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  1.  (9983.1)

    I’ve just returned from four days’ focused drinking and manliness in the wilds of Cornwall, with the slightly suspect excuse that I’m getting hitched in August and am permitted to get all my Behaving Like A Fuckplank out the way early. That’s “bachelor party” to the Americans among us, and “stag do” to everyone else. Fun.

    Yes: in the epic multi-theatre conflict that is Man Vs Beer, we struck a decisive blow against The Frothy Ones. I’ve accumulated many shameful and easily exaggerated drinking tales for the benefit of future generations, and now I’m interested in yours.

    So: tell me a story, my lovelies. A single real* anecdote revolving around the catastrophic inebriation of yourself or someone you know. That wrongness you inflicted on your sister’s Barbie doll…? Or that time with the neighbours’ chinchilla and the girl with the pocket-knife…? Or the fisticuffs with the fatties who turned-out to be cows…? Or the sexgame that withstood uninvited pukedom and went down in history…? Or the dark and unspeakable thing you and your pals dropped in your parents’ pool…? Or… or… or…?

    Make us laugh, make us wretch, make us slap our heads and emit Look At The Pretty Fireworks noises.

    Maximum 300 words. There will be a purple-veined noprize made of kudos and high regard for the Most Entertaining Story.

    *Real, yes? Because otherwise it’s fiction. And we don’t allow that around here, do we, because it’s a legal headfuck. So let the record show that if you’re tragic enough to have no drinking stories of your own, and feel the need to make one up, don’t come crying “plagiarism” to us if you’re sitting in a bar in 20 years and someone recounts back your own completely fabricated story with two decades’ worth of hyperbole attached. Anecdotes are viral gribblies whether they’re true or not, so unleash your wordy infectant at your own risk.
  2.  (9983.2)
    Aged 18, a week after meeting my now wife, I went out to a local punk night called Get Yer Skates On. This was only the second time that I'd met them. Towards the end of the night, after getting kicked out of the club I decided to tight-rope walk along a small wall on the way to the takeaway. Balance was not an issue, until I reached the end of the wall and kept walking, dropping into space. Again, this wouldn't have been a problem, but there was a bin attached to said wall, and as I stepped forwards one foot plunged into the bin and the rest of my body kept going forward, rupturing something seriously painful in my knee. My weight pulled the bin off the wall, so I fell facefirst on the pavement in a pile of rubbish. I lay there feeling sorry for myself, wondering if I was going to die and slowly noticing a smell akin to shit. I hadn’t soiled myself. At this point the club closed and hundreds of people came piling out, finding me lying in a heap on the floor, covered in somebody else's vomit. I'd bust my leg in a bin full of someone else's chunder. My memory becomes hazy at this point, but I woke up naked and fresh as a daisy the next morning in bed with the woman I later married, no idea how I'd got there. She found me on her doorstep at 5am wearing only my boots, carrying a pile of torn clothes caked in vomit. She washed the clothes and hung them out to dry, sponged me down and put me to bed, beginning a pattern that would continue through years of blackouts before I attained a very moderate amount of self control.

    Not only is this a true story, but it won me the Exorcist on Blu-Ray in a Rue Morgue competition last year.

  3.  (9983.3)
    A very strong first contender, with a delightfully happy ending. Beat that, folks.
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    I believe it was 1999 while in college, two friends and myself picked up three cases of Natural Light as we expected about ten others to join us before leaving for a Halloween party. By the time anyone else showed up the three of us consumed all 72 cans of cheap beer. We still managed to stagger to the second party.

    Using my new found, booze-inspired, confidence I was having a conversation with a nice young lady (I think the was nice, I do not have much memory of her.) The discussion was interrupted by one of the other two friends that wanted a drunk-hug. When that moment passed I turned back to the nice lady to continue and I spoke for about 5 minutes before she tapped me on the shoulder to let me know that I had been jawing with a fence post and she preferred that I would speak directly to her face.
  4.  (9983.5)
    In 96, I'm 23, and "Mars Attacks!" has just been released. A friend and I both want to see it, and it's only showing at one cinema, a midnight screening. We go for a drink before the walk across town.

    We get to the cinema. We don't get snacks, because we are skint, having spent our money on drinks. We settle into seats in an all but empty screen. During the trailers, two guys decide to come and sit behind us, and start making noise and fuss. We allow it; it's only the trailers.

    But they keep making noise through the first few minutes of the film. My friend turns, ready to scowl passive-aggressively at them. And discovers that these are just over-excited teens. My friend and I are not big, scary guys, but he's emboldened by his discovery. He puts a finger to his lips, grins, and lets out a long "shhhhh".
    Then he leans over the back of his seat, and helps himself to some popcorn out of the tub of the kid behind him.

    Thing is, my friend and I didn't get to be the Alpha Males often. And I thought of myself as less flappable than him, so I wasn't having this. I turn in my seat, look at the kid behind me, and lean forward, fingers out to get some of his popcorn.

    The kid behind me isn't eating popcorn. He's drinking Coke. Which I now have all over my fingers.

    But I don't let it bother me. In an instant, I know exactly how to recoup. I grin at him, and slowly lick my fingers clean, before turning back to the film.

    They don't make a noise after that. But we, of course, are totally insufferable. How do you stay quiet with Tom Jones on screen?
  5.  (9983.6)
    Oh, also, the first of only two times I've ever been removed from a pub was also the only time I've ever drunk Tequila in any real volume.

    I'm in the sixth form, and this is the pub where all the sixth formers go. I've been sitting at the bar with a friend, drinking Tequila in bulk because there's a promotion on, wondering what all the fuss is about because I've been sitting here for an hour and I don't feel slightly drunk.

    I go to the toilet, on the way saying hello to a guy I know, who is leaning in to a girl he's chatting up, next to the entrance to the toilets.

    Go inside, into a cubicle, have a sit down. Have a wee. Get up, leave the toilet.

    See the guy I said hello to, and try to get his attention by tapping on his shoulder. He ignores me. I tap again. He keeps ignoring me. I feel slighted - I know this guy well, and he's being rude. So I take off his cap, and playfully bat him across the back of the head with it.

    Don't really realise that he's grown a foot, and is talking to a different girl. Or that he's wearing a cap now, when he wasn't before. Not until he turns around, looking completely different, and I realise this is someone completely different. I feel betrayed by reality, so I'm only halfway apologetic, but some friends see what's about to happen, and forcibly remove me from the situation. Then the landlady, who knows me well, suggests I leave for my own safety.

    Apparently, I was in the toilet for over an hour, with people banging on the door checking I'm okay and everything. I think I end the evening sitting on a doorstep. There may or may not be vomit.
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    *This one's actually my third choice, because my first two were too incriminating for myself and or other parties concerned. I may be coerced into telling later, on chat/skype/in person

    I was working and living in Mongolia at the time, sharing an apartment with a couple of other Australians. When it's -30c outside in the winter, there's not much to do but have house parties and drink the cheap tasty vodka which abounds. So we held such a party, as we did occasionally.
    We got a pretty good turnout, including some Mongolian dudes who owned a vodka factory, who brought with them a box of their wares. At some point in the evening, a team of American ice hockey players rocks up. To our sixth floor apartment. With a stray dog they'd picked up. Which they leave behind when they go.
    Later, there were some troubles with our bathroom door handle, which most people had been handling fine. This time, a lady got locked in and some hero decided to break down the door to let them out, rather than seek assistance/advice.
    So I go to my housemate, who is much more merry and drunk than I, and I say "Dude, someone just broke down our bathroom door and the hockey players left a stray dog in our apartment."
    He tries to soothe me, saying "It'll be fine, we'll sort it out later."
    I say, "This is fucked, what are we going to do?"
    He gets that look in his eye like he's just found the answer to all our problems.
    "I know what'll make you feel better. Let's go and throw some eggs off the balcony"
    I dubiously go along with it, because who doesn't like throwing things off balconies. We get to the fridge, he grabs some eggs and one slips, smashing on the floor. He just stares silently at me with guilty puppy eyes.
    "Fuck this", I say, "I'm going to bed."
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    So my housemates and I were throwing a party, and I'd had a wee bit to drink. As expected, before long I needed to pee, and so headed for the bathroom, which was engaged. At first I waited patiently but after what felt like an age, I started to knock on the bathroom door. Then beat it, shout, stamp my feet and generally make a massive and quite undue fuss. This went on for some time, and I made a fair noise. This much I remember.

    What I had to have explained to me the next morning was that the door I'd been making a racket outside was in fact my housemate's bedroom door. The bathroom was actually on the other side of the corridor. That alone would have only been mildly embarrassing. What ratcheted it up to being plain excruciating was that eventually, my housemate had to escort me from his room after I'd wandered in, old chap in hand, and ready for what I can only hope was intended to be a piss. And if that wasn't bad enough, at the time I bust my way in, he'd been having sex with his girlfriend.
  6.  (9983.9)
    In my last year of university, we had a big black tie ball in Winchester Guildhall. I couldn't be arsed to buy a ticket, so went out drinking with people from the supermarket where I worked instead. About 2am, magnificently, gloriously inebriated, I began walking home. Passing the Guildhall, I thought 'might as well try...'. So wandering round the back of the building, I found a fire escape, and climbed it. Was a bloody hot night, so they'd left the doors open. With an inwardly-uttered 'Fuck it', I walked in. And found myself on stage. With the band.

    So I did the logical thing, and just walked straight through them, jumped down into the audience and headed straight for the bar, with the aim of getting at least another drink before Security threw me out (I was wearing a leather jacket, a bit out of place at a black tie do). My luck held, and I ran into a friend on the organising committee. He was drunk enough to be relieved of a pass that said 'ARTISTE', which I could use as a magic talisman to ward off the security. I also managed to get into the dressing rooms, where I liberated a bottle of Teachers from some goon on the Sports committee. And a radio. I spent a happy night running round the guildhall, with a bottle of whisky and a walky talky, screaming 'YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE' and 'OSCAR TANGO ONE NINER, PISSHEAD ON THE LOOSE', before eventually being ejected at about 6 AM after finally passing out on one of the dining tables.

    Sunday wasn't pleasant to live through, but all in all, I considered the evening a success.
    • CommentAuthoricelandbob
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    i only have so much time on my hands as i´m right at work so here are a few titbits that i will expand upon in the next couple of days. (Bear in Mind my Alma Matter is Glasgow University and i used to play rugby for 12 years..)

    While drunk, the following things have happened to me...

    - Attempt to swim the Danube in a viking costume.

    - Stole a fruit machine from Edinburgh universtiy.

    - Eat an entire Pineapple for a bet.

    - Found myself in the southern Spanish city of Jerez at 8.30am in the morning wearing a yellow bathrobe that had on the back in spanish "i am a gay homosexual and i like penises up my bum"

    - pass out in a snowdrift during one of the worst snow storm in Shetland's history.

    - smash through a skylight window stuntman style after getting stuck on a roof.

    - win a hardest man competition by stabbing myself in the arm with a fork.

    - Stole Rob Schnieder's sandwiches.

    - Drink a whole bottle of baileys in one go

    - Stole a policemans outfit in the Czech repbulic

    I think there aremore, but which one do people want me to start on first?
  7.  (9983.11)
    Context is key for my moment of glory. It was the summer of my 20th birthday. That year, while I was away at school, my mom moved an hour and a half away from where my nearest friends lived, so it was a lonely summer. My dog died and I'd just driven over three hours to watch my "girlfriend" make a date with another guy. Things weren't going well. I planed a birthday party. I explained that mom might not want to be home since everyone was making the trip and there would be underage drinking. My sister, who is older and didn't live at home anymore, offered to go get me something from the liquor store. At the time I was a "drink Jack until the room spins then enjoy wine coolers" type of drinker. I asked for some JD thinking a fifth would make my evening. She came home with the 750ml bottle. I shared a few shots, but basically polished it off in about two hours.

    I distinctly recall thinking, "I don't need to drink any more" when I put it down. Then I woke up with a bucket of nasty scum next to my bed. I'm told in the interim I came out of the bathroom with my pants around my ankles too drunk to pull them up. I threw up on my sister (poetic justice if you ask me) and my mom came home during all of this. For years, my high school friends couldn't forgive my college friends for leaving in the middle of all that.
    • CommentAuthorarcaner
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    @icelandbob, Czech republic please.
    • CommentAuthoricelandbob
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    Ok it's actually a very simple story...

    I was on a rugby tour of the Czech Republic in 2006 in the city of Brno. We had undertaken some games and were taking part in several massive drinking games, and a tour court in a bar that had an old tiled Roman sunken pit in the cellar (known as "The bear Pit"). Example of a tour punishment was to drink 3 pints, 4 doubles, followed by a handstand while singing "simply the best".

    Upon leaving the bear pit with the still fresh taste of blood and semen in my mouth, I found that my jacket had been stolen, with my phone inside! Now I would have just blown this off, but to claim the insurance I needed to report it to the police to get a record. I found the local station, where after waiting for nearly 20 minutes, I was greeted with barely concealed contempt by the officer in charge. He said that he would have to "Get a form" whereupon he left me, at the desk for several minutes. Already cheesed off at missing the action back at the pub, I noticed on the table behind the desk, a fleshly laundered Czech policeman’s uniform. Hat and everything!

    Now I still don’t know why I did this, but a minute later I’m running down the road with said uniform hoping that I would get away. Which I did. I got back to the pub where after the initial cheers and winning a “Balls of steel” award (more Czech beer), I fretted for the evening sure I was going to be arrested, which I wasn’t thankfully.
    Bloody thing couldn’t fit me either.
  8.  (9983.14)
    This one didn't happen to me--most of my best drunk stories involve me watching the Transformers animated movie and doing shots when the Autobots transform. Actually, that only happened once in college and it was rather boring because I passed out real quick.

    I grew up in the suburbs, in what was roughly an upper-middle-class American family. Many of my friends lived in a suburban neighborhood nearby, that was at least one tax bracket lower. There were more working-class parents, divorced dads and single moms, etc. And obviously, in many cases they learned about life a lot quicker than I did with my hand-me-down Toyota van and my pager.

    So in high school, this particular group of friends would spend the weekend drinking at this guy's house, because his mom was cool with it and would buy them beer. What this guy never found out (never!) was that every week when they had these little parties, one of his friends had to finger-bang the mom. That was payment for underage hooch.

    You should probably also know that this guy was roughly 6 feet and 300 pounds, and his mom looked just like him.

    So one week it's my friend's turn to fingerbang the mom. And in order to steel himself, he gets good and liquored up. He gives the nod to the group, who starts distracting the son, and heads into the darkened bedroom. She takes his hand, pulls him close, and they full-on fuck for an hour. Afterward, she starts snoring and he, now sober, gets to dress and go back out to his friends like nothing has happened. This ends up being one of the last times they have their weekend get-togethers before they graduate and move on to other things.

    He still says it was the best head he ever got.
  9.  (9983.15)
    I need to stay out of this thread, so as I can maintain at least a shred of dignity.
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    Drat. I'm the one who, even if I go overboard, I still somehow end up being the one driving friends home asking them to politely refrain from puking inside my car.

    Best I've got is not wanting to stop after a wine tasting so I headed across the street (this in a heavily gay-oriented neighborhood) to a bar, fumbled at the ATM because it was cash only, bought drinks for a pretty girl while she beat the hell out of me at pool (go figure), drunk texted friends about shooting pool and drinking with lesbians (they still tease me about that) and finally stumbled to my car and slept in it till late morning.

    So I'm just going to read along... my indignities simply relating to being a rather sedate drinker.
      CommentAuthormister hex
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    Oh man. No time but I'll be back with a couple of DOOZIES.

    Carry on ...
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011 edited
    My list isn't as long as Bob's, but I've done the following while drunk -

    Sneaked into Taronga Zoo with friends late at night and almost got bitten by a bear.

    Climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge, also late at night.

    Fought Russell Crowe in the Greenhouse Tavern carpark - I don't remember a thing but apparently I won, this being the days before he was big-time famous, and thus didn't have an entourage of minders to get him out of trouble.

    Constructed a 50-pound smoke bomb from fertiliser and granulated sugar, and set it off in the garden.

    Done a runner from a bar when the tab got way out of hand.
    • CommentAuthorOrpheus
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    Ok, after deliberation im going to go with two stories. One to cringe to and one to create the feeling that the only way is up.

    Story the first: Face meets pavement.

    Aged 18, set at the local rock bar (in Canterbury) where I wait to meet my good friend and I grab a drink, swiftly followed by another. We socialise until the hours dwindle and we set out for the next late night bar, which had pitchers on the cheap and we leave on each others shoulders. Nothing unusual really. On to the late night store for more alcohol where I decide to join an unconscious person on the floor, the fast way. Chin meets pavement and there's blood all over the place. Its the kind of blood you discover on your shirt the day after and think did not belong to you. swiftly forgetting the now sealed gash up my face, I proceed to sweet talk just about anyone coming in the other direction. Enter an extremely bemused me and couple of friends framing the biggest grins you may have ever seen. The morning after a quick clean up lead to the self diagnosis of acute embarrassment.

    Story the second: The Leeds Fiasco

    Aged 20, after a large meal at a Chinese Restaurant with a large collection of work colleagues we separate between two cars, one headed for the shared house and one headed the indiscriminate York nightclub. Enter night club after 45 minutes drive in a cramped car and three of us start the serous drinking and our designated driver has two alcopops, and a slow steady stream of recreational pills, unknown to me at the time. Come to five rounds in and the idea is circulated that we take this party to Leeds. And we all leave for Leeds at 2:00AM on a Monday morning. We leave the motorway at about 4:00AM and reach “Leeds” also known as the outskirts of Leeds, or the closed bar we were planning to go to. But this area also had the designated drivers boyfriend and we all cram in to the four seater and set off for the centre of Leeds. Come 5:00 AM and I'm the only one surprised that “Gasp! All the clubs are closed!”. And it slowly dawns on me, not unlike a sunrise, in fact that our driver and passenger are both on drugs. We end the story in a Costa drinking a pint of heavily sugared coffee after five hours of the three, now sober of us, sitting in a council flat while the couple just passed out in the bath tub together. Arg.
    • CommentTimeJun 30th 2011
    Awesome as these stories are, they really reinforce how boring my life is.

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