One
very important life lesson I learnt quite early on was that it's not a good idea to get into a drinking contest with gypsies in a remote Spanish hill village, assuming you don't like vomiting all over yourself, lying on a toilet floor for an unknown length of time before being discovered, getting picked up by the local police as your friends attempt to carry you home, being rushed to hospital in case you die and eventually coming home five or six hours later draped in a sheet in the back of an ambulance to be greeted by a vast crowd of curious neighbours.
(Wong Fei-Hung - now with added flickr.com (see profile), Fri 25 Mar 2011, 14:43, Reply)

I
vaguley recall wazzing in my mam's porch (indoors), falling asleep slouched against the stairs, being dragged up stairs by younger brother

next morning, i'd also lost my wallet.

dont remember the night at all
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 14:34, 3 replies)

I'll have a white wine spritzer... zer... er...

(McChinaman banned, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 14:22, 3 replies)

Went out to chat with some mates one night.
Ended up getting stun gunned and arrested. While being questioned, Darth Vader blew up my planet.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 14:00, Reply)

Mr Love Pants
It wasn't the fact that I thought it would be a good idea to wear skin tight velvet-effect trousers.

It was the fact that on the tube into town I tried to impress the new lady in my life by saying I could get my leg over my head, ripping said trousers in the process, and having to spend the rest of the evening sitting down while everyone else danced their socks off.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:50, 5 replies)

I once got legless.
Cheers.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:42, 6 replies)

The Mudderfuggin' Sweeny!
First ever post, so hello!

It's 1996. Wednesday night. Three days ago friends and I won a bottle of tequila in a pub quiz. Two hours ago we were doing slammers. Evidently, I had more of a taste for them than the others. In between then and now we'd arrived at a local club, but I needed some air so I staggered into the darkness outside.

I remember leaning against a fence for sometime, then realising that vomit was unavoidable and sought out a handy spot. Handy spot was determined to be the bottom of a stairwell in the multistory carpark next to the club. Stomache emptied I move on into the carpark, theorising that I'll get better air up here... I stagger towards a car and very suddenly I hear an engine fire up, accellerate and screechingly skid to a stop a few yards from me. Two guys in shellsuits get out. I raise my hands:

"Don't hurt me" I drunkenly say. "We're police" they reply flopping out a badge in about as cool a manner as a guy in a shellsuit can.

"Someones been tampering with that car" they gesture.

It's worth reiterating at this point that I am completely fucked and can barely stand up. I protest my innocence and they don't want to believe me (no doubt because the Sweeny skidding Sierra entrance can only be used in the case of hardcore car thiefs and to waste it on a two-bit drunk is a crime in itself). I distinctly remember saying "I'm drunk, I've been sick in the stairwell, go look if you don't believe me.". The bigger of the two goes out to check whilst the smaller ratty looking guy asks me where I've been etc. Big fella comes back chastising me for being disgusting and what about the kids with their parents tomorrow morning etc, to which I reply "get me a bucket and I'll clean it up for you!". He's not too happy and is pacing around a bit and trying desperately to make me feel very small but the gab gift isn't failing me that night and I have an answer to everything. Then, ratty looking guy appears to be about to cut his losses and let me go. Whilst shaking his hand I say "Nice to meet you, it's a shame your mate's a bit of a cunt..." Then, completely unexpectedly, or perhaps it should have been very expected, I am grabbed from behind by the "bit of a cunt" and bundled into the car and taken straight to the station.

Obviously, they let me go shortly afterwards (what exactly is the charge officer?)but not until after I've made my favourite accidental pun of all time. Whilst emptying my pockets I counted the money, which amounted to 8p in 1's and 2's. "It's not as though I don't trust you with a couple of coppers..." I say looking up at them. "...even though you're a couple of coppers". They weren't amused. No sense of humour these folks.

Apologies if that was long.
(Demis CousCous, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:32, 5 replies)

I woke up in the morning...
... in the middle of a roundabout in Huddersfield with a broken arm.

and I have NO IDEA HOW I GOT THERE.

I had gone out at 7 the previous night, in Leeds.
( ogwen69 has returned from Reddit, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:14, 21 replies)

IMPORTANT MEDICAL RESEARCH!
I have recently discovered that if someone were to fall sideways and use their shoulder, and only their shoulder, to break said fall, they will also break their collarbone.

Despite the fact that this research has already taken place, I feel that the results are of such import that I shall be applying for a grant.

Said grant may or may not be used to recover the cost of the stupid amount of alcohol I the subject consumed beforehand. Also, if attempting to replicate said experiment, remember that the subject waited for three days before he attended hospital to obtain the results of the experiment, prefering to self medicate with more alcohol.
(williamthebloody, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:14, 3 replies)

At the risk of blowing my cover
My worst night out, and one that I don't think I'll ever live down, was my first night out at Uni.

1998. I was a fresh-faced country boy, enthralled to the pleasures of the big city (well ok, Nottingham), and wasn't yet fully versed in the dark arts of getting completely twatted. I'd already spectacularly vomited through my nose after snorting aftershock (don't do it kids - it sticks to the inside of your nose, refuses to budge and stings like buggery), and had also had a go (in for a penny) at Tequila Suicide.

For the uninitiated Tequila suicide is a slight variation on a slammer - the variation being you snort the salt, neck the tequila, and then squeeze the lemon into your eye. It's big and clever.

Like all regretful evenings the exact moment of shame is clouded in a fuggy haze, but what I do remember is as follows: There was a fox. Being from the country I'd never actually seen one up close. City foxes are different to country ones - they have no absolutely no fear.

"Look, ish a Fox!!" I cried to my fellow miscreants, "A fox!!"

I loped off towards it clutching a pint of Guinness that I still had from the last bar, and got within about 5 metres of it, wavering slightly.

It stared at me. I stared at it. It seemed to beckon me closer with its eyes. Its big, friendly, I-just-want-to-be-stroked fox eyes.

"It wants to be my friend!", I thought, "But how do I demonstrate that my intentions are benign?". The answer was obvious - I needed to feed it Guinness.

Advancing slowly I bent down slightly and extended my pint of Guinness. The fox approached closer, I approached closer still. It sniffed the Guinness, I made encouraging sounds. It tilted its little foxy-face quizzically and then tasted the Guinness! Success! Inter-species understanding had been achieved!

Then it savaged my hand and I got taken to A&E for a bandage, a not rabies tetanus jab, and to be laughed at by the hospital staff.
( rofl harris, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:11, 8 replies)

amsterdam madness
my brother took me to the 'dam for my birthday a few years ago. we got smashed on weed and lots of lovely beer. as we were walking around the canals a skinny junkie walked backwards into my brother and claimed he hasd knocked his coke out of his hand and was demanding money to replace it. we carried on walking with this skinny twat trying his luck until we reached the side of the canal, where the junkie started to get mad and reached into his pocket. i panicked, thinking he had a knife so in a knee-jerk reaction i punched him straight in the kisser....and proceeded to fall into the canal. from out of nowhere 2 other lads came running over and kicked off (they must have been his mates and watching) so we beat the crap out of them as well and legged it.

later in the night i took my brother to visit a prostitute and told him i would wait outside. after just 20 minutes he was being thrown out for puking over the hooker while she gave him a blowjob.

neither of us remember the rest of the night after then, but i woke with no shoes and t shirt, and never got them back.

hardcore!
(jerpster gordon ramsey does not own chip shops, allegedly, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:10, 8 replies)

Stabbed
by a tramp, outside McDonalds at 4.30am in Prague.
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:10, 3 replies)

Oh what a night..
Me and some mates got totally smashed on massive drugs, pulled a load of supermodels, drove home in our Honda Accord..

On the way there, we pulled up at a takeaway, and whilst waiting for our kebab, one of the supermodels (smashed up on massive drugs) saw this cat, stuck it in a wheelie bin (for a laugh) and threw up over Bono, who was ordering a chicken burger..

We got chucked out by the owner for drawing cartoon images of the prophet on the takeaway shop windows with our fingers, so we all went back to mine and watched Star Wars*

Anyway..
I went out one night, it was my mates stag night I think, and I got totally pissed, and woke up in my mums bin shelter for some reason - er, that's pretty much it really..

*sigh*

*This bit is complete and utter bollocks.
(danniekavanagh did nothing constructive on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 13:03, Reply)

possibly a pea (although I can't remember if I've ever told this one to b3ta!)
so,

years ago, I was out for a friend's birthday (think it was a 21st) in a social club that is on a par with that of the Phoenix Club. As with all 21st parties with your friends, I ended up shitfaced and dancing on the dance floor with my mates in front of the birthday girl's family to the standard party choons like Wig Wam Bam and Saturday Night! Here's me, a 21yr old fella at a mate's birthday bash doing the "hands crossing the knees" dance to Wig Wam Bam in the middle of a bunch of my mates from college - I was shitfaced but I didn't care, I was the man!!!

11pm rolls around, and time is called at the bar! My father arrives in the car, and I've suggested to a couple of friends why end the night now, we can get a lift off my dad into town (cheers Dad!) and carry on partying.... sounds like a cracking idea!

So off we go, and Dad kindly drops me in town (borrow a quick 20 for some more beers, food and taxi home!) and we hit a bar, I'm out with my mates Dave, Paul and Yvonne (don't talk to them now, so can't be bothered hiding identities to protect the guilty etc)

So there's me, drunk and having a chat to Yvonne when I notice that she's got a nice arse, and start holding my hand on it whilst chatting to her - the next thing I know, I'm kissing her and feeling her arse quite a lot! I know at this point that I'm not sure where I want this to go, but in my drunken haze I was pretty certain I was happy for this to go all the way back to hers! Or the alleyway if needs must, I was horny and was just up for anything!

However, come 2am, after plenty of kissing and a fair bit of drunken hands wandering, I know that we need to leave and head home! So we're waiting for a taxi, and in Yvonne climbs - I then promptly kiss the lady on the cheek, close the door and say "Night!" I think I was trying to be gentlemanly.... can't remember, I was hammered!

The next thing I know, it's 5:40am and I'm sat on a park bench, holding a cold kebab and think I need to head home. So there I am, stumbling into a car park where the taxi office is, 3 drivers standing round chatting and smoking, one turns and offers me a lift home - I have no idea what happened between 2am and 5:30am, but I know I found a bench and fell asleep! I have no recollection at all of anything other than waving goodbye to a pretty certain shag before queuing for a kebab!

Now... I'm gutted, because I REALLY was up for it that night, if only to see whether or not Yvonne would have been the dirty sod she was making out to be all night, and now I'll never know :(

**apologies for length, although she wouldn't have complained**
(Anne Frank started to build a loft conversion on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 12:46, 8 replies)

It was a first date...
It started off OK, we'd pottered around the finest local watering holes, we'd talked, laughed, found common ground on lots of things, then came closing time, I suggested sharing a cab, because we lived near each other. My date suggested stopping for a last one in one of Leicester's finest late bars, I concurred because I really fancied another pint. This is probably mistake one.

We sat outside in the yard, laughing and talking about parenthood, or somesuch, then I heard "Hya Beery, howareyeh?" I turned around to see my best mate's drinking buddy, a little the worse for wear, I only knew him as Nightmare, so that's how I introduced him to my date, he joined us, oblivious to my heavy hints that this probably wasn't a good time. Strike two, I believe..
The girls from the local stripclub then came through, stamping people's hands, for free entry, including mine. She then joined us, since she knew Nightmare and she and I were soon deep in conversation about breasts, she showed me her tiny scars from her implants, we then compared breasts for size and heft, I was blissfully unaware that my date had returned from the gents, as we appeared to be mid grope. strike three?

Two other guys joined us, and matters of the bedroom cropped up in the talking. Including female ejaculation. At which point my date looked at me and whispered "Do they. Really?" with a look on his face like I'd have to explain about Santa Claus next. I tried to reassure him that I'd "Tell you later" I squeezed his leg and left it at that.

We got into that taxi, and he jumped on me, he turned out to be an enthusiastic tonsil hockey player, and as his hand went to the small of my back, he stopped dead. "Here, is that a thong?" he asked breathlessly. I always wear them, so I really wasn't sure what he was driving at.

It wasn't until I got home and pieced the whole night together, that I saw the night from his point of view. He must think that's what a quiet night out with Beer Elf is always like.. No wonder he never called me.
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 12:23, 2 replies)

Bad Camping
Quick and dirty one before i get some dinner.


So its about 1998 and im 15 or so......*wavy lines*

We've decided a good way to get pissed and perhaps snog some girls, maybe even see some boobs is to arrange a camping night. We know a little grassy patch near the river and set up our tents. Theres 4 lads and 4 girls, one each we reason!

The trip is just beginning and someone dares me to 'down' a 2 litre bottle of white lightening. I do....

All i remember of the night is sleeping in a corner of a tent, in a pool of my own sick. The walk home the next day was fucking horrid, as i had to pass through the now bustling town centre (on a saturday morning).


Apparently I was chasing what I thought was a rat around the field sometime after dark... it was a brick.

It was only a few years ago I could start to drink cider again, and never EVER will i drink cider that comes in a plastic bottle.....
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:48, 4 replies)

pigeons, ankles and ham
not long after it became legal for me to buy booze, i went into town with my cousin and a couple of mates to get utterly twatted. this involved broomstick aerobics on the stage, downing a bottle of wine in one go, climbing onto the bar and yelling "ARMADILLOS!" at the poor barmaid, who was curled up in a foetal position, trying to stop laughing so that she could breathe again.
as the sun crept over the horizon, we decided it was time to go home. however, no matter how many cabs we flagged, none of them were willing to let us get in. walking seemed the only option.
now, my memory is rather sketchy here, but i do remember people trying to lift me off the floor under a railway bridge. still, i would find out later what had happened.

scroll forward to lunchtime, when i awoke in my own bed, curiouslu not hungover. feeling full of the joys of spring, i leapt out of bed and instantly crumbled into an ungainly heap on the bedroom floor. five minutes of pitiful mewling summoned my mother, who helped me get back into bed, where i stayed for the next 2 days. before getting into bed, i managed to look at my feet. my ankles were both like large purple balloons, inflated with pain.
seems i'd managed to go splay-legged under the bridge, badly spraining both ankles and landing in a pile of pigeon shit. as i was pissed, i ignored the pain and continued walking(once i'd been scraped up off the floor, of course) home.
once home, it seems that i became rather peckish. ham sandwiches smothered in tomato sauce is what i decided to eat. apparently, i must have thought there was going to be a food shortage, because i made several sandwiches and secreted them about the place. the downstairs bathroom, the hallway, one of my shoes and a coat pocket were all deemed perfect sandwich hidey-holes. being a kindly person, i'd also tried to feed the goldfish a slice of ham. they didn't eat it.
when mum awoke, she was greeted by the sight of unholy carnage in her kitchen. ham, sauce, butter and crumbs everywhere. pissed off but knowing she wouldn't be able to rouse me, she cleaned up, doubtless muttering curses and imprecations the whole time.
when the swelling had receded from my ankles enough for them to stop being cankles, i was able to walk again. sympathy was not forthcoming, although the fish were renamed ham and porky.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:46, 2 replies)

We had a houseparty at ours
A couple of hours in, a friend called to say they were going to be late; they'd fallen asleep on the Northern line and woken up in Edgware. No matter, they'd get back on the train and see us in a bit. More time passed, and we got another call from them. They'd fallen asleep on the Northern line and woken up in Morden.

We never did see them that night.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:45, 5 replies)

I have some music gear in my flat
And while wandering back from the local we somehow ended up singing "p-p-p-p-pick up a Pen-Guin!" roughly to the tune of La Cucaracha.

We decided to record this when we got home, so we set up a couple of mics, wired them through into the laptop, and belted out the tune for a good 6 minutes, saved it and buggered off to watch a film.

~~~~~~the morning after~~~~~~~~

When I got up the next day, and looked around my room, I vaguely remembered the recording session. My laptop was still on, so I pressed play to see what we'd done.

Imagine my horror when I realised what we'd done...

...we'd used a Shure Beta 52A and an AKG C430 instead of the SM58s, with no pop-shields.
( Extinct Jesus Dossier "...I think it counteracts Hitler's magic...", Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:44, 9 replies)

I'm the kind of cat who usually keeps his shit together.
I have a high capacity for alcohol, and I always remember exactly what happened. It's more of a curse than a blessing. I spend more money and end up being the one carrying my friends to bed or shepherding them away from fights with bouncers.
One time that pushed my limits was a business trip to Leeds with a Sarth Efrican mate of mine. We got stuck into this stuff called Stroh Rum, and in it I'd met my match. I remember being drawn toward lampposts trying to walk home like they had their own gravitational pull. I woke up in my hotel bed with a kebab and vomit over my shirt. Soldiering down for breakfast, I had juice, tea and sausages then vomited them up waiting for the taxi.
We had to give a presentation that morning to the captains of industry, bank heads, microsoft, university deans etc. I got about 10 minutes in to my powerpoint, went pale as a ghost and stopped talking. I thought I could fight it off, but I was wrong. I chundered in front of 70 people - a proper one that comes out the nose as well and combines with the snot for extra effect. My friend, who pussied it altogether, and I agreed never to tell head office what had taken place
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:39, 9 replies)

Lovely Scumpton

Back when I was about 18 or so I had a Very Important Appointment in Southampton. Fortunately my older brother was at uni there (well, the Dimstitute really, but he had a house, that's the main thing), so I could go and stay with him the night before. Predictably enough, as soon as I got to his house his housemates christened me Mini-Cap'n (my bro was Cap'n) and started shovelling booze down my throat. The rotters.

Soon enough we were in Kaos, singing about Chicago and shoving V-necks up arses. At the time Kaos had a particularly scrummy beverage known as Rocket Fuel, which if memory serves (and by this point it was getting dicey) had vodka, fruity lacquers and Reef in it and got you utterly spannered. Yum yum.

Now, my final memory is of being in Kaos at, oooooooh, about 11ish? Fast forward..... some time, and I'm in a field.

Quick aside for geography here. Kaos is in Southampton city centre. Southampton is blessed with some delightful parks and greens, but no fields. The nearest fields are several miles away from Rocket Fuel dispensaries.

Anyway, even in my impaired state I realise that this is not where I want to be, so I start walking. How I choose which way to walk I've no idea, but walk I did. And walk. And walk.

Cue several hours of aimless wandering, hoping to run into a landmark. I didn't, but for a while I did manage to get myself trapped in some allotments. No clue how I got into them, but once I was in there was no bloody way out again. Seriously. Who surrounds allotments with an 8ft fence topped with barbed wire?

Having spent some 20 mins prowling the perimeter of this vegetably Dachau searching in vain for the portal through which I blithely strolled in, I eventually bowed to the inevitable and prepared myself to scale the fence. I started climbing, only to discover that my shoes were too big to fit in the chain link fence. No worries, pop them off and lob them over.

As they sailed over the top, gaining their freedom, one of them snagged on something briefly before making it over. Oh shit. I'd forgotten about that. Well, I'm committed now. If I don't cross right here then I'll never find the damn things again. Hiking boots they may not be, but better than tramping about all night barefoot. Besides, thin cotton shirts were designed for repelling barbed wire, weren't they?

Anyway, clamber gracelessly to the top and flop over, dropping directly to the ground with only mild lacerations and teensy baby concussion. Doesn't matter. I'm out! Onwards!

Many many hours and miles later, and I find myself in an industrial park. But wait! What is that traffic noise I can hear? Joy!!! A motorway! I don't know the small back roads but I know the area well enough to navigate home from here!

For anyone who knows the area, the house I had to get back to was in Swaythling. The industrial park I had found was the Tesco distribution depot at the junction between the M27 and the M271.

For everyone that doesn't , I was a cocking long way from home. And so very, very tired. (I might post maps in replies if anyone is that interested)

Was fairly simple from there, a trek along a motorway (on the other side of the barrier, of course) and then by the time I got back into town the buses had started running, and a nice driver took pity on a knackered idiot and dropped me closer to home than he should have. My (very VERY relieved) brother found me asleep on his doorstep just before 8 the next morning, just in time to throw me through a shower and off to my Very Important Appointment.

At Southampton Uni. Yup, twas my entrance interview. Sitting in the waiting room with the other hopefuls, most of whom were with their parents, who were giving me the filthiest of looks, I felt like re-heated poop. 8 hours of walking, 20 mins of sleep in a garden and a burgeoning hangover make me a dull boy.

I take solace from the fact that the interview wouldn't have gone well anyway, in fact being half pissed still probably helped as I didn't panic, but still....

To this day I've no idea how I got from club to field, that may be a good thing as I'm sure it wouldn't have been dignified. Don't do it kids.

Length? No fucking clue, but it couldn't have been less than 12 miles.
( kappynitty doubled your entendre on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:27, 4 replies)

Went out on the piss once with good intentions....
...ended up bull-riding a mechanical cock in a nightclub, hanging onto the rim of the bell-end for dear life, all in the name of a local sex-aware campaign with the local radio station.

I come second though, so it wasn't all that bad.....the last shred of dignity dying valiantly when my shoe flew off mid-bronco hitting some laughing women who were watching on the sideline :p
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:23, 3 replies)

Think this counts as someone's night out gone wrong...
From Energy FM on the Isle of Man... (http://www.energyfm.net/cms/news_story_142979.html)

It's alleged police have mistakenly arrested a man for being in possession of a controlled substance, which later turned out to be a chocolate cake.

The man who doesn't wish to be named told Energy FM News he was parked outside G&D's Bar in Douglas last night when officers stopped to speak to him about minor motoring matters.

The police then asked him if they could search his car, to which the man agreed.

The motorist claims he was then cuffed and told he was being arrested for possession of a controlled substance before being put in a police van.

He says at this time, the officers didn't show him what they had found.

The 27 year old man was taken to the police station and booked into custody.

It was then he says that police admitted there'd been a mistake and what they had actually found in the car was a piece of cake in a clear plastic bag, which his 3 year old son had brought home from nursery.

The man says a huge wave of relief came over him at this point, but he was then left angry about his ordeal.
(The Inevitable Pelican, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:15, 3 replies)

About two years ago I had a little party at my (old) flat, it was very small and everyone
invited everyone they knew (including a strange band called the 'Screaming Eagles'). I disliked the sudden mass of people in my little flat so drank the best part of a bottle of Jägermeister as both something to do and a way to block them all out; I don't usually drink much at all and this had quite a profound effect on me.

It was 'Air travel themed Fancy Dress' at my local grimy rock club/bar, Sound Circus (or the Villa, if you are an old. It has other names if you are an older). I dressed as a 'Human Fly'; this involved wearing my soviet radiation goggles and tying the cardboard tubes from kitchen rolls under my arms. Two under each arm, to give me six arms. Just like a fly.

The moment I got in I was bought a shot of Jäger which I happily drank (I'd usually be a bit cautious of the stuff, but hell! I'd just drank a whole bottle, I've got an iron stomach!) and then frantically ran to the (disgusting, already, half an hour after the doors opened) toilets to be very ill.

I then decided to sit down on the toilet. This is what upsets me about my memory: I have really good drunk memory, but only good enough to remember roughly what I did, not enough to make me feel better about things. I can't remember if my plan was to have a little rest or a little poo. I really hope it was the former because three hours later I woke up to the cubical door open and one of the security-men chucking me out.

I would love to know if I: a) had my trousers and undergarments around my ankles at this point. And b) had I been asleep for three hours with my trousers and under garments around my ankles with the cubical door open for all to see.

The more I've analysed this in my head, the more I'm quite sure it's b).

I am led, unable to walk, smelling of sick, wearing radiation goggles and all tied up in string and kitchen roll tubes, out of the club and left to roam free.

My friend Dave says I ran up to him (still covered in string and confusion and vomit) and declared I must have been date-raped as I hadn't drank much. Before running away. In all this confusion, and what really should have been embarrassment, I had also lost my girlfriend (I later discovered she had assumed I'd gone home and had gone to a strip club).

I finally, after bumbling across a dual-carriage way and not dying, found my flat. I put the key in the lock and turned it and fell slightly and snapped the key off in the lock, door remaining closed.

I could have looked slightly up, I'd have seen loads of my neighbours with their lights still on, I could have buzzed their doorbell. That would have been the sensible thing to do, instead, and I'm glad this is one of the things I do remember because it was fucking awesome, I kicked my own front-door in.

It took two kicks, which wasn't as Hollywood as I was expecting, but in it went. The lock snapped and splinted off of the frame. Hurrah! I slithered up the stairs (imagine a human worm going up the stairs, groaning) and opened my door without snapping the key this time and went to bed for ever.

The next morning the only memory anyone else had of me was a singular friend saying "we saw you being helped out of the place", my girlfriend had returned and I phoned my lettings company to tell them that "Something terrible has happened! Youths have kicked the door in! Help!".

And that's how I got a new security door for free.
( stevierar, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:05, 18 replies)

So I was trying to get to do sex to a girl
She was also quite the prick-tease, I found out later, but for the time being, we were just getting drunk together.

"We should go back to mine" she said, raising my trousers, "but first let's have a drink in the The Fox".

As we walked there, both a few drinks under, she took out some prescription pills and took one - "They're for my epilepsy" she explained, "Would you like one?"

"You're alright" I said, remembering Romania with horrid accuracy.

"Oh go on!" she giggled, "All my friends do - they just calm my epilepsy, but they say they make you really nice and mellow ... very ... sensual ... " she said. I would like to point out that in previous discussion she'd hinted that not only was she not averse to, but quite keen on a little back door action.

"I dunno ... " I said, playing the part of idiot, easily-led and unquestioning sex-starved student to a tee.

"They're really good" she said, popping one in my mouth slowly, letting her fingers trail my lips.

_______

I remember being kicked in the stomach - sort of gently, but repeatedly.

"Oi!" said God, "OI!"

Something sounded like a radio crackling.

"Fuck it" said God, "Let's just get the fucker out and get fucking closed"

I was flying. Beautiful, cold air on my skin. My arms hurt, but I was fine, flying through the cold night, refreshed - lovely.

Then my face hit the floor with a crack. Oh well.

God came back, this time with a kinder, softer tone, "You alright, mate? You from the college? I think he's from the college"

"I am indeed from the college" I instructed them, "I wonder if I could trouble you for the loan of twenty pounds with which to hire a public carriage, that I might hoof off? I hope that my mate Dan's awake, and that I might spend the night on his floor, as I know his liberal attitude to accommodation will be prevalent, and he lives not far from here. Would you mind? I would be most obliged."

"I dunno" said God, "Isn't he a mate of Dan's?"

"I AM a mate of Dan's!" I said, "As I instructed you! Now, twenty pounds, if you please!"

The summer passed, and soon the cool of autumn was making me shiver.

"Dan, mate? Yeah. You got a mate with a red mohican? Yeah. Yeah. Well he's outside The Fox and he's ... yeah. No. He's proper fucked. Yeah. Yeah OK - you what? Oh mate - yeah sure - yeah OK mate. Yeah that's cool."

I remember noting that Dan had grown a beard, and looked handsome with it. A small chap but deceptively strong, he swore at me profusely for some reason, and there was something to do with a blanket.

The morning arrived, and with it breakfast of tea and a sausage sandwich. A trip to the park to enjoy the mid-summer sun was arranged, and throughout it I alternately shivered and sweated, and occassionally pulled myself to the bushes to dry heave. In the afternoon I managed to get back to mine, where I spent two days in bed flitting from consciousness to sleep, with no real distinction between them. I could not focus for a week on whether or not I existed beyond mild physical discomfort.

I never did get to have sex with the girl.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:50, 3 replies)

B3ta bash last year. I swear I must have been drugged.
Went to a bash in Manchester and booked a hotel room for the night. Quite nice room it was too and I was looking forward to meeting everyone that night. I arrived at the pub and had a glass of wine. Now here I must say that drinking wine was probably my first mistake, the second being not eating a good hearty meal beforehand. I figured I would probably get drunk and feel crap in the morning but I wasn't far from the train station and my journey home would only be half an hour.

I remember the pub and I remember the first couple of hours in the club afterwards but from there on in it all became very hazy. I remember dancing but not falling over onto another B3tan. I definitely don't remember leaving but I was told I was escorted back to the hotel by three lovely B3tans and I do remember kissing them on the cheek and telling them how smashing they all were. Thankfully I had told the group which hotel I was staying in earlier that night.

I wake up to a bed half covered in red bile and a bathroom resembling the shower scene in Pyscho. I felt ill, very very ill but I managed to get dressed and pack up. It was drawing nearer to chucking out time at the hotel but I just couldn't face leaving my room. I phoned the reception and asked if I could book the room for another night. They told me to come down to reception and it would be ok, but I didn't want to leave my room. I must point out that I'm prone to panick attacks in certain situations and this was compounding my reluctance to leave the room. I explained I was feeling too ill and they said they would send someone up.I have never felt so embarrased in my life as they must have known what had happened to me.

So I stay all day in bed, which is covered in red bile, falling in and out of sleep. I sleep all night and wake early on Sunday morning feeling much better, albeit still a bit light headed. All I want to do now is leave and go home. I dabbled with the idea of leaving some cash for the cleaner but I didn't have any spare cash on me. I shamefacedly go to reception to pay up and go to the train station where I discover there isn't a train that Sunday morning for another hour and a half. I've not eaten for a 18 hours, barely drank much fluid and I have to sit in a train station waiting room for an hour and a half before I can be safe at home.

All of this would have been bearable were I not a middle-aged woman.
( girlinthehole, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:46, 5 replies)

Some time in the early 1990s my housemate got a lovely new pair of adidas for his birthday.
A few days later on a pale and sparkly morning he suddenly stands up and announces that he's going for a run in his new adidas. Mumbles of acknowledgement as he wanders into his room. Bit odd. He's not much of a sportsman and he's as spangled as the rest of us.

A few minutes later we watch as he wanders back out of his room and out the front door in his lovely new adidas sneakers. Nothing else, mind. Just his lovely new adidas sneakers.

It's forty five whole minutes before a pair of charming police officers knock on the door and ask if he belongs to us.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:29, 3 replies)

simple
mugged by a prostitute.
(robneymcplum spiced up his life on, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:24, 2 replies)

Someone was telling me it wasn't meant to be
I somehow managed to get a rather good looking girl from the office to go out on a date with me (honestly I don't know how, the art of the chat up has eluded me all my life). I picked her up without incident and drove to a restaurant in Stratford upon Avon (about a 1/2 hour drive).
When we got to the restaurant we discovered it'd been closed down. Strolled around looking for something else. It started to rain so we went into the next place we found. It was a Chinese takeaway/restaurant that smelled of old cooking oil. Conversation was difficult as it was obvious she had pretty much lost interest.
She made some excuse she needed to be home by 12:30 so we started home. Got about half way when I got a puncture. She got out of the car and was phoning friends giving them a not too subtle overview of the night. I was not painted in a good light.
When the wheel was replaced we started off. I tried to make light of our evening but got stony silence. I wanted the night over as quickly as possible, get her dropped off and get to bed and try to forget the whole thing. Got pulled over by the Police for speeding. £30 fine and 3 points.
She'd phoned another friend whilst I was getting a ticking off, who turned up in a chav-mobile and they sped away.
By Monday lunchtime everyone at work knew the details.
A friend did tell me that I’d look back on it and laugh in the future. It’s been 10 years now and it still makes me cringe when I think about it.
(TitanLX, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:14, 1 reply)