Bloody Noses, Unsolicited Nudes, And Extended Vegas Vacations: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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Another Monday, another inbox filled with a bunch of people who probably wish they never encountered the weekend despite how badly they wanted it at the time.

Some programming notes before we get into it:

If this column is a mainstay for you, please consider subscribing to The Sunday Scaries Podcast on iTunes. In all honesty, you can press play on the most recent episode and it’ll be done before you’re even finished reading this column.

Secondly (and maybe most importantly), please leave a review if you’re so inclined as well. It helps boost the podcast’s standing on the charts as well as shows others that, “Hey, this is something I should listen to.” I appreciate the help.

And finally, as always, these stories are presented to you anonymously in their original form. If you’d like to submit one of your own, email me at will@grandex.co and the masses will benefit from your idiocy.

Let’s get into it.

Hey what’s up will, so basically I’m gonna fill u in on the worst scaries in 2018

So I went on a 2 night cruise to the Bahamas w my rooomate and his gf friends. fast forward to excursion mode, it was open bar and free drinks all day, total shit show in action. I’m playing volleyball w this Malaysian babe I shouldn’t have a chance with. So I start talking to her and it goes well so we go back to the bar and get some drinks. This girl sits on my lap, straddles me and we start making out. I have my sick vapor shades on that look like ski goggles in total black out mode, this kid walks up and says I’m too much of a douche bag to be w this chick and she agrees. She leaves and comes back 10 mins later saying the kid was worst than I was then she says we should go for a walk Im totally Sauced but I’m keeping it together we walk down the beach a little ways and we find a little nook where we can get weird and we start hooking up I wasn’t prepared, I had to go completely rogue without a condom. an hour or so goes by and I’m posted up on a log doing some weird position I’ve never done when look over and see 2 girls watching us fuck! I’m a little overwhelmed but stoked at the same time and when I brought it up to this girl she only answers w a butt stuff request. I’ve never done butt stuff before but let me tell you this is when the situation goes from bad to worst. I’m going strong (Idk how I’ve lasted this long w no condom) but i look up like 15 mins later and these girls are still there at this point they are just standing there looking at the ground probably posting me on Snapchat and i see the time, our bus was leaving in 10 so I tell her we gotta get moving and i pull out and i swear there was poop all over me. I see it then I smell it and it was terrible. She didn’t even notice but I run to the ocean to wash off but the water was like 50 so I took my time to sink in, she pulled me out before I finished cleaning and we went back to the bus exchanged room numbers, and never saw each other again.

I was only on the grand celebration for 2 nights butt the scaries will be w me forever

Fucking hell. I’ll be honest, I go in order of how these are sent to me and I wasn’t planning on starting our Monday like this but here we are. Shouts to this dude for not taking off his Pit Viper’s while making out with this girl. TBH, maybe the other dude was right, though. You quite possibly could have been too douchie for this girl.

Hi Will,

I’ve never submitted a story before but this was just too good (or too terrible?) to not submit.

I’m a recent grad living with my best friend in Boston and both of us have been working through the post-grad struggle of trying to figure out what to do with our lives. As such, we’ve been coping by drinking pretty heavily these last few months. Well this Friday that mentality backfired and hit us in the face quite literally.

After a fucking terrible 9-5 in an empty office on Friday (note: this was 4th of July weekend and everyone but me was out), I came home ready to get so drunk I forgot I even wanted a job in the first place. My roommate was in a similarly piss poor mood and joined me in my crusade to wipe our memories.

After approximately 5 (strong) drinks each at the pregame, we went to a local bar where my friend had won some sort of a party where the drinks were only $4. Knowing that our bank accounts would probably never have this opportunity again, we each ordered about three drinks in rapid succession before moving onto the next bar.

My boyfriend’s friend was also in town for the weekend and had decided to tag along. Him and my roommate had been hitting it off until we got to the next bar and I noticed that things were going south pretty quickly. (Another note: it was only 10:30pm as we had gotten to the first bar around 8:30). Walking up to the bar where my roommate and my bf’s friend were talking, I noticed that my roommate was completely fucked up. Every word out of her mouth was essentially gibberish at this point. Seeing the incoming disaster this would be, I grabbed my bf and hightailed it out of there.

However, our escape did not go as smoothly as planned. As we were leaving my roommate went down HARD. I’m talking an audible slap against the wood floor, hard. She laid curled up on the floor for a couple more seconds before triumphantly popping up with blood spewing out of her nose. The bouncers quickly took notice of the situation and ushered our drunk asses out of the bar and into an uber.

The uber driver looked absolutely TERRIFIED as we got in the car. At this point my friend had surpassed the fun drunk stage into the sad drunk stage and was attempting to have a heart to heart with me in the back seat while blood streamed down her face. My bf, presumably in an attempt to make this somehow less awkward for the poor man, tried small talking with him but his forced laughter mixed with our crying was infinitely worse.

After that awkward uber ride home and a good ten minutes making sure my roommate wasn’t going to die, we all went to bed. The next morning I woke up to snaps from roommate with additional text messages warning me that the damage was bad. Sure enough, she had two huge black eyes and a face so swollen she now looked like the daughter of Ted Cruz.

On the bright side, homeboy from the previous night who she had been flirting with still wanted to fuck her the next night– scary Ted Cruz face in all. So maybe the weekend wasn’t actually a total disaster.

“So maybe the weekend wasn’t actually a total disaster.” I mean, I dunno, it kind of sounds like a total disaster but I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’m impressed with your roommate being such a trooper after taking the spill, but I’m also impressed with the Uber driver who didn’t tell you guys to kick rocks.

Side note: I’ve always kind of wanted a black eye but not the experience that leads to it. They just look kind of tight.

Well Will, I shamefully spent my Sunday on my couch, watching The Office, with a bag of frozen peas between my legs…

Now I wish I could accredit this to having received the most incredible “dicking-down” of my young post grad life, but that would be inaccurate. Rewind to the day before I had no plans for the evening, but my guy friend ended up coaxing me to come out with him and some other people. He has a harmless crush on me so I knew my drinks would be free all night. Am I a bad person or am I just poor– I’ll let you make that call.

So there are a few key elements to this story: 1) I’m very easily talked into things 2) I grew riding show jumpers 3)The bar we ended up at was PBR. It’s 1am someone suggests we all ride the mechanical bull. Being no stranger to riding horses or mechanical bulls I’m obviously down for this and seize the opportunity to be a show-off. I hop on and get to going, but something feels off and really painful. Come to later find out the handle had been ripped off earlier so they quick-fix rigged a new handle on there with a THICK leather strap all the way around the bull. Even being drunk the rubbing was hell and I should have just bailed, but mama didn’t raise no bitch. After a considerably impressive ride and I exit to my friends high-fives I see their faces turn from jubilee to horror. The inside of my thighs have literally been rubbed off. I’M FUCKING BLEEDING EVERYWHERE. Obviously at this point I’m ready to head home, but the most embarrassing part is it just looks like I was severely unprepared for “that time of the month”.

Sunday was painful, but today I wore leggings to work so there’d be zero chance of my co-workers seeing my battle wounds. All was mildly bearable until I go to the bathroom and my unbandaged wounds are stuck to the fabric…

I have to pee, my thighs are burning, and when I walk I look like a bow-legged wild west cowboy. Someone please put me out of my fucking misery.

This is how you start a Worst Weekend Story email.

That being said, ohhhhhhhhhhhh noooooooooooooooo. Say it ain’t so, Anonymous Emailer. This is reason number five-hundred-thousand why you shouldn’t ride mechanical bulls at bars. May this be a lesson to everyone.

I am starting my new job next Monday and the job site just had its second fatality in less than a year. The Tuesday scaries are real.

Maybe it’s time for a career change.

Been reading for awhile thinking no way anything worthy of sending will happen to me but here we go. Get off work on early on Tuesday (July 3rd) and meet up with my girlfriend who has just gotten into town. We then make the drive to Charleston where we are staying at a friends parents house for the Fourth. The group of 6 shows up around 7:30-8 and we immediately start drinking. As a party gift I typically bring a fifth of Fireball to be passed around. Well it turns out me and one other guy just about split the bottle with everyone else refusing to join. We head to the bar and find a table. Soon after, our buddy buys a round of tequila shots that we all choke down. The group then heads to another bar to get dancy but not before another tequila shot is had by all. By this point I’ve had more than enough but the tequila keeps coming. After some poor dancing I decide I need to go home so my girlfriend and I head to the pizza place to get some food. I stay outside holding a wall to stay upright while my girlfriend waits in line. She gets to the front only to find out they are out of pizza. I call the Lyft and we take the dizzying ride home. Get to the front gate of the neighborhood and I stumble out to 1) throw up and 2) call my friend for the gate code. Somehow get through the gate and the driver lets me back in the car. He drops us at the house where we realize neither of us have a key. What seems like ages later the rest of the group shows up and we make it inside.

The next morning more stories come out. At some point in the night my girlfriend (who I was sharing a bed with) threw up on the sheets and then all over the contacts box in the bathroom. Another friend had to run to the bathroom at the bar to puke after taking 2 shots back to back and 2 more threw up from their hangovers. So that’s 5/6 who threw up. Pretty good average.

We all fight off the aggressive hangovers and proceed to celebrate the Fourth like true Americans.

And this, everyone, is why you should not bring fifths of Fireball to parties anymore. I’m actually in the minority of people who don’t mind doing Fireball shots at all, but it’s not something I seek out or buy for myself. If someone’s handing them out, sign me up for just one (1). If I’m buying one for myself, then you know something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Go down to NOLA for a bach party for 5 days. First day there, our soberest friend gets “ruffied” and the next morning, we finally find him stumbling back into the house(thanks to an uber from his gf who was in a different state/city, at 7am). In his “roofie” night, he apparently withdrew $3,200 from three different cards at ATM’s and lost his cellphone. 4 more days to go.

Next two days go as predicted (someone gets ridiculously blackout each night and the other blackout people have to take care of the first).
Third night, I meet a ‘born-again virgin’, and after a series of conversations and events (I told her I was a reverend so I could again make her re-virginized post coitus), I find myself plowing this girl in the handicap stall of the bathroom, both of us on coke. Fast forward 7-8 minutes later, and she’s yelling/shrieking at me to let her suck my dick and bust her on her face while also lightly choking me (bouncer comes into the bathroom and kicks us out). She then tries to go home with me which I’m having none of, and TWO different ubers/lyfts leave me there/kick me out, because she keeps trying to get in the car as well. Trip ended relatively light the next two days and we get back in one piece somehow.
Went over-budget on the trip by about $1500 though.

Fast forward a week, I’m sitting in my doctors office dangling my legs back and worth, waiting for her to come back and tell me I have some form of STD (I don’t, thank God). She says “You need to get your life together and only come back for reasonable medical issues and injuries”. Little did she know I’d be back 2 months later with another STD scare (that’ll eventually be a different submission if I muster up the courage to relive that weekend).

Hope this submission was okay. I’m somewhat tipsy from a classic long lunch and figured I’d type this now.

FIVE DAYS in New Orleans? Nope. I did all of five days in my only stint in New Orleans and that city spit me the hell out. We did it tame too — barely hit Bourbon hard, did several nice dinners, the works. Can’t imagine a five-day bachelor party. Please let this be a warning to anyone planning a NOLA weekend — three days or less. Get in, get out.

Weekly reader here. Currently sitting in my tiny cubical, at 7 am on a Thursday morning, having a case of the scariest scaries I’ve had in a long time. Last night was supposed to be a nice relaxing night with maybe a few beers to share with the guys. That all turned around when my girlfriend pointed out to me that the only source of alcohol in the fridge is some white claws.

Those things are dangerous. While they are only 5% alcohol, they get you in a bad place fast if you decide to shotgun 3 in a row to try and catch up with your drunk friends… A few more drinks in and last call is upon us. Our sober driver brings us back home and I’m starting to get the spins on the way home. I managed to keep everything down but realized I had a conference call with a bunch of my fraternity alumni and I was still hammered. The thought of that almost made me sick. Managed through the conference call and then hit the hay.

Currently sitting at my desk right now at my summer internship, trying to remember what I said, how much I said, and how drunk or stupid I must’ve sounded on that call.

Don’t drink on Wednesdays, keep it for the weekend.

Maybe John Duda was right — White Claw is the Four Loko of our generation after all.

I was hoping to talk marriage with my boyfriend of seven years this weekend. Instead we broke up.

I bet if we check back in a few days, this guy will have come crawling back. Seven years is a long time to be out of the game and I bet the single life is jarring.

It’s taken me 4 months to finally (wo)man up and write this; there’s a lot of incriminating evidence, but I think enough time has passed.

So this Irish pub in the neighborhood I grew up in does a wake for St Patrick on the night before St Patrick. I’ve been going to this bar for the wake basically my whole life, and since I grew up Irish dancing, I typically dance a couple jigs for the crowd. It’s a great time. This year, however was the first year I attended that I could drink.

The pub is typically crowded for the wake, so my mom and her friends typically get to the bar and stake out spots around 3pm. I had to work until 4:30 so I got to the wake around 5ish and immediately started pounding pitchers of harp, forgetting that I hadn’t eaten all day. Around 8:30, my mom and her friends all leave, and I decide to stay by myself and have a few more drinks. At this point I’m pretty drunk, but apparently I looked and talked a lot more sober than I was. After another beer I start making my way outside to be responsible and go home, I notice the bartender at the outside bar. As stated earlier, I’ve been coming to this bar my whole life, and I notice the owner’s son who I had met back when I was 16 and developed this giant schoolgirl crush on him. So as drunk as I am, I stumble up to the bar and start telling him how cute I think he is and he convinces me to stay for a few more drinks and starts pouring me shots of Jameson. He then decides to close the outside bar early and puts me in an uber with him to go to another bar, which is a Tex Mex bar. And I am in my Irish dance costume which is basically a fucking bright green dirndl complete with a little white apron with a giant shamrock. So that’s a great look. We ended up making out at the bar (never a good look, I used to bartend and I HATE those couples) and then go to seven eleven to grab more beer and head to one of his friends house. I’m blacked out at this point and vaguely remember walking into his friends house and the next thing I remember is puking my guts up. Next thing I know, I’m in my boyfriend’s bed in nothing but my bra and my socks, trying to poke him awake because I have no idea how or when I got there. Check my phone, and I have a message from an unsaved number asking if I got home safe. The message was sent at 11:50. I didn’t make it past midnight. I spent pretty much all of st Patrick’s day in bed (with the exception of driving cute bartender to work and him telling me he wants to hang out with me sober) with the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my entire life, and trying to decide if should tell my boyfriend, since I wore bartender’s jacket home and he definitely saw it on the floor.

Ended up doing the right thing and breaking up with the boyfriend, but those were the worst Saturday and Sunday scaries I’ve ever experienced.

PS cute bartender and I are now dating

I’ll be honest — I was pretty down on you when I realized you had a boyfriend throughout this ordeal. You can’t just be cheating, especially with random bartenders on St. Patrick’s Day. Does the fact that you’re now dating that guy make it okay? Well, the jury is still out on that one. We’ll let the comment section decide.

Will—

I got day drunk off frosé at a friend of friend’s boujee pool party yesterday. Once I got home I started sending extremely graphic nudes to a guy I hooked up with last month that lives in Canada.

They’re really bad.

Please pray that I don’t end up on PornHub.

Started great, ended terribly. I’m not a lawyer but I’m pretty sure this guy can’t just fire your pics up on a porn site without your permission. But, as always, it hard to say.

Hi Will,

Big fan of the Sunday Scaries and Touching Base podcasts. First, I’d like to apologize for the length, but this one’s a doozy. I write to you today from the Austin/Houston airports as I make my way back to Kansas City after a weekend in Austin. Coming from a Nebraska boy, you guys really know how to turn it up in Texas. This weekend, however, is not what I’m writing about. I’m writing about residual scaries from July of 2017.

Last year, I flew out to Vegas with coworkers for what was supposed to be a relatively relaxed, three-day, all-expenses-paid business conference. That, of course, is not what happened. See, I get to Vegas on Tuesday morning and proceed to check into my hotel and get ready for meetings that would take up the majority of the afternoon. These go by without a hitch, and the next two days of meetings are a breeze (aside from the degenerate gambling that ensued, but that’s to be expected, right?)

Where my week goes off the rails, is when a buddy of mine from California texts me to say he’s on the guest list at a pool party, and has access to bottle service and a cabana. Meetings are wrapped up and my flight doesn’t leave until 4:00pm the next day, so I figured I’d be in the clear, right? This is not what happens. I get to the pool party and make the mistake of consuming a capsule (it was molly) from my buddy, and down several long island iced teas. At some point during this drug/alcohol-induced haze, I decide it’s a good idea to delay my flight another three days and purchase a ticket to attend EDC (Electric Daisy Carnival, for my non-EDM inclined PGPers.)

The following three days were a bit of a blur, as multiple drugs and plenty of alcohol was consumed while dancing to EDM from dusk til dawn in the Las Vegas Speedway. Thankfully, I’ve moved on from my former employer, as I don’t know how much longer I could have handled being asked about my opinion on certain drugs from my supervisor and other members of the department.

Moral of the story: six full days in Vegas are plenty.

Six days in Vegas isn’t “plenty,” it’s overkill. Worse than five days in NOLA.

I know this may not be sound advice in the moment because of how much fun you’re having, but never EVER extend your trip mid-bender. Or, you know, while rolling on molly. Unless it’s an offer to play Augusta or you’re having a steak dinner with Matthew McConaughey, I’m pretty sure nothign is worth the residual anxiety of extending your stay pretty much anywhere.

I always hoped I would have a great story to recall for you all after a crazy weekend, but true to form, my Sunday Scaries are sober and founded in over-involvement. Let’s break it down…

I got a $3 million capital fundraising campaign approved on Friday for a non-profit I volunteer with, so I have been proposal writing all weekend and curating a list of donors.

On Tuesday, 100 3rd-6th grade students are showing up for a day camp on a farm I have been planning, and I will be 6 hours away hoping nothing is going wrong.

I have a work event from Thursday-Sunday that requires 14-hour days all week.

I haven’t had a voice for 9 days.

And to top it all off, my mom just asked me who I’m bringing to my brothers wedding…. NEXT JUNE! It’s rough being the only single sibling.

Sober Scaries: The Scariest of Them All.

Everyone: listen to will defries when he says book the earlier flight. Late flights are always delayed and you won’t get home until 1am.

Did my 7 a.m. flight out of LA after a bachelor party suck? Yes. Was I happy to be in my own bed by noon that same day? Of course. I’m going to have to do a podcast segment on this, aren’t I?

You’ve often said that sober scaries are the worst scaries. I’m currently working on homework for a summer class. I start my sixth year of college (undergrad) in August and my girlfriend of 5 years just sent me a Zillow link to a house she’s looking at. I might actually have a panic attack.

Six years? You might as well stay in college forever. Never have to pay those loans if they’re always getting deferred. .

I know I’ve shoved this down your throat, but again — if you enjoy this column, you’ll enjoy the solitude that The Sunday Scaries Podcast brings you. Subscribe on iTunes and make your Sundays (and Mondays) a little more zen.

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Will

Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.

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