Fudgey
Master of Disaster
I got good and loaded the other night, tripped off the curb and took a faceplant on the street. This reminded me of some my other fateful nights of drinking. I figured this would be a good thread to share some of your rougher nights...
When I was twenty-one years old I went to a bar with my two best friends and had my first legal drink. I had drunk alcohol before like everyone else, but this was my first drink in a bar with my driver’s license and being able to sit at the bar with all the other patrons.
One drink led to another, and then the regulars and other patrons found out it was my twenty-first birthday. The floodgates opened. All of a sudden there were drinks coming from the left and the right, and I was sitting in front of more than eight shots of vodka, tequila, and other alcohols. This was back in 1998, so no one was concerned with the fact that I might get sick, drive, or die in the bathroom. Cigarette smoke was hanging over the bar like a thick fog, the music was loud, and the girls were bra-less. I was in heaven.
Even though I was used to having a few beers back then, I got very drunk, very fast, after no more than four of those shots hit my gut. I drank them too quickly. I should have paced myself, but they were free, and I didn’t have any plans for the day after. “What the hell!” I yelled to one of my buddies, “I can sleep in later! Whoohoo!” After even a few more shots my head felt like it was only floating on top of my body. It didn’t feel attached at all. Everything was great until I had to pee.
”Golden seal about to be broken!” I started yelling and I staggered to the Men’s loo. The crowd gave way, and someone smacked me on the butt, and I ended up in the bar’s stinky bathroom, weaving back and forth. I had a hell of a time trying to stand straight while I peed, and I ended up starting to pee on my shoes. I immediately stopped the flow and thought about how I could not piss all over myself.
“I know,” I slurred to myself, “I’ll just go sit down in one of the stalls.”
How I managed to stop mid-stream is a mystery to me, but I did. For all the ladies out there reading this, let me tell you that when a man is drunk he has a really hard time stopping peeing. I’m kind of surprised that I was able to, but I was. So, I ended up turning around and shuffling to the first stall behind me with my junk still hanging out and with my arms in front of me like a drunken mummy.
Giggling, I ricocheted into the stall, spun around a bit too zealously in an attempt to close the stall door behind me, and in doing so I must have missed the state of the toilet seat. I managed to lock the door and whip my pants down before peeing all over them, and then I plopped down on the seat to piss like a little girl. I stuck my firehose down between my legs, let go with the flow again, and began humming. What a great night I was having! A great night, up until I realized how squishy my bottom felt on the seat.
That’s right – squishy. My butt was almost sliding around on the seat.
Then I looked down.
Between my legs I saw a dark mess in the bowl. “What the…” I said aloud. Oh no, it wasn’t. Oh yes, it was. Poop. Lots and lots of poop. It was in the bowl, and I began to realize what was on the seat. More poop – liquidy poop from someone else’s butt. Foreign poop.
As I stood up I kept on peeing, which meant that I pissed straight down and then out in an arch and all over the front of my jeans and underwear and the floor of the stall. When I spun around again to look at the seat and bowl my shirt tails got stuck to my soiled cheeks. Then I fell down.
By this point one of my friends had come in to see if I was alright, and the guy who had been in the stall next to mine banged on the partition and told me to watch myself. I was so drunk that I just decided to crawl under the door in the space between it and the floor. I ended up on the floor in the middle of the Men’s room, shitfaced, gagging, with my pants around my ankles and my twig and berries glued to my right leg with someone else's poo. I don’t remember caring, either.
”Hey, I sat in foreign ****,” I started to say to my friend, and then I threw up on myself. The smell was so bad. I do not remember this part so well, but this is what he told me happened the next day. According to him, he went and found my other friend, and they picked me up, pulled up my pants – over the offending foreign poop and all – and dragged me out the back door of the bar.
I ended up sitting on my coat all the way back to the dorm, where I endured a drunken walk of shame only to be tossed into the shower with my clothes on. I woke up the next morning with a barf bucket next to me with some pre-chewed McDonald’s in it and most of the shots that had been bought for me. I was hungover until dinner.
When I was twenty-one years old I went to a bar with my two best friends and had my first legal drink. I had drunk alcohol before like everyone else, but this was my first drink in a bar with my driver’s license and being able to sit at the bar with all the other patrons.
One drink led to another, and then the regulars and other patrons found out it was my twenty-first birthday. The floodgates opened. All of a sudden there were drinks coming from the left and the right, and I was sitting in front of more than eight shots of vodka, tequila, and other alcohols. This was back in 1998, so no one was concerned with the fact that I might get sick, drive, or die in the bathroom. Cigarette smoke was hanging over the bar like a thick fog, the music was loud, and the girls were bra-less. I was in heaven.
Even though I was used to having a few beers back then, I got very drunk, very fast, after no more than four of those shots hit my gut. I drank them too quickly. I should have paced myself, but they were free, and I didn’t have any plans for the day after. “What the hell!” I yelled to one of my buddies, “I can sleep in later! Whoohoo!” After even a few more shots my head felt like it was only floating on top of my body. It didn’t feel attached at all. Everything was great until I had to pee.
”Golden seal about to be broken!” I started yelling and I staggered to the Men’s loo. The crowd gave way, and someone smacked me on the butt, and I ended up in the bar’s stinky bathroom, weaving back and forth. I had a hell of a time trying to stand straight while I peed, and I ended up starting to pee on my shoes. I immediately stopped the flow and thought about how I could not piss all over myself.
“I know,” I slurred to myself, “I’ll just go sit down in one of the stalls.”
How I managed to stop mid-stream is a mystery to me, but I did. For all the ladies out there reading this, let me tell you that when a man is drunk he has a really hard time stopping peeing. I’m kind of surprised that I was able to, but I was. So, I ended up turning around and shuffling to the first stall behind me with my junk still hanging out and with my arms in front of me like a drunken mummy.
Giggling, I ricocheted into the stall, spun around a bit too zealously in an attempt to close the stall door behind me, and in doing so I must have missed the state of the toilet seat. I managed to lock the door and whip my pants down before peeing all over them, and then I plopped down on the seat to piss like a little girl. I stuck my firehose down between my legs, let go with the flow again, and began humming. What a great night I was having! A great night, up until I realized how squishy my bottom felt on the seat.
That’s right – squishy. My butt was almost sliding around on the seat.
Then I looked down.
Between my legs I saw a dark mess in the bowl. “What the…” I said aloud. Oh no, it wasn’t. Oh yes, it was. Poop. Lots and lots of poop. It was in the bowl, and I began to realize what was on the seat. More poop – liquidy poop from someone else’s butt. Foreign poop.
As I stood up I kept on peeing, which meant that I pissed straight down and then out in an arch and all over the front of my jeans and underwear and the floor of the stall. When I spun around again to look at the seat and bowl my shirt tails got stuck to my soiled cheeks. Then I fell down.
By this point one of my friends had come in to see if I was alright, and the guy who had been in the stall next to mine banged on the partition and told me to watch myself. I was so drunk that I just decided to crawl under the door in the space between it and the floor. I ended up on the floor in the middle of the Men’s room, shitfaced, gagging, with my pants around my ankles and my twig and berries glued to my right leg with someone else's poo. I don’t remember caring, either.
”Hey, I sat in foreign ****,” I started to say to my friend, and then I threw up on myself. The smell was so bad. I do not remember this part so well, but this is what he told me happened the next day. According to him, he went and found my other friend, and they picked me up, pulled up my pants – over the offending foreign poop and all – and dragged me out the back door of the bar.
I ended up sitting on my coat all the way back to the dorm, where I endured a drunken walk of shame only to be tossed into the shower with my clothes on. I woke up the next morning with a barf bucket next to me with some pre-chewed McDonald’s in it and most of the shots that had been bought for me. I was hungover until dinner.
