in a cold sewer. At this point all of my uni friends are scattered around the country with their families and all all of my old friends are back in my hometown. So I decide to go drinking with Acquaintance and a load of strangers. I figure it beats brooding alone in an empty house and I'm less likely to get weepy and think about my ex with a load of new people around me. So off to the pub I go.

I meet Acquaintance in the pub with a largeish group of people. Many of them have lip rings.

I buy a double vodka and coke, which turns out to be the only drink I buy that night. I come back to the table and find a pint of Guinness waiting for me. As everyone else is being kicked out for not having ID I down both in minutes. We move to the pub next door.

Acquaintance is at the bar. I ask for something strong. He gets me a double whisky and coke and a double vodka. I pour them both into one glass. By the end I can't taste anything anymore. More drinks are consumed. Last orders are called.

Stumbling through the city centre, I need to piss. Unfortunately the place I choose turns out to be the entrance to an underground garage which opens and lights up like a Christmas tree when I trip the motion sensors. I pull up my pants and run.

Everyone decides to go to The Scumhole except me, as I used to work there and no longer drink there on principle. I go to a hotel with Acquaintance and Some Girl. Order wine and pizza. Things begin to get blurry. Time passes. More booze.

Everyone's back from The Scumhole and we're watching shit TV and making fun of it. A bin bag with 24 bottles of Carlsberg in it suddenly appear and I decide it's my job to drink them. So I start on that. At this point I start to develop black holes in my memory.

Blank.

I'm in the hall talking to Ex Girlfriend on the phone. As I pace up and down I lose the room I was in.

Blank.

Acquaintance and I are passed out on a bed in a different room from the others. My grip on reality is slipping. I decide to drink more.

Blank.

Banging coming from somewhere. People seem pissed off at Acquaintance. Acquaintance runs out of the hotel. For some reason I decide it's my job, as most wasted person, to find him.

Blank.

I'm in a car park, I've lost the hotel, it's 4am and I'm so drunk I can't walk.

Blank.

I'm in some guy's car. How the fuck did I end up in some guy's car?

Great, the perfect end. Raped and killed and dumped in a river.

For some reason he does none of the above but has a spliff with me and drives me home. He does seem quite keen on the idea of showing me his cock but I think he sized up his options and thought I would probably just end up vomiting on it.

Lots more blank.

I call Ex Girlfriend. By this point I'm incoherent. When I hang up I cry and scream and punch things until I drop into a coma from the exhaustion.

When I wake up my eyes are still blurry and my fists are bruised and cut up. And I'm still drunk.

I try to piece together the events of the night before via instant messenger.

Acquaintance says:
you tried to close the bathroom door
Acquaintance says:
but there was no door
Acquaintance says:
for 5 minutes

Old Schoolfriend who I probably shouldn't have been texting says:
you texted me saying u were watching porn

Friend of Acquaintance says;
found some guys in sombreros, on a stag night, and got them to bash down the door to wake you guys up (it came off it's hinges).

This explains the banging and why Acquaintance ended up screaming incoherently and running away. Acquaintance and I come to the conclusion that nothing happened in the locked room with the porn but as both of our memories from that point in the night are wiped clean we can't know for sure.

I don't drink anymore.
(orestes is shitting in the 1940s, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 4:05, Reply)

It started out ok
Myself and two mates decided a trip to the local boozer(s) for a traditional pub crawl before heading off to a nightclub was in order.

We sat in the front bar of a local hotel and then a gypsy wedding party arrived. Or to be precise, 2 couples that had just been thrown out of the pub next door that was holding the wedding.

After listening to them fighting for a few minutes and then starting to annoy the lone barmaid we decided to ask then politely to behave themselves, informing them that we were hotel staff and that they were perfectly entitled to stay if they behaved. (not quite the truth as only one of us was)

all was well for a few more minutes until one of them simply stood up, and proceeded to punch one of the others without so much as a bad word. We then rather briskly escorted them from the building and sent them on their way.

15 minutes later we heard the sirens. We then discovered one of the party (the one who had been punched) took out a 10 inch Bowie knife from his jacket and stabbed the other guy through the heart and walked away as if nothing happened.

To this day it still bugs us as to how we missed the knife, and why the guy did not do the same to one of us when we put them out. 3 hours filling in witness statements instead of getting pissed.
( oldpoint is up in space doing important work for NASA., Fri 25 Mar 2011, 2:00, Reply)

Got drunk, cowped.


Spent 6 weeks in plaster.

It was Halloween, I was dressed as someone from alien, but had taken the elastic banded facehugger off my head by then.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 1:32, 3 replies)

Only one guy I know would do this..
In fairness though, he apparently makes one hell of a fancy dress costume...

www.thisisbath.co.uk/news/Fancy-dress-reveller-city-bomb-scare/article-3068379-detail/article.html
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 0:03, Reply)

Twas a night in, but definitely gone wrong...
For my 17th, I had a house party round mine. Plenty of friends came, plenty of food, and (crucially) plenty of booze. As such a variety of bad ideas happened to me:

- Someone had bought some large wax strips, which ended up on my face...for the next two weeks one of my sideburns was much longer than the other (until next haircut).

- My t-shirt was stolen

- A couple of my friend had bought me a selection of thongs as a pressie, and somehow convinced me to don the one bearing the legend "Rub the lamp and the genie will come out".

- My trousers were stolen (revealing said thong)

- One sneaky biatch decided to PULL THE THONG DOWN...now in my happy-go-lucky drunken state, rather than dive down and drag them back up, I stood there for a moment, hands on hips and let out a great *sigh*, before recovering myself (got my trousers back too at some point).

- And I have been told since (though I was oblivious to this myself, being unconcious), that while I was crashed out on the bed in the basement (which doubled as a party room), two of the girls had pulled back the cover and drawn a huge orange smiley face on my thong-clad arse, and just left it there, in pride-of-place for when my mum came downstairs to check how things were going.

...she's never mentioned it, but they assure me that's how it happened.

Length? Rub it.
( Extinct Jesus Dossier "...I think it counteracts Hitler's magic...", Thu 24 Mar 2011, 23:50, Reply)

It's one of the darkest nights of my life,
Fuck me it was huge. Posted in replies to save the children, think of the children...
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 23:27, 12 replies)

More of a day out..
I went to Universal Studios (Orlando) with a couple of friends a few years ago during the height of my two years of hardcore drinking. We went on a few rides, but when they wanted to go on Dueling Dragons, I decided to sit it out. Luckily, there was a bar right across from the exit. I settled down, smoked some cigarettes and starting chatting with the guy next to me. I'm really fuzzy on the details, but somehow I got into a jager drinking contest and got blackout drunk in the time it took my friends to wait in line and ride the roller coaster.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the back of a strange car being driven by a man I didn't know. In my head I thought I'd drunkenly wandered off and gotten myself kidnapped. I started crying and begging him to let me go. I told him I wouldn't tell anyone if he just pulled over and let me out. He kept saying something to me, but he had such a thick accent and I was blubbering so loudly that I never caught what he was saying. I finally just laid down in the back seat and a short time later the car stopped. I got up and looked out the window and we were at my parent's house.

There were apparently many reports of a "drunk girl burning people with cigarettes" and I was escorted out and put in a cab. No one knew my current address, and I couldn't even form a word, so they sent me to the address on my license, which was still my parent's house. I'm sure my father was so pleased to shell out the money to pay for a 30 mile cab ride, while I tried to make it inside, failed miserably and ended up just laying in the garage for a few hours.
(Ingrid Leinhard is not a real thing, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 23:16, 2 replies)

not me, honest
but a guy who drank at my old local. Too pissed to open his own front door, kicks it down, helps himself to a can of coke from the fridge and sits down to scan the late night TV for some cheap porn.

wakes up in the cells the following morning...

Had forgotten he'd had moved house earlier that year. After about an hour the poor souls hiding in terror upstairs dared to venture downstairs to phone phone the rozzers (this was pre-mobiles) only to find their burglar asleep on their sofa in front of the testcard with his trousers round his ankles...
(pounana Slept well, and dreamed of large women, on, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 22:46, 3 replies)

The Wall
Where I now live, there's a shopping center right behind me and a 6ft wall.
I quite frequently jump the wall to get to the pub that's there, and quite happily do the 5 minute stagger on the way home to avoid injuring myself by jumping the wall home. Even in jeans and sneakers.

Last Friday saw me in a dress and heels which is unusual anyway. Decided to jump the wall instead of walking around. The cast comes off in 6 weeks and the bashed up knees are healing nicely.
(nolongernuts, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 22:43, 2 replies)

So there I was...
Out one night; it was pissing it down and all I had left was a fiver... So I got in the cab, and the driver turned to me, winked and said "where to lovey?" so I told him. I also told him I only had a fiver on me, and would it be okay to take me home as I was a bit worse the wear, he looked at me in the rear view mirror and he winked and grinned. I breathed a sigh of relief. He started the engine and pulled away past all the other cab drivers in the street; me in the back, breathing a sigh of relief.

Well, I watched the meter ticking over; four pounds, four fifty, four ninety... Five. He stopped the car and turned to me "All right lovey, out you get" he said; "What?!" "That's your fiver lovey." I looked at the nearest road sign, we were still a good forty minute stagger from home... "But...but..." I stammered in his general direction; "That's your lot love, gi'us your fiver and out you get." his west country drawl grating on my very soul. So out I got, and, all high heels and thongs cutting into me, made my sorry way home.

So. I decided to get my own back. The next night out I'd been quite sensible, and retained enough cash to get me home safely for once. Now, I'd managed to lose all my mates; but I noticed my nemesis at the back of the rank; so I approached each of the cabbies in the Old Town Square and asked them "If I strapped one on and bummed you, would you give me a ride home for nothing?" and they all sent me away, until I got to him... And I popped my head in his window and asked him how much it'd be to get me home; he looked up at me and smiled and told me it'd be about seven fifty, so I grinned and got in his green Toyota and, as we drove past all his mates, I gurned out of his passenger window giving thumbs up to all his mates!
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 20:37, 10 replies)

Spontaneous train journey.
A journey home that should have taken 20 minutes ended up taking two hours, thanks to my wine addled decision to get a train to London Bridge and then back to my home town instead of taking a 10 minute train to my town and then a taxi.

I remember getting on the train at Crystal Palace, then waking up in Three Bridges with vomit spattered jeans. The nice man at the station put me back on the train and my brother had to keep calling me to make sure I didn't end up back in London.

I would like to thank my brother for telling my parents I was very tired and fell asleep, not that I threw up on myself and passed out on the train.
(ToysForBigBoys would spread her legs for Nick Clegg., Thu 24 Mar 2011, 20:04, Reply)