Let's see, the last time I had too much to drink...I tried to converse with someone with the opposite religious beliefs as mine about said beliefs. Didn't work out like my altered mind thought it would.
Drinking Stories
- Thread starter Esotera
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Celebrated my 21st not too long ago. Here in the states that's when you're legally allowed to drink.
T'was fun. Since me and my friends are a bunch of nerds, we decided to brew up those Mass Effect drinks. This stuff [http://www.savegameonline.com/index.php/features/812-save-games-mass-effect-squadmate-cocktails-the-best-drinks-this-side-of-the-citadel]. Well, some of 'em. On top of that we had normal drinks.
Can't remember which ones we brewed. Can't remember much of that night actually. Guess that means it was a good party. I did wake up without my shirt on though. It was on a couch. Not sure why.
Oh, I know I had Grunt's drink. I know because that was the first one I had. Was pretty good, I suppose.
T'was fun. Since me and my friends are a bunch of nerds, we decided to brew up those Mass Effect drinks. This stuff [http://www.savegameonline.com/index.php/features/812-save-games-mass-effect-squadmate-cocktails-the-best-drinks-this-side-of-the-citadel]. Well, some of 'em. On top of that we had normal drinks.
Can't remember which ones we brewed. Can't remember much of that night actually. Guess that means it was a good party. I did wake up without my shirt on though. It was on a couch. Not sure why.
Oh, I know I had Grunt's drink. I know because that was the first one I had. Was pretty good, I suppose.
My most common drunken stories end with the phrase "and then I got in a fight."
In my defense I'm not a violent drunk. I have never started a fight, I just have poor judgement in the places and people where and with whom I do my drinking.
Still if I had to go for most embarrassing drunken stories I would probably go with the following.
In my defense I'm not a violent drunk. I have never started a fight, I just have poor judgement in the places and people where and with whom I do my drinking.
Still if I had to go for most embarrassing drunken stories I would probably go with the following.
When I was about 17 or 18 I had started dating a girl whom I had been close friends with since I was 11 or 12. She and I were at a party with her brothers and a few mutual friends. The party started at 6:00pm and by 10:00pm I had worked my way through a fair number of boilermakers and had begun to "take it easy" by just drinking a few beers.
My friends had decided that our collective inebriation was a perfect time to discuss the fact that I was now routinely "sticking it to" their sister. They informed me that they fully supported the relationship, knew that I was a good guy capable of doing right by her and that quite frankly everyone including their parents had assumed we were sneaking off to "do it" for years now anyway so all things considered it was probably about time.
Bolstered by this awkward pep talk, I staggered around the party trying to find her again. I was on a mission of crucial importance. I needed to let her know that she was beautiful.
I couldn't tell you what I was hoping to say when I found her. I'm sure it was well intentioned, poetic, flattering and romantically endearing.
All I know is that when I found her I stared at her in silence for a full minute before blurting out.
"You got stripper tits."
It is a testament to her forgiving nature that she took my drunken attempt at flattery in stride and didn't just cold cock my drunk ass.
My friends had decided that our collective inebriation was a perfect time to discuss the fact that I was now routinely "sticking it to" their sister. They informed me that they fully supported the relationship, knew that I was a good guy capable of doing right by her and that quite frankly everyone including their parents had assumed we were sneaking off to "do it" for years now anyway so all things considered it was probably about time.
Bolstered by this awkward pep talk, I staggered around the party trying to find her again. I was on a mission of crucial importance. I needed to let her know that she was beautiful.
I couldn't tell you what I was hoping to say when I found her. I'm sure it was well intentioned, poetic, flattering and romantically endearing.
All I know is that when I found her I stared at her in silence for a full minute before blurting out.
"You got stripper tits."
It is a testament to her forgiving nature that she took my drunken attempt at flattery in stride and didn't just cold cock my drunk ass.
What follows is one of my most embarassing drinking stories - not because I did anything outrageous, but because it's revealing about myself as a person, at least the person I was 11 years ago.
I had just turned 19 in December, and wanted to go out for New Years. I thought I'd go see a movie in the city, I think I'd planned to see American Pie 3 to kill some time before the fireworks etc. started, I'd hit a club, have a few drinks, just try and get out of the house for a change.
When I got to the cinemas, I ran into about six of my schoolfriends who were there to see the Lord of the Rings. I'd not really seen any of them since graduating high school the previous year and they all assumed that someone in the group had invited me along. No one had, but that wasn't intentional - they just overlooked me (I wasn't that much of a social outcast). So I figured why not, I'll see Lord of the Rings.
After the movie, we decided we'd go get some drinks and go to one friend's house to party since no one really felt like staying in the city. We hit up a bottle shop and bought an assortment of booze: some liquor like kahlua, rum, as well as some pre-mixes, etc. One of the things bought was a 750ml bottle of strawberry schnapps, which will feature later. I made the mistake of getting some cans of black sambucca and coke, which if you're not a fan of liquorice/aniseed flavoured drinks is a bad idea. I had no idea what black sambucca was, but I quickly learned I was NOT a fan.
We caught a train and a bus to a friend's place in the surburbs and I got halfway through a can of black sambucca and coke before nearly retching, the taste was so awful. I threw the can away and one of my friends claimed the other three, though I don't think he ever actually drank any of them. Anyway, at this point I already had a pretty upset stomach even though I'd consumed nearly no alcohol.
After a few white russians and black russians (one of the few "cocktails" available given the limited selection of booze we had available) we started playing a card game with a shot of the strawberry schnapps as a "penalty" - so chosen because it tasted pretty awful. After two hands of the game my friends bailed on the penalty idea, so minus two shots no one touched the bottle of cherry schnapps.
Except for me.
Robbed of my black sambucca cans I had nearly nothing to drink apart from what my friends were willing to split from their stash, so I wound up sticking to this bottle of schnapps, which I drank almost the entirety of, shot by shot, over the course of the next 4 hours. I wish I could say I blacked out, but no, that'd be the easy way out.
Just after midnight, I called a girl. A girl a barely knew, a girl I wasn't even interested in, who wasn't interested in me. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I wished her a happy new year. Six times. In my haze I painted a wonderful picture of her as a perfect match for me. She told me she was soon going to move interstate with her family and I was devastated. I proposed we move in together so she could stay, and couldn't understand why she didn't leap at the opportunity.
I put my friends on the phone with her, believing that this would somehow convince them she was actually my girlfriend and that I was therefore not some forever-alone loser. Amazingly this worked, since none of the conversations revealed that she was just some girl whose number I happened to have.
Later, I was sitting on the floor, telling a long and increasingly slurred story about my completely new feelings for her, and how devastated I was she was moving away - something I'd only learned in my midnight phone call, that would not have impacted me at all. My friends nodded along, mostly drunk themselves after finishing off the kahlua and vodka and finding a bottle of tequila somewhere.
At some point after my story I fell asleep in an armchair for an unknown period of time, waking up to myself vomiting down the front of my t-shirt, a warm, dark cascade of partially disgested schnapps and black fibres that might have been my stomach lining. I peered blearily around the room, my still conscious friends were chatting on the other side of the room and did not appear to have noticed.
I stumbled to the bathroom and finshed vomiting in the toilet. I think took off my shirt and washed it out in the sink, letting the water run over it while I sat on the toilet and fell asleep. A few minutes later my friends were knocking on the door, worried about me, bless them. I fumbled for words as I flushed the toilet and wrung out my shirt, putting it back on. It was a dark colour so I don't think any of them noticed anything was amiss. I assured them I was fine and they went back to the living room.
I diverted upstairs and lay down on the blacony, assuring myself I just needed some fresh air. I promptly fell asleep, only to wake up being shaken by my friends. Their voices sounded as though they were coming from a great distance:
"Why is his shirt wet?"
"Come back inside man, it's cold out here."
"This is how my father died."
I allowed myself to be taken back inside, where I sat in the corner. I was starting to sober up and everything that had happened which seem innocuous now seemed inflated to a terrifying degree, my friends patience for my behaviour so patient and tolerant. I wanted to cry from embarassment and gratitude.
I left as soon as the first buses were running in the morning, caught a train home and climbed into bed. I weighed on my conscience for the next year. The next time I saw the friend whose house it had been and told him what I remembered he laughed and told me he had hardly any recollection of the night, and no idea I'd been sick.
All in all, not my finest hour. But I think I learned a lot from that experience.
I had just turned 19 in December, and wanted to go out for New Years. I thought I'd go see a movie in the city, I think I'd planned to see American Pie 3 to kill some time before the fireworks etc. started, I'd hit a club, have a few drinks, just try and get out of the house for a change.
When I got to the cinemas, I ran into about six of my schoolfriends who were there to see the Lord of the Rings. I'd not really seen any of them since graduating high school the previous year and they all assumed that someone in the group had invited me along. No one had, but that wasn't intentional - they just overlooked me (I wasn't that much of a social outcast). So I figured why not, I'll see Lord of the Rings.
After the movie, we decided we'd go get some drinks and go to one friend's house to party since no one really felt like staying in the city. We hit up a bottle shop and bought an assortment of booze: some liquor like kahlua, rum, as well as some pre-mixes, etc. One of the things bought was a 750ml bottle of strawberry schnapps, which will feature later. I made the mistake of getting some cans of black sambucca and coke, which if you're not a fan of liquorice/aniseed flavoured drinks is a bad idea. I had no idea what black sambucca was, but I quickly learned I was NOT a fan.
We caught a train and a bus to a friend's place in the surburbs and I got halfway through a can of black sambucca and coke before nearly retching, the taste was so awful. I threw the can away and one of my friends claimed the other three, though I don't think he ever actually drank any of them. Anyway, at this point I already had a pretty upset stomach even though I'd consumed nearly no alcohol.
After a few white russians and black russians (one of the few "cocktails" available given the limited selection of booze we had available) we started playing a card game with a shot of the strawberry schnapps as a "penalty" - so chosen because it tasted pretty awful. After two hands of the game my friends bailed on the penalty idea, so minus two shots no one touched the bottle of cherry schnapps.
Except for me.
Robbed of my black sambucca cans I had nearly nothing to drink apart from what my friends were willing to split from their stash, so I wound up sticking to this bottle of schnapps, which I drank almost the entirety of, shot by shot, over the course of the next 4 hours. I wish I could say I blacked out, but no, that'd be the easy way out.
Just after midnight, I called a girl. A girl a barely knew, a girl I wasn't even interested in, who wasn't interested in me. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I wished her a happy new year. Six times. In my haze I painted a wonderful picture of her as a perfect match for me. She told me she was soon going to move interstate with her family and I was devastated. I proposed we move in together so she could stay, and couldn't understand why she didn't leap at the opportunity.
I put my friends on the phone with her, believing that this would somehow convince them she was actually my girlfriend and that I was therefore not some forever-alone loser. Amazingly this worked, since none of the conversations revealed that she was just some girl whose number I happened to have.
Later, I was sitting on the floor, telling a long and increasingly slurred story about my completely new feelings for her, and how devastated I was she was moving away - something I'd only learned in my midnight phone call, that would not have impacted me at all. My friends nodded along, mostly drunk themselves after finishing off the kahlua and vodka and finding a bottle of tequila somewhere.
At some point after my story I fell asleep in an armchair for an unknown period of time, waking up to myself vomiting down the front of my t-shirt, a warm, dark cascade of partially disgested schnapps and black fibres that might have been my stomach lining. I peered blearily around the room, my still conscious friends were chatting on the other side of the room and did not appear to have noticed.
I stumbled to the bathroom and finshed vomiting in the toilet. I think took off my shirt and washed it out in the sink, letting the water run over it while I sat on the toilet and fell asleep. A few minutes later my friends were knocking on the door, worried about me, bless them. I fumbled for words as I flushed the toilet and wrung out my shirt, putting it back on. It was a dark colour so I don't think any of them noticed anything was amiss. I assured them I was fine and they went back to the living room.
I diverted upstairs and lay down on the blacony, assuring myself I just needed some fresh air. I promptly fell asleep, only to wake up being shaken by my friends. Their voices sounded as though they were coming from a great distance:
"Why is his shirt wet?"
"Come back inside man, it's cold out here."
"This is how my father died."
I allowed myself to be taken back inside, where I sat in the corner. I was starting to sober up and everything that had happened which seem innocuous now seemed inflated to a terrifying degree, my friends patience for my behaviour so patient and tolerant. I wanted to cry from embarassment and gratitude.
I left as soon as the first buses were running in the morning, caught a train home and climbed into bed. I weighed on my conscience for the next year. The next time I saw the friend whose house it had been and told him what I remembered he laughed and told me he had hardly any recollection of the night, and no idea I'd been sick.
All in all, not my finest hour. But I think I learned a lot from that experience.
Honestly can't remember, much of that night was forgotten in the horribleness of the morning after.imahobbit4062 said:
My drinking stories aren't that great. Hell, they're not even "stories", they're a story.
I drank a full bottle of whisky mixed with soft drink and then proceeded to have fun laughing and wondering at my sudden poor skills on Call of Duty and Halo. The night abruptly ended as I vomited on my friend's bedroom floor.
Funnily enough, I didn't have a hang over and I don't have much memory loss of that night. 'Twas fun, but not something I'd do again soon.
I drank a full bottle of whisky mixed with soft drink and then proceeded to have fun laughing and wondering at my sudden poor skills on Call of Duty and Halo. The night abruptly ended as I vomited on my friend's bedroom floor.
Funnily enough, I didn't have a hang over and I don't have much memory loss of that night. 'Twas fun, but not something I'd do again soon.
Drinking at a "work place party" (everyone from my work place was there) and I know I shouldn't do strong bevarages like shots and such but I got so drunk so I tought something along the lines of "fuck it" as did everyone else... I fell asleep outside, in February, in Finland, in a pile of snow, in minus 25 degrees Celcius...
Well, since I'm an alcoholic, the stories usually end with the usual round of apologies for the ass I've been. But since I've gotten sober (at 17, that's a rough thing, trust me.. 'specially since you've been a drunk since you was no more than 9) I've gone to a party where I don't know 98% of the people there, but I do know that 98% of the people there hate me. It went surprisingly well until we all realized that someone else was having a party not to far away, and an entire house decided to fit into a Ford Econoline 150 van. On the way, someone did the whole 'I don't feel so good'. We had decided that we weren't going to stop, pull over, be sensible, etc. Instead, we just dangled her out the back door, and let her vomit on the police car that was following us. No one got into any trouble, surprisingly. As it happened that night, that particular police car was being used by a police officer, and his prostitute. They were on their way to bone, and if he'd written any tickets, he'd have to do the paperwork on it.
That'd be correct.imahobbit4062 said:I'm almost certain that isn't the first time you've told that article before, as I remember it..Jonluw said:I always wondered about that "no advocating illegal drugs" rule in these forums.
How much talking can one do about illegal drugs without having it count as advocating? I'm pretty sure you'd be allowed to tell a story of a horrible experience you had, but would you be allowed to tell the story of a fun experience? Does admitting to taking illegal drugs count as advocating it? It's a bit confusing, really.
Anyways, here's the story of the first time I tried drinking amounts larger than a couple of pints.
Other than that, I don't think I have many drinking stories.My parents were arranging a rather large party. They were inviting friends of the family, so an old childhood friend with whom I haven't had much contact in later years was also there.
We were both underage, but were still offered pre-dinner drinks since, hey, what's the harm in it?
By the end of dinner, I'd had two or three glasses of wine and half a liter of beer.
After dinner it was time to socialize. I was hanging out with my childhood friend and a couple of other guys I knew from my childhood but who were older than me.
I decided to grab a cup of wine for me and my friend.
Yes, cup. We were drinking wine from plastic cups because we just had that much swag.
In any case, there were also a lot of children around the age of eight or something at the party. They were sort of pestering us, so I decided I would have to find something to occupy them with. I went up to my room and grabbed my two broadswords and shield and took the kids out to the garden for some fencing. Relax, the swords weren't sharp (Although, on a later occasion, I've found out that it is entirely possible to punch a blunt sword straight through the shield we were using. I managed to hurt a guy's arm in the process of finding this out).
After having worn out the kids a bit, I went back inside to hang out with my friend.
We decided to grab some of the cognac while the adults weren't looking and reminisce about old times. In case you were wondering, yes we were also drinking cognac out of plastic cups.
After this, I managed to convince my friend to check out Death note. We went up to the first floor where there were no others and fired up some Death note on my laptop.
However, there was this one kid who insisted on hanging out with us and stuff. Pretty annoying, so we did everything we could to trick him to go back to the ground floor.
We were having fun watching Death note, and I was routinely making runs down to the ground floor to get us more wine. We had between three and five more cups while watching.
It should probably be noted that most of the fun derived from watching Death note was from laughing hysterically about how we couldn't read the subtitles because we were seeing double, and taking breaks to prank call old friends from elementary school.
The kid kept coming back though, which was annoying because we felt really irresponsible getting absolutely shitfaced in front of a ten year old. We did our best to convince him to leave, and finally he got tired of hanging out with us.
It was at this point we decided that we'd try to watch one more episode of Death note, but that I would go get us some more wine first. We spent a few minutes laughing about the prospect of me pretending to be sober while going downstairs, seeing how I could hardly stand upright.
In any case, I managed to walk downstairs somehow. The adults weren't in the kitchen anymore, so I was free to grab wine without anyone seeing me. However, it was empty.
But lo and behold, there on the kitchen counter stood a couple of half-liter cans of beer. The day was saved.
Wait... Don't people usually say something about beer and wine?
Nah, it's probably just bullshit anyways. Beer it is.
I sat down in the sofa with my friend, cracked open my can of beer, and brought it to my mouth.
Then I woke up in my bed, fully clothed and with a bucket standing next to me. I made my way downstairs, and learned on the way that I had a headache as well.
As I ate breakfast, I was reminded that I had to catch a train to Oslo that morning. That's a six to eight hour train ride.
I left my parents at the station and sat down in my seat, trying to cope with the headache on the moving train. Around this time, my friend called me and told me that I'd thrown up in two different sinks that night. My vomit had blocked the drains, and he'd have to clear the blockage with his hands.
Well, that was embarassing, I thought. In any case, I'm hungry. I need to go to the restaurant car and get myself some food.
"Oh, sorry, we don't accept that kind of credit card."
Fuck. How much cash do I have?
I had enough for one of those tiny cans of Grab and go Pringles they sell at planes and such. That and the bottle of coke I'd brought from home was my entire food supply on that six hour train ride. And I was experiencing a hangover for the first time.
How heavenly it was to buy a slice of pizza when I arrived at the airport which was my destination...
I did once manage to step on someone's beer, having it spill over someone else's bag, but I wasn't drunk at the time.I was at a party at a friend's house and this was the the first time I had managed to get my hands on a 70 cl (approx. 25 oz.) bottle of 40% vodka just for myself. I'd decided I'd try mixing white russians to see what they were like.
How did it go?
Let's put it like this: if you want to get drunk off of something, don't choose a drink where the main ingredient is cream...
I don't know exactly how many glasses I had of the stuff, but I know I was getting pretty full from the cream, so I switched it for coke at some point.
When the night was over, I'd emptied half my bottle of vodka.
After a while, as was bound to happen, I started feeling sick. The bathroom was occupied, so I found a plastic bag to throw up in. I tied it up and everything; if I was in any shape to do so, I would probably have gone and thrown it somewhere myself. I think if I was a dog, I'd be a very cleanly and practical one.
After that, I spent the night hunched over my friend's toilet, and lying on his bathroom floor. I have some vague memories of girls (no dudes for some reason) going to the toilet while I was lying there. They insisted that I had to look away, but honestly I was way too drunk to even consider turning my head in their direction. Besides, I don't have a fetish for bodily waste. Pretty huge turnoff, really.
That night is one of the reasons I don't really drink much anymore.
Here's a picture someone snapped of me before I went on my puke-a-thon.
I pretty much couldn't tell up from down at this point.
I fell down on the floor shortly after the picture was taken.
I saw a thread about drinking stories, and figured since I remembered that I'd told the story of the first time I got drunk here before I couldn't be bothered to type it all out again.
I just copypasted it from an earlier post.
The white russian story I did write now though.
You aren't necessarily punished every time you break the forum rules though. You have to be caught.triggrhappy94 said:
I remember I once told a guy that he should tell his friend to try weed a couple more times before saying it wasn't for him. I'd say that's pretty straight up advocating there, but I didn't get the banhammer.
My boyfriend and his friends went to Japan a few years ago.
About 3 days before they were due to leave, they all went drinking. When they stumbled back to the hotel no one had noticed Steve* had gone missing. Waking up, one friend went around asking if Steve was with them. Nope. Okay, maybe he went home with a girl...
A few hours passed and Steve still hadn't come back to hotel, so they called him. He didn't answer. They were starting to get worried, so they went to their local haunts to see if Steve was there. Nope.
My boyfriend and his friends called the Police to see if they could help. The Police told them that Steve wasn't in jail, the hospital or the morgue and that's all they could do for now but they'd call around the other stations to see if anything had happened.
^ That took about a day. Anyway, they were just about to call Steve's mum to tell her that he'd gone missing and that they don't know what's going on or where he is.
Just as my boyfriend was about to call his mum, Steve stumbles in and goes to sleep.
Boyfriend and his friends kept asking him what happened to him, why he didn't call, etc and he didn't tell them. To this day, they don't know what happened but they speculate it involved a pre-op transsexual and anal probing.
*Not his real name. Names had to be changed to protect the ashamed.
About 3 days before they were due to leave, they all went drinking. When they stumbled back to the hotel no one had noticed Steve* had gone missing. Waking up, one friend went around asking if Steve was with them. Nope. Okay, maybe he went home with a girl...
A few hours passed and Steve still hadn't come back to hotel, so they called him. He didn't answer. They were starting to get worried, so they went to their local haunts to see if Steve was there. Nope.
My boyfriend and his friends called the Police to see if they could help. The Police told them that Steve wasn't in jail, the hospital or the morgue and that's all they could do for now but they'd call around the other stations to see if anything had happened.
^ That took about a day. Anyway, they were just about to call Steve's mum to tell her that he'd gone missing and that they don't know what's going on or where he is.
Just as my boyfriend was about to call his mum, Steve stumbles in and goes to sleep.
Boyfriend and his friends kept asking him what happened to him, why he didn't call, etc and he didn't tell them. To this day, they don't know what happened but they speculate it involved a pre-op transsexual and anal probing.
*Not his real name. Names had to be changed to protect the ashamed.
One time I threw a chip into a bin that was across the street...that's probably the best thing that happened to me on a night drinking.
Most of my memories are of trying to stop my friends from doing obviously stupid things. "Hey, Dave. Watch me stop this car" as he walks into traffic...
Most of my memories are of trying to stop my friends from doing obviously stupid things. "Hey, Dave. Watch me stop this car" as he walks into traffic...
My latest drunken antics aren't so much an interesting story as they are a tale of epic failure. Basically, my attractive, recently-single best friend invited me to her house to drink. Her parents had gone on holiday so it was just going to be the two of us. So what does my stupid ass do? Gets completely trashed and spends a good chunk of the night with my head in her toilet. True to form I still wasn't hung over in the morning, but I didn't wake up next to her either so I consider the night one of my most colossal fuck-ups.
My drinking stories are all kinda depressing, probably due to most of my heavy drinking taking place when I was an immensely miserable teenager. Mostly just me getting smashed and bringing the party mood down by crying and demanding sympathy and acting all indignant when I didn't get any. If we were out in town I'd often run off into the night, which where I live is a good way to get your skull caved in by drunks and drug-addicts. Fuck I was a bad person when I was younger. Surprised my friends still talk to me.
My drinking stories are all kinda depressing, probably due to most of my heavy drinking taking place when I was an immensely miserable teenager. Mostly just me getting smashed and bringing the party mood down by crying and demanding sympathy and acting all indignant when I didn't get any. If we were out in town I'd often run off into the night, which where I live is a good way to get your skull caved in by drunks and drug-addicts. Fuck I was a bad person when I was younger. Surprised my friends still talk to me.
Ok, here's a story from my first year at uni. Also, a couple of songs to listen to while you read.
So, me and a bunch of friends had gone out drinking in our lovely city of York. We'd been getting pretty bladdered for most of the evening; it was now around midnight, the high time for real drinking before heading off to a club or two. So, we were at a bar; me and a couple of mates were standing around outside the bar, leaning on the (not exactly secure, but leanable) railing-fence-thing. I had a bottle of lager in my hand (this is how you know I'm drunk, I wouldn't touch the stuff normally). So, we were chatting away, when some complete **** thinks 'Hey, you know what's fun? Kicking the railing out so someone falls over."
Har-de-har in-fucking-deed. So, one swift kick delivered to the railing, and down I go. Wouldn't be a deal normally - I'm a happy, laughing drunk, and I fell arse-over-tit before and laughed it off.
However.
I fell clutching a bottle of beer. The impact and my surprise caused my hand to clutch with hitherto unknown strength.
BAM. SHATTERED GLASS IN THE MOTHERFUCKING HAND AND BLOOD AND BEER EVERYWHERE.
So, this is the point where I blacked out. My friends filled me in when I awoke the afternoon after.
This daft bastard who kicked the fence out started laughing his arse off. So, my mates I was talking to look up from me and look at him, this average-built thick as pig shit knucklehead. They weigh up their options. Then, as one, the two of them - a six-foot plus Norwegian Viking and a towering monster from Cornwall - lay into him. The bouncer saw all this. Decided to get involved - and helps destroy the bastard.
Afterwards (including the time taken to take a picture of the guy's now horribly crunched-up face) they pick me up and take us back to the uni, before asking a couple of the girls we live with (who were sober, thankfully) to tweezer out the glass in my hand before wrapping it up in a shitton of paper and bandage and putting me to sleep.
I wake up in the afternoon with a hangover and a ridiculous amount of pain in my hand, scream at the blood, stumble into the kitchen and get the story and pictures.
So yeah. Fun stuff.
Har-de-har in-fucking-deed. So, one swift kick delivered to the railing, and down I go. Wouldn't be a deal normally - I'm a happy, laughing drunk, and I fell arse-over-tit before and laughed it off.
However.
I fell clutching a bottle of beer. The impact and my surprise caused my hand to clutch with hitherto unknown strength.
BAM. SHATTERED GLASS IN THE MOTHERFUCKING HAND AND BLOOD AND BEER EVERYWHERE.
So, this is the point where I blacked out. My friends filled me in when I awoke the afternoon after.
This daft bastard who kicked the fence out started laughing his arse off. So, my mates I was talking to look up from me and look at him, this average-built thick as pig shit knucklehead. They weigh up their options. Then, as one, the two of them - a six-foot plus Norwegian Viking and a towering monster from Cornwall - lay into him. The bouncer saw all this. Decided to get involved - and helps destroy the bastard.
Afterwards (including the time taken to take a picture of the guy's now horribly crunched-up face) they pick me up and take us back to the uni, before asking a couple of the girls we live with (who were sober, thankfully) to tweezer out the glass in my hand before wrapping it up in a shitton of paper and bandage and putting me to sleep.
I wake up in the afternoon with a hangover and a ridiculous amount of pain in my hand, scream at the blood, stumble into the kitchen and get the story and pictures.
So yeah. Fun stuff.