Botched Threesomes, Emergency Surgeries, And Naked Lockouts: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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Warning: This week’s installment includes the most stories ever included in a Worst Weekend column. Sure, I could’ve left some for next week, but I think it’s my duty to include all the worthy stories and keep this train rolling.

As always, these stories are presented to you unedited and in blockquotes below. If you have a story of your own, please send it to will@grandex.co so we can make people feel better about themselves in the future.

Let’s get it.

I held off on writing this Sunday Scaries story for a while just to make sure a viral video of my drunken and naked ass wandering through an upscale hotel didn’t pop up on Facebook.

So let’s begin, one of my best friends got news that he had finally passed the last part of his CPA exams and wanted to celebrate. I live just far enough away that I had to stay in town when I got there that night. I brought my new girlfriend along and we decided to get a room instead of crashing at her parents place after a night of hard drinking. The night went off as expected. We went out, had a great time, got trashed and returned to our hotel. This is where the night gets interesting. For the record, my girlfriend and I both remember getting out of the Uber at our hotel, but then it’s all dark from there.

My next conscious memory is me standing in the hallway outside of our room, at 330 AM, wearing nothing more than what I came into this world with. I start knocking on the door, and for the next 10 minutes progress to full out banging on the door trying to get her to let me in.

When I really set in banging on the door I hear a hand hit the door handle on the opposite side room, but I’m assuming upon looking through the peep hole at my naked ass, they decided against opening. I’m now turned with my back to the door, holding my hands over my junk, while mule kicking the door.

My mule kicking pissed the guy off that was in a room diagonal across the hall from us. He opens the door and comes out ready to fight. When he sees me in all my glory, he turns from pissed to mildly amused. I get him to call the front desk to let me in, and he tosses me a towel.

The front man for the hotel comes and let’s me in without saying a word but shakes his head at me the entire way down the hall.

Best part of the story coming up; when the door closes behind me, my girlfriend sits up and says, “why were you in the hall, babe?” After all that banging, the door closing is what woke her up. Still have my fingers crossed that there isn’t a video somewhere, it was cold that night.

This is exactly how I wanted to start this week off. Perfect. Innocent fun where no one gets hurt but we still got close enough to the danger zone of getting arrested that it made us feel somewhat alive.

I do have a lot of questions as to why you left the hotel room naked in the first place, but I don’t think we’ll ever get answers to this.

I should’ve sent this in for this week’s stories, but hopefully it makes the cut next week. My weekend was pretty standard pool/light beer shenanigans, apart from an very scarring incident with a vagrant Monday morning.

I woke up at 4:30am for reasons I can only attribute to “approaching 30”. After going through the usual IG/Twitter/Facebook rotation for a couple of hours, I decided I wanted to walk to a cafe not far from my house for some pancakes. I arrived at 6:50am, only to realize they didn’t open until 7:00am. So I sat down on a bench and read on my iPad while I waited for them unlock the doors.

As I’m reading, I hear someone pushing a cart towards me and muttering to themselves. I live in the Lower Greenville area of Dallas, where this is fairly common. For the most part these folks are harmlessly collecting recyclables or dumpster-diving. You’ll catch a panhandler or two, but again they’re typically non-threatening. However, as this particular man passes behind me, he decides to address me with: “Whatcha reading f*****? Pussyboy f*****.” Uh….

I keep my head buried in my iPad. The man is clearly mental. I’m hoping he just moves on, and sure enough he does. When he’s about 50 yards past, I decide to look up and get a glimpse of this guy. When I do, he happens to turn around and make eye contact. Shit. Back to the iPad I go. No less than 30 seconds later this man is 15 feet in front of me, in the middle of Greenville Avenue, yelling “Yeah look at me again, boy. Have a good long look.” He then proceeds to drop trou and grab his dick.

He’s still making steps towards me, and at this point the clock has just hit 7am. I decide it’s time to see if the cafe has opened up and GTFO of this situation. I stand and walk across the parking lot praying that 1) this man is not following me and 2) the cafe actually opens on time. Thankfully, he decided to walk back the direction he was headed because it turns out the cafe didn’t actually unlock their doors until about 7:15am.

I’m still trying to figure out what the move would have been if I’d actually had to fight a homeless man with his dick out. T’s & P’s appreciated.

I’m not going to talk shit on homeless people because we don’t know their circumstances, but I will say that homeless people are one of the things in life that will immediately spike my Sunday Scaries should I already have a case. I was eating at Tartine in San Francisco a couple weeks ago and a homeless woman busted in and started grabbing food off random plates while screaming obscenities. The restaurant handled it well, but it was so jarring that I couldn’t get over it until we finally left the restaurant and got in the car. Not an ideal way to start a bougie brunch.

A little late on the email but I spent yesterday in a car driving back to Manhattan from East Hampton, followed by cold sweats, vomiting, and a $70 seamless order that I ate a total of $0 worth.

The stories that we have from this weekend are endless, but the one that sticks out is a product of heading out to Montauk on Sunday to get our fix of Sloppy Tuna and more importantly how it was cemented when I got to work today.

So the crew dives into some brunch at a local taco spot in Montauk, choking down Margaritas through everyone’s brutal acid reflux and heartburn that was developed over drinking and grilling for two straight days of 80 degree, sunny weather on Friday and Saturday. We are a MASH Unit at this point. But you don’t go out east for MDW and NOT hit Sloppy Tuna for some good old fashioned degeneracy.

We proceed to secure prime real estate on the dance floor, with enough people in our group to ensure a constant assembly line of vodka sodas from the bartender to our rotating cast of characters on the dance floor. After about 5 hours of dancing to everything from God’s Plan to Levels to Ants Marching, two of us decide we need a pick me up provided by the men’s handicap stall. The bouncer seemed to disagree with us. We are firemen carried out of the bar by two bouncers and dropped on the cold, wet sidewalk like Jazzy Jeff getting tossed by Uncle Phil.

While this in itself wasn’t the worst way to end the evening seeing as we were in the process of ordering XLs to return back to our palace in East Hampton, when I got to work today I find out that two other people in my office were also at the bar. So now the water cooler talk is about how I was dragged out of the bar by the scruff of my neck. Oh, and a girl I went to college with DMed me on Instagram the next day to let me know she also witnessed my aforementioned removal.

At least I was smart enough to reapply my sunscreen every few hours on Friday and Saturday so I have the best tan in my office. Silver linings, folks.

My takeaway from this? Montauk sounds tiiiiight. I did a brief Google search of The Sloppy Tuna and this is what I’ve decided:

— In order to get in, you have to have a good tan, a surfer tank, and a brutal hangover.

— I am too old to go to The Sloppy Tuna.

That is all.

So this is the story of how I thought I was going to be murder by my left hand.

This is Sunday of MDW so I of course spend the entire day pounding CFA study material until I pass out on the couch at about 8:30 sober as a nun. (I know, I’m an animal.) At some point in the night I slept on my arm causing my arm to fall asleep from forearm down. I then proceeded to roll over in my sleep and inadvertently hit myself in the face with the numb arm startling myself awake. Because the I could not feel my hand I was not able to realize that my own hand is what hit me. All I am sure of in this moment is that something hit me in the face and it is on my arm. So there I am in my apartment at 11:30 at night flailing my arm around screaming for my hand to “Get the fuck off me.” I think it took me a solid minute to realize what was really going on. At which point I go to my actual bed and fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning with a swollen wrist and dried blood between my fingers that I don’t know how it got there. That was a whole new kind of Sunday scaries for me. I hope my pain can bring y’all a little laughter.

There are greater forces out there just trying to taunt us. I once had a dream about bed bugs after a bender, only to wake up with actual bed bugs in my fucking bed. Not the kind you have to get rid of using professionals — an actual family of centipedes at my fucking feet.

Me and my college fraternity brothers still live together 3 years after graduation. Life has settled down for most of them, but I’m still going strong. Was recently in Vegas.

We stayed at the Flamingo. Great location. Cheap rooms and a decent pool. Not where the hot girls flock to, by there’s plenty of birds.

Friday night, 3am in the Cosmo, my mate and I meet two Asian girls. My friend Will approaches the hotter one first, because he knows I like a sure thing. I’m off to the races with the less hot girl. Making out. Trying to get her to leave, but she won’t leave her married friend behind who will is still flirting with. Two hours later I give up and go back to the room with the 6 other guys that came with us who were all creepily watching from afar, jealous and lonely. Losers.

The next day we meet up with the girls at the Flamingo right outside Carlos and Charlie’s. Will and I were already a little tipsy and high on edibles and a helping of shrooms left over from a concert a few months ago. We feel great.

They come up to the room and start drinking. A few minutes later Will goes on a walk with his hot married girl to leave me and my girl alone. Sex. Then off to the pool for some fun in the sun.

A couple hours later we are back in the room. Will and his hot Chinese married woman, decide to take a shower! So it’s round two for me and my girl. We are naked in bed when the come out of the shower.

Here is where it gets weird. Will’s girl comes over. Throws the covers off me, rips open a condom and puts it on me and jerks me off while she y’all about safe sex. Will comes over and lays on the bed and the fun is over. Will and her leave. My girl and I bang it out again.

Did Will kill my threesome?

Later those two did hook up. Some heavy petting is what the old people call it I believe, but the Bulleit Bourbon was too strong, so no Sex.

Is it wrong to bang a married woman, if she is down?

What does my friend owe me for fucking up my threesome?

Should we have had an orgy?

So many questions. Thoughts?

Uh, my thoughts? I want nothing — NOTHING — to do with this entire situation. Next.

I’ve been a longtime reader, but only submitted one scary story involving diving head-first off a trashcan into brick. This story I have been holding onto for awhile, and unfortunately, I have managed to have a reminder of this incident every time I look into the mirror.

Back in October I was talking to a bodybuilder who didn’t seem to understand that I was half his size. He still doesn’t know this because I found out about his long-term girlfriend a few days after. One night after returning from the bars, we were drunkenly hooking up in the living room when my head hit the corner of the coffee table. I was too drunk to realize I was even bleeding but the next morning I had a massive welt and cut on my head. Apparently I hit the corner HARD. Seeing as it was early in the weekend, I ignored the cut and continued putting product in my hair. By the end of the weekend the cut was infected and a chunk of hair fell out in the area around the cut. For the last six months I’ve been hiding my bald spot and patiently waiting for it to grow back. I’m proud to say it’s about three inches long now!

As painful and embarrassing as this was, it’s become a bit of a joke with my friends where I send pictures of my baby hairs sticking up like a unicorn horn 🙂

First a concussion and now a bald spot. I really need to start wearing a helmet in public.

She included a photo of this and I can confirm that, yes, she does have an Alfalfa-esque spike in the back of her head now. Be careful out there when it comes to drinking and banging your head. This is honestly best case scenario considering how hard some people eat it when they’re hammered.

And now for a leftover from Memorial Day Weekend.

You’re probably wondering “why is this dude emailing me Tuesday night after MDW?” And to be honest, I didn’t think I had reason too until about an hour ago.

You see, much like most people this weekend, I over indulged in alcohol. Friday and Saturday were inconsequentially aggressive.

Sunday though…Sunday ended up bad. Go to a birthday bar crawl around 3pm. Meet some friends of the birthday girl and one of them and myself really hit it off. So we going Bar to Bar. The whole squad of 12-15(?) of us actually stopped for food, such good behavior!

Things slowly start escalating. Next thing I know it’s dark out, im in a bar with women dancing on tables and I’m with this girl I just met and a couple of her friends. We end up making out and it was a chill sitch. We proceed to what is easily my favorite bar in the area where I’m friendly with several staff members. No need to extrapolate here. Lights were on but no one was home.

Continued Bar makeouts (based on the snap stories I received). I mean, we’ve all been there. Anyways, I Irish exit (I think) at around…ok no idea when I left but it was before closing time I know.

Wake up the next day around noon, call my friend who works at the bar and he just says I was trashed but it was badass. Tight. Also had a different girl’s number in my phone as “ally from [redacted Bar name]”. LETS GO. Decent hangover but I was able to run a few errands. Watched a movie last night to calm myself after that lit hockey game and avoided my scaries for the most part….again, until about an hour ago.

I’m Catching up on laundry, and as im loading into the washer I notice some of my clothes in my hamper are already damp…yep you know what’s next. Turns out I, evidently, drunkenly peed into my laundry basket Sunday night/Monday morning.

At least the clothes were already dirty? and I avoided getting any piss on the carpet or anywhere else in the room. Impeccable precision…accuracy not so much. Crippled Imagining if I had gone home with my new acquaintance(s) and pulled this stunt.

Debating just getting a new basket all together and maybe never drinking ever again until tomorrow during game 2. Solicited advice on my blooming alcoholism?

Advice? Okay, here’s some free advice.

1. Stop making out in public. I know Snapchat is dying, but nothing worse than waking up and seeing those stories. I’ve heard.

2. Just keep shooting when it comes to the pee situation. Some people pee in weird places when they’re fucked up. I know it’s not something to be proud of, but you’ll grow out of it.

Long time reader of Grandex content, it’s been a pleasure watching the site evolve over the last however many years into what it is today.

I’ve been trying to write this story for the past two days and only now have become coherent enough to type meaningful sentences – I’ve had so many painkillers/antibiotics running through my IV line that a lot of what I typed previously really didn’t make much sense.

Anyway, to set the stage a bit – I flew to Florida last week to stand by my brothers side as he got married. Flew out early Tuesday morning, landed slightly before lunch, and really enjoyed spending time with my grandparents, parents, nephew, brother, his wife-to-be and her family. The ceremony on Thursday was beautiful and everything went off without a hitch – it was a small family-only wedding so it was great to spend time with everyone I care about. Friday was a solid day spent relaxing by the pool…little did I know what was in store for me Saturday morning…

I woke on Saturday with seriously intense abdominal pain and flu-like symptoms, something I attributed to food poisoning or perhaps catching a small bug during my travels. Didn’t leave bed all day, and got to deal with the joy of having my mother/father take care of me like I was a sickly kid again (not as great as it sounds). Sunday sucked too, as I woke up at 6am to catch an early flight home and was still feeling very miserable from what I was thinking was the flu or food poisoning remnants from the day prior. I spent most of the day Sunday alternating between my couch and bed, writhing in agony. I was told that if I was not feeling better Monday that I’d need to go see a doctor.

Monday was the same as Saturday/Sunday – intense levels of agonizing pain so I finally submitted to heading to the ER (urgent care is apparently closed on Memorial Day). After having a battery of tests run (blood, CT scan, etc), a doctor came to my room to inform me that they were calling in an operating team to perform an emergency appendectomy. So in a span of two short hours, I went from thinking I had the flu to being put to sleep and having my burst appendix removed from my body.

I found out Tuesday from the surgeon that my appendix had most likely ruptured Saturday while I was in Florida (judging by the state of decay of the organ/infection in my body) and I had just stubbornly been pretending like everything was going to get better on its own.

I get out of the hospital today (Wednesday) – I’m sure some anxiety will hit once I see those medical bills come but I luckily have great insurance and I’m too hopped up on painkillers right now to care. Traveling with a hangover really sucks, but traveling with a ruptured appendix is definitely worse!

Take care and keep fighting the good fight!

You hate to see it happen like this. You just hate it. One moment you’re just enjoying life, the next you’re getting your organs ripped out of your body just praying insurance comes through in the clutch. I assume this entire scenario will happen to me at a really inopportune moment of my life, but we’ll see.

The weekend was insane… but I will just cut to the most horrifying part. For background info: I am 22 years old & just graduated college last may. I hit it off with a guy on Friday night that I met at a bar. He told me he was 33, but he was hot so I was down. Went back to his hotel room fri, sat, & sun and we were texting most of the weekend nonstop.

Flash forward to Monday- as most girls do, I decided to try to find any info I could about him on the internet (shouldn’t have waited this long to do it).
He didn’t have social media but I found info online that proved that he was 1) loaded and 2) FORTY THREE years old.

Scaries because I can’t stop myself from continuing to text him. He is already trying to make plans to meet up in the coming weeks even though I live in philly and he is from NYC.

Help sos on a scale from 1-10 how bad is this?

Scale of 1 to 10? I don’t know, like, a 2? At the end of the day, you’re just casually hooking up with a rich hot dude which sounds ideal for someone like you. Sure, it’s a little weird but nothing you can’t overcome. Sure, there’s a strong chance he’s married but just look at his hand the next time you see him and check if there’s an imprint of a wedding ring there. If so, he definitely took it off before seeing you. If not, let it rip.

I traveled 3 hours to Charleston, SC to see this guy I dated for three years who I still I have an on/off thing with. His girlfriend was out of town and it had been a while for me so it was a sure thing. We got to his place and he lives with this 65 year old veteran guy named Barnyard, who was kinda awkward. We were all drinking and I was sitting on his lap and his roommate said he wants to have a threesome with us. We got out of there and he drove us somewhere to meet his friends like an hour away. We fooled around while he was driving and all of a sudden he gets pulled over for going 65 in a 45. Since he told the cop he has a gun he had to step out of the car. Then they make me get out – I had no way of putting my pants back on so I get out of the car naked from the waist down. They make him say the alphabet backwards starting at P and then walk a straight line (5 large steps, 5 baby steps, left turn, repeat) and finally they tell me they’re gonna detain him. He refuses to blow so they take him to jail for careless driving and an expired tag. They let me get back in the truck (but not before waiting to watch me flash my vag to everyone as I step into this huge truck lifted way off the ground) and I drive back to his place and sleep in his truck. I get him out of jail the next day and we have sex in some parking lot and he takes me to lunch. Once he drove us back to his place I went home and told him I had a great time, only to hear “Okay cool” as a response.

I… uh…. there’s just way too much in play here. Thoughts and prayers for the out-of-town girlfriend.

First time submitter, thank God these are anonymous. It is with a heavy heart and a deep sense of shame that I share with you this story, which actually happened several months ago, but the scaries have prevented me from sharing since.

I signed up for a co-ed dodgeball league in my city which features a game at a local gymnasium, followed by drinking games at the nearby sponsor bar. I decided to join a random team and clicked with everyone fairly well. There was one particular girl, let’s call her Brittany, who I had a good rapport with the first few weeks.

So a few weeks into the season we’re hot off a W so the whole team walks a few blocks in the frigid cold to the bar. I had skipped dinner that night to get from work to my game (Rookie Mistake) and was playing flip cup on an empty stomach. We play for a solid 2-3 hours and at this point the bulk of our team had filtered out since it was a week night. I’m fairly drunk at this point and make my move on Brittany. I ask her if I can buy her a shot and she declines, but playfully says she’ll buy me one.

We walk up to the bar from the flip cup space and she orders two shots each, four total, of tequila. At this point it’s rather clear she’s trying to black out together. I throw down the two shots, chased by my bud light and it hits me like a damn train. By now I’m severely regretting not eating dinner and I’m leaning against the bar to avoid falling over. Brittany is getting handsy and suggests to call an Uber for us back to her place. The room is spinning a bit at this point and my stomach is churning, but I oblige.

I look at her phone and the Uber is 4 minutes out. I’m trying desperately to hold my shit together but I can tell I’m going to hurl. The bathroom isn’t an option without me eating shit. It’s a split second decision, what do I do? Puke on the bar, onto her? I figure that the least damaging option is to puke down my shirt, at which point Brittany calls me another Uber home. Hammered me tries to convince her I spit down my shirt, I didn’t puke. My vomit soaked clothes begs to differ. A Venmo charge and an apology text later I never spoke to Brittany again and I never returned to that dodgeball team. It gives me scaries to this day.

Have a blessed Sunday.

Here, I’ll try to make you feel better. I once took a Four Horsemen and immediately needed to throw up. I couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time so I threw up in my shirt which I disposed of in a nearby trash can. The bad news? It was the middle of winter and about 15 degrees outside. I just went and sat in my friend’s car shirtless and freezing until he finally came out 30 minutes later and drove us home.

Saw my ex. No alcohol or sexual intentions involved. Sheesh.

Bleh.

I had a baby.

Well that’ll do it. Wasn’t aware we were in the midst of a rapid fire round.

I didn’t do anything stupid this weekend. Instead, I’m moving tomorrow because I start a new job soon. While the impending doom of moving is bad enough, I’m pretty sure I almost threw my back out while loading up the uhaul. Not my best look (especially because I’m in my twenties and my 60 year old dad who was helping is absolutely fine). T’s and p’s appreciated.

I said this on Touching Base last week during our Lister Voicemail episode, but I recently threw my back out while putting on a shoe. Getting old blows.

I’ve been home all weekend because I’m moving 💀 but now I’m at a pool party and I can’t drive home. #tekillya My dog is an $30 Uber ride away. I’ll have to go home tonight and then I’ll have to uber to work in the morning. T&P please that uber will get me to work on time.

On my first day of work here, I Ubered to the wrong address so Dave had to come pick me up in a random parking lot off the highway. It gets better, I promise.

First submission not involving alcohol. In one week, I am driving halfway across the country with my cat (who can’t be in a car for more than 8 minutes without having a panic poop) to move back in with my family for two months, before beginning medical school in August. The combination of the drive, living under my parent’s roof for the summer again at 24, returning to school, medical school debt, and the fact I still haven’t found someone to take over the remaining three months on my current lease has my scaries at an all time high. On that note, anyone looking for an overpriced studio in the DC area? It has in-unit washer/dryer and I’ll leave the shower stocked with my Fulton and Roark collection.

Someone help this guy out and take his lease off his hands. At least you’ll hardly be paying rent at your parents’ house (not to sound like a broken record, but we also talked about this in the listener voicemail episode of Touching Base last week).

Spent the last 3 and half weeks in Europe on holiday returning late Saturday night. Then proceeded to spend all day Sunday at a beer garden. Sunday Scaries just hit me as I climbed into bed.

I mean, yeah, the beer garden probably wasn’t the move but you were in Euro-Mode so I get it. Just drink a lot of coffee and pretend to look busy all day. You’ll be fine.

Hey Will. Love the column and thought this weekend may just be good enough to make the cut. Went down to New York to visit one of my best friends from my home town. For in Friday night and started off with some drinks and bar hopping. Nothing too exciting, but definitely a good start to the weekend. We had bottomless brunch reservations at 2:30 on Saturday afternoon so we got our day started with that. Mimosas are flowing around and everyone there with us is having a great time. We had just finished up our meals when I needed to use the restroom cuz something felt off but I wasn’t sure what it was. Now I should preface this by saying I had a few drinks, but nothing out of the ordinary. Friends involved agreed I was not by any means more than buzzed. The bathroom was downstairs just a few feet from our table. Well as I stood up to get up from the table I fainted just at the top of the stairs and went head first down the whole flight. Don’t remember much after that besides being covered in my own blood with a huge gash above my left eye. The restaurant called me an ambulance and I was taken to the ER. 20+ stitches and a mountain of medical bills later, I’m lying in bed with a left eye that is partially swollen shut dreading the week ahead, reminding everyone that gravity and stairs are a bad combo. Thoughts and prayers for my head and moral

I know this isn’t the point of the story but I think if you have a reservation at 2:30 a.m., it’s not longer “brunch.” That’s honestly closer to dinner than it is to breakfast.

After a weekend of debauchery, I’ve realized I’m in love with my best friend. If that’s not scary, I don’t know what is.

P.S. sordid stories will come after I’ve had time to process. One thing at a time, Will.

And as always, some of the scariest submissions are the ones that don’t involve alcohol at all.

Make sure to send your worst stories to will@grandex.co for the world to read. Always anonymous, always entertaining. .

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

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