Cinco de Derby, European Music Festival Mayhem, The Douchiest Wedding Guest Ever: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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I went all in on Boomerangs on my Instagram story during a wedding on Saturday. I am ashamed of myself. But not as ashamed as all of these readers who emailed in their worst stories from this past weekend.

As always, we break some of the following stories down on Touching Base (subscribe on iTunes and SoundCloud). All the episodes can be found below. Proceed with caution.

Alright, let’s get into this week’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in quotes below.

First time writer long time reader, love following your articles. I have been waiting for a good story to come about before I submit it, and I think it finally happened this weekend.

It all started when I agreed to attend the Cleveland Indians baseball game on Saturday with one of my best college friends, his girlfriend and her friend rather than staying in and studying for my final exams this week. I wake up like I would any other Saturday not knowing what the day would entail. It started off on the right foot, got up, showered and was ready to roll by 1. First pitch was at 4 and the plan was to pregame a little at my friends girlfriends apartment, leave to go to a bar downtown before the game at 2 and then head in by first pitch.

Well my friend was late picking me up so we didn’t get to the apartment until about 1:45, in which we began to compensate for lost time by pounding some IPAs courtesy of my friend. Because of the late start everyone started pounding their drinks, and the plan was adjusted to leave by 2:30. Now, I wouldn’t say I’m the biggest fan of IPAs strictly because I just haven’t had as much experience with them yet. I guess my taste buds are still used to the shitty college beer. I still believe there isn’t a better beer out there than Coors but that is a another argument for a different time. By the time we polish off our drinks, my friend and I had put away about 6 or 7 IPAs each and a couple shots with the girls, which may not sound like a lot (not sure how many IPAs must be drunken to be considered a lot) but at this point I had a pretty strong buzz. I’m not a very big guy and I did not have anything to eat that day leading up to the game, so those IPAs hit pretty hard and fast.

By the time we were in the car going downtown, it was 3:30ish, so plans didn’t really go as planned. We decided to skip the bar and go right into the stadium. Still no solid food in my stomach, we hit the bar thats inside the stadium and begin to down rum and cokes like our life depended on it. $80 later and everyone is trashed. everyone. Trashed. At this point I barley remember how i got to the stadium and have officially blacked out. Not good because when I black out bad shit tends to happen.

The last thing I remember was being in the bar at the game during the 5th inning. No recollection of how i got or when, but when I came too, I was laying in my bed at 4:36am and I was in the same pants with no shirt and a shoe missing (still have yet to find it). I was woken by the yelling of two of my roommates who had gotten into a heated fight and would not stop going at it, keeping me up. I immediately check my phone to try and comprehend what the hell happened to me during the day and as I go to check I notice half of my screen is cracked, my room is destroyed and there is a fight going on downstairs. All at 4:30 am.

The next thing I know, one of my friends’ friend came over (at 4:30 am) and we smoked two joints together. Not sure how he ended up there at such a random ass time and I am uncertain as to why or how I ended up in this position, but after we get done smoking, my buddy who I went to the game with decided to go sleep at his girlfriends house, so I tagged along because the fighting had been going on for a solid minute at that point and we couldn’t take it.

All in all when faced with an opportunity to skip studying to get annihilated at a baseball game, don’t do it. On the bright side I hit it off with my friend’s girlfriends friend, so maybe blacked out me is good for something.

Is “stop drinking more than two IPAs” the new “stop going back to your alma mater”? Because this is becoming a theme that needs to be stopped. Admittedly, yeah, I like a few IPAs here and there, but I also know that they’re going to cause me to 1. get way too buzzed and 2. spend an hour on the toilet the following day.

So to answer your question, yeah, pregraming a baseball game with seven or eight IPAs is not the move.

Long time first time all that.

Went on vacation this past week to visit some family in Italy. One of my good friends from college is living in London right now and wanted to meet up, so we decided to go to a pretty popular house music festival in Belgium Saturday night. Booked a quick flight to Brussels not realizing it was to the small airport an hour outside the city – ended up not being an issue at the time because I actually found a decent and inexpensive car service for a ride in. The guy drops me off Saturday with plans to pick me up Sunday at noon, and says he’ll call me an hour before to confirm, otherwise the ride is off. No problem.

Fast forward to a mediocre dinner at a pub, plenty of strong Belgian pints later and we’re feeling good. Back to the hotel to pregame with champagne and some questionable substances, and we’ve crossed the point of no return. We hop on a double decker party bus shuttling people from the hotel to the festival, since its also an hour outside the city. At one point I desperately need to take a leak but whoever’s in the bathroom in the back of the bus is taking forever. Faced with no alternatives besides pissing my pants, I whip it out and let loose on the back of a seat the SOMEONE IS SITTING IN. It is at this point I renewed my belief in god, because somehow amid the chaos of the bus, the guy didnt notice. Back to my seat, everythings fine until we’re about to get off the bus and I drop my phone between two rows of seats, and it vanishes completely. Spend a minute looking for it and decide I can’t let this ruin my night, so we head in to the arena, which is a big circular floor with a stage in the middle. We grab a couple cocktails, get separated, and I completely black out.

Next thing I remember, I’m on the fucking stage with no clue how I got there. Music is blaring, people in crazy shiny suits are dancing all around me and breathing fire into the crowd. Get myself out of there and by some miracle run into my friend at the bar area. It’s almost 5:00 am so we decide to call it, go outside and there are about 20 different busses that look exactly like the one we took. No signage, no one seems to speak English, but we end up talking to some locals that say there’s a public bus we can take back into the city. We hop on that bus with them for about a 10 minute ride ending up at a train station, which supposedly went downtown but the trains didn’t run for another hour since it’s Sunday. I was alright waiting but my friend insists on getting out of there, so she flags down a cop and ask him to call us a cab back to the hotel. He says “that’s gonna be really expensive” calls it anyway while my friend goes to an ATM and pulls out 200 euro. Cab shows up, we tell him our hotel and both immediately pass out in the back seat. I wake up as we’re turning onto our street, and the meter reads 199.

Get a couple hours of sleep, wake up hungover as all hell and realize that now I can’t answer the airport driver’s call and he probably won’t show up. My friend leaves for her train out of there and I’m sticking around the hotel till noon, hoping that maybe he’ll just come anyway. By 1230 he’s still not there and I’m risking missing my flight, so I ask the concierge to call me a cab to the airport, she says “that’s gonna be really expensive”. 165 euro later and I just barely make it onto my flight back to Rome, which has to be the most turbulent I’ve ever been on. Shouts to Ryanair for landing in one piece though. Im now back at the airbnb and thankfully have one more night here before heading back to the US tomorrow. Not sure if I should drown myself in negronis or try to find some Italian equivalent of an AA meeting.

“It’s almost 5:00 am so we decide to call it” is a laugh out loud funny line. Like yeah, dude, it’s 5 a.m. I would’ve called it at like 2 a.m.

But with that being said, this sounded incredible. As someone who’s never gotten to party across Europe, I’d take that night ten times out of ten and twice on Sundays. Well, maybe Saturday so I can use Sunday to recover.

Love the worst weekends than you stuff every week so I figured I would send my weekend from hell in. This is a long one but worth it.

I still to this day am scared about what we did this night so I haven’t told this to many people. This one is about a year old now. So myself and three good buddies of mine had a big Saturday ahead of us. I can’t remember if it was a birthday or whatever, but regardless, early in the week we decided to take it easy on Friday night.

So Friday rolls around and we figure a little pre game at my buddies place followed by a calm, cheap, little dive bar in our hometown is the perfect way to stay level headed. We get to the pre game and it’s just as normal as any other night. One of the other guys and I had somewhere around 3-4 vodka waters to get a nice early buzz going, one of my buddies had 5-6 beers, and the last guy didn’t even pre game he met us out.

So we get a ride to the bar and our friend came by and took us in my jeep because his was in the shop. We get to the bar and there are a bunch of people around wearing suits and dresses, and I instantly assumed they came in after a wedding reception. I know right away that this could get out of hand. We sit down and usually we know every bar tender in the place, but this new girl comes up. Easy 8-9 and I don’t say that lightly, I mean just gorgeous. Naturally, all three of us are battling for who can get her number so my buddy tries out the “want to do a shot with us” move, and she does.

One thing leads to another and all four of us had bought rounds then buckets of beers. I start to get pretty drunk and head out to have a cigarette and end up talking to a guy in a suit and say, “have fun at the wedding?” he replies telling me that it was a funeral… a fucking funeral. So next thing you know more shots to the guy that had passed away ensued, then more shots with the new bartender, then more shots with the usual bartenders. Obviously, we are all rip shit hammered at this point, and this is the type of place you can get bombed for somewhere around 30 bucks easy.

Fast forward until the next morning and I wake up in my buddies basement to him asking if I have seen his glasses. I tell him no and look at him. His face all by his eyebrows, nose, and mouth are cut up like no other. To a point that I wish I could send the picture in, but I know he would murder me. Like walking dead looking shit. We freak and wake up our third buddy to see if he knows what happened and none of us do, but his phone is added to the list of missing things. There is food everywhere and someone puked on a blow up mattress, so it was a bad scene waking up at best. We look around for the glasses and phone and chalk it up to heading back to the bar on the way home to get them assuming we left them. I walk outside to no fucking car, so the list of lost things is growing in size, and in cost.

We look around and end up finding my buddies glasses in the middle of the street in his subdivision, somehow without a scratch on them, but find a healthy dose of blood and puke on the curb next to them. My sober buddy brings my car back, and shows us videos of us from when he got us back. One of us was dead passed out in the car, I’m laying on the ground laughing my ass off for no apparent reason other than I’m a happy ass drunk, and the buddy that fucked his face up, Jeff we can call him, sprints directly inside the second the car is turned off. We got inside and the sober guy noticed one of us is missing and says, “hey where the hell is Jeff?” He goes back outside and it turns out that is when he ate shit and puked because Jeff is laying in the street in front of his mailbox half dead. He took him inside to get cleaned up and then went home. Good guy.

So later that day everyone is talking in the group text trying to figure everything out, legitimately scared at what we did for the 2-3 hours no one can remember before the car ride home. Remember me saying that you can get hammered there for around 30 bucks? Well one guys says “Looks like I got the shots last night, I spent 100 there lmao” So I laugh then think hmmm and take a look and I spent 100 as well and so did other two friends. So counting tip and all we spent about 500 dollars at a bar we could get drunk for 150 total easy and woke up beaten, battered, and confused. No idea how we made home without any arrests or fights. His neighbor did see us pull in when we got back and I’m sure judges the hell out of us every time he sees us. Rightfully so I guess, but not too much damage compared to the rest of the night. So much for a fucking easy night out.

I’ve never thought about wearing my glasses out at night, but now I’m definitely not going to wear them out at night. The thought of shattering them on my face and potentially ruining my eyes even more is a nightmare.

But major shouts to the sober friend who helped piece all this together. Normally having a sober person around to recount all the dumb shit you did is miserable, but he got you home safe and in one piece. Kind of.

Last Saturday I was deciding whether or not to go home when a friend (Alex) hits me up saying her friend (Elizabeth), who is moving away in two days, wants me to come out with them. I figured why not, if she’s asking me to come out this should be an easy close. Well, it wasn’t.

I meet them at the bar having lightly pregamed and pretty far behind them. So to catch up it was tequila shot after tequila shot with vodka cranberries mixed in (I wasn’t buying so I didn’t have a choice). By this point I’m feelin’ good when a girl, Maddie, comes up and starts talking to me. Well, Alex wasn’t a fan of that so she pulled me onto the dance floor and we start making out, all while I’m throwing looks at Maddie.

Finally I break away and go to talk to Maddie and she asks for my number even after having seeing me makeout with another girl. I’m thinking I’ve got an easy close now but the music stops and the bar is shutting down.

Alex comes up to me and starts making out with me right in front of this girl and she told me to take her and Elizabeth home. So I call an Uber and get us home because I figured Alex was a done deal. On the way, Maddie had texted me where i lived but Alex had taken my phone saying she was my girlfriend and to leave me alone.

We get back to my place, Elizabeth passes out in the shower, Alex and I start hooking up until she stopped because her boyfriend, who was texting her, didn’t like the fact she was hooking up with me (no shit?). I rolled over, went to sleep, having gone 0-3.

Spent all of Sunday in bed with a hangover from hell. Sunday scaries set in. It was a bad weekend.

“It was a bad weekend.” Uh, earth to this dude, this weekend sounded amazing. Like I’m pretty sure you just emailed in to stunt on everyone by saying you had the pick of the litter at the bar that night. Legitimately no one feels bad for you. No one.

I love this column. It reminds me I’m not the degenerate I feel like every Monday. Or maybe I am, but the knowledge there are kindred spirits out there helps.

Almost every weekend I’ve got a story that can compete and even beat the ones I read in this column. I’ve just never submitted cause I’m lazy and generally feel no shame to have any scaries. Plus I feel like most of these stories are kids in their 20s and while I certainly don’t consider myself a real adult I am 34 and should probably not be having weekends that continue to outdo each other.

Family wedding in Dallas. And by family wedding I mean whole fucking extended family. Dozens of people. The groom is my cousin. The bride is the one from Dallas. Very prominent family. My parents are very concerned with image. Aka they’re obnoxious snobs. And they know their son so they specifically call me and have “a talk” about my behavior over the weekend. Do I listen? Nope. When I land in Dallas Friday I’ve been drinking scotch rocks both flights from DCA. When I get to the hotel for some reason I don’t bother to check in. I just check my bag with the bell stand and head straight to the hotel bar. I eventually realize it’s time to go to my room and change for the rehearsal dinner. In the lobby is my entire extended family as I check in to my room, get my bag, and then slip and fall down. My parents are furious. I go upstairs and pass out. Never to make it to the dinner. Then next morning my father comes to my room to yell at me and tell me that when greeting various family members I apparently passed my second room key to my cousins wife and told her to come see me later. (Yea. Shitty. But she’s a smoke show.)

Naturally I tell my father I won’t misbehave at the wedding that night. (HAHAHAHAHA!!! Naive fool for believing me.) Yea. You’ve never incurred the wrath of your family until a waiter at your cousins wedding reception catches you in the bathroom of an exclusive Dallas country club both doing coke and getting a BJ from another cousins wife.

Needless to say I did not go to the Sunday family brunch. I slipped out of the hotel. High tailed it to DFW, got Delta to put me on an earlier flight (thank god I’m platinum medallion) and then thanked god that my family lives in Florida, I live in DC, and iPhone has a decline button.

Shit Thanksgiving is going to be AWKWARD this year.

Wow. We finally did it. We found the douchiest email in the history of this entire series. It has everything — Dallas, status, coke, degenerate behavior, and probably a few lies mixed in just so he can feel good about himself. I know you said you love the column and I should take that as a compliment, but come on. You’re 34, clean it up.

Sup Will. Might be one of the few stories you get that doesn’t translate alcohol into scaries, but here we go.

Went out for a friend of mine’s birthday on Friday night. The birthday girl, myself, and a bunch of her girl friends went to some MMA fights to start the night after pregaming at dinner, out to the bars after, etc. Everything goes off without a hitch, and I woke up without a hangover so I’m thinking this weekend is gonna be one for the books.

Saturday comes around and I’m psyched up because I had a baseball game that night with 7pm start time, sunset in the background, and a bumble match wanted to meet up after the game for some drinks at a bar I really like, recipe for success. Wrong.

Little background at this point- I played baseball through college, and I’m 26 now so I’m old enough that I don’t “still have it” but I still think I do. One thing leads to another, I’m pushing WAY too hard to beat out a ground ball at first base and collide with a fielder who’s out of position. Leading with my face.

Turns out my left cheek went straight into his forehead, breaking it in 3 places, including my eye socket. Spent the night in the ER with ice on my face after getting a CT scan, and having to profusely apologize to bumble girl for standing her up, due to the aforementioned broken face.

The kicker for all this is I JUST turned 26. Last month. So I just rolled off of mom’s insurance. The health coverage for my new job that I start next week takes 90 days before it goes into effect, so I have zero coverage for this. I’m having a $10k surgery tomorrow. God help me.

The silver lining is I had no concussion, and no damage to my eyesight…. but my wallet, like my face, is HURTING.

No no no no no. This is a plea to everyone out there to get their insurance straightened out before they turn 26 and get kicked off your parents’ insurance. I know you don’t want to, but you also don’t want to pay ten grand because you slid head first and shattered your dome.

Side note: I have no explanation why, but some of my favorite stories from this entire series have nothing to do with alcohol. Keep ’em coming.

Been sitting on this one for a couple months and thought I would send it your way. My roommates and I all work at the same company and one Thursday night we decided to invite one of our attractive female coworkers that we’d just met out to trivia. Roommate A (we’ll call him Chuck) and I both had our wallets stolen earlier in the week so we brought our passports to the bar and roommate B (we’ll call him Chad) would be buying the drinks (this will become important later in the story).

We meet up with hot female coworker and her equally hot friend and have a good time at trivia. When it wraps up she suggests we go out for Mind Erasers at another bar (this should have been a signal that she could drink). We go to said bar, drink several mind erasers, and are having a great time. One of my college tricks is I can down a pint faster than any person I’ve met. Our new friends are in awe of my inhuman ability so I think it’s cool to keep downing pints, forgetting I’m not in college and can’t drink like I’m in college. Everyone else is pounding shots and beers and having a great time. Things begin to get fuzzy and I think as we were moving from bar to bar I decided to take a nap.

I wake up sitting at a bus stop thinking I had just dozed off for 15 minutes or so. I check my phone and it’s 3:30 in the morning. Realizing I need to get home I try to call an Uber. But remember how I said my wallet was stolen? I had deactivated my credit cards and hadn’t received new ones yet so Uber would not allow me to order a ride without a way to pay for said ride. In my drunk/hungover state I decide the only way to get home is to jog (thankfully it was only 3 or 4 miles, which still sucks when it’s 3:30 in the morning). I get home and the front door of my house is wide open with nobody awake.

It turns out upon arriving home Chuck had vomited and passed out and Chad had stayed up with the hot coworker and drunkenly forgotten to shut the door when she left… Thankfully, the girls were equally inebriated and didn’t judge us for being a complete disaster. We’re all good friends now and Chad soon thereafter dumped his girlfriend for the hot coworker (we’re not convinced things didn’t start happening that night, but nobody was in any shape to remember). So moral of the story, don’t take naps at bus stops.

I pretty much stopped reading when I read “mind erasers.” Not because that’s a bad thing, but because they’re legitimately my favorite drink on the face of the earth when you’re looking to just get bombed. I’ve heard several variations of it, but the variation I have grown accustomed to is as follows:

One part vodka (bottom), one part Kahlúa (middle), one part soda water (top). Pour them on ice in that order, do not stir. Take a short straw and suck the entire thing down from the bottom. Sounds awful, finishes clean.

Is Summer 2018 going to be The Summer of Mind Erasers? Hopefully.

So I JUST finished my undergrad and am not starting my “real person job” until the end of the summer. Instead, I’m going to make the most of everything there is to do in Wisconsin in the summertime like boating, hiking, and cabin hopping with my old friends. I do need to make some money to make up for it, though, and went back to my high school/ college job at a coffee shop. This wasn’t a problem when I was 19 and could wake up after a blackout and head to work while pounding coffee in the morning, but now I can’t even function after a night out.

My friend who lives about 30 minutes outside of my city had a summer kickoff party at her parents’ house while they were out of town (we used to do this when we were younger and needed to feel a sense of nostalgia after graduating college) and the entire basement of her dad’s house was packed.

Drinks were flowing, music was blaring, and old stories were being told among friends. I don’t know why, but whenever I am back with my old friends a drink excessively and sometimes black out. This was one of those nights. I blacked around 11:00 and my next memory was waking up in her guest bedroom at 4:30am to an alarm I had set in order to make it to my 5:30am shift at the coffee shop 30 minutes away. I look in the mirror, still heavily intoxicated. I notice that my front tooth is broken halfway off and I have sharpie marks all over my body. I start begging my sister to wake up and drive my drunk ass to work.

Get to work still drunk, the smell of brewing coffee sets something off and I had to sprint to the bathroom every few minutes to throw up. Someone came in to replace me around an hour later so I ubered home and slept all day. Don’t know if my ‘stomach flu’ excuse at work was believed and I don’t know if I’ll still be employed next week. Here’s to a good summer.

“I don’t know why, but whenever I am back with my old friends a drink excessively and sometimes black out.” Uh, I think I know why. It’s because that’s what you do when you get the crew back together. You toss on some Bob Seger, pour stiff cocktails, and drink until you can’t stand. Simply the best.

So this occurred last weekend, but I’m finally pressing send…I partially followed your advice, by not returning to my alma mater to drink last weekend. Instead, I went to visit my brother, a senior in college, who recently finished his honors thesis.

Arrived Friday afternoon, we didn’t get into much trouble besides meeting his crew and enjoying beer, wings and playoff hockey. The real shenanigans began Saturday morning. Woke up refreshed and ready to tackle what was supposed to be a gorgeous day of drinking and enjoy the fact spring has finally sprung. Problem was, it was foggy, drizzling and 49. After brief concerns whether the weather would clear, we cracked the first shandy around 10:00 am to will the sun out, which finally cleared early afternoon. The afternoon was spent with a lack of sunscreen, a lost count of beers, and cracked wiffleballs. It was decided food was necessary, and my desire to try and keep pace the rest of the evening. Following a very in depth conversation with the dining hall grillman about the best vacation spots in New England, we returned to my brother’s best friend’s apartment to being drinking their “special” margaritas. Their definition of special is four parts tequila per part local margarita mix and triple sec. Only issue was, the ice guy forgot his job, so the first two were consumed sans ice while he retrieved his responsibility.

Our night continued at a dance performance, where additional margaritas were hidden in recently consumed sparkling rose cans. As I began questioning how far into the night I would last (it was 7:45 pm at the time) I also learned I was seated directly next to the dean of students and his elementary-aged daughter.

Slowed consumption for the remainder of the performance to try and maintain face and extend my evening. After the concert, ended up back at the apartment to finish the remainder of the margaritas, before heading to a nearby casino to see someone’s friend perform in the best cover country band out of Boston (is that a thing?). At the apartment, I struck up conversation with a lovely senior I met earlier in the day.

We pile into an uber, only to realize halfway to the casino someone forgot their wallet, do a 180 and somehow still arrive before the band came on, though our collective concept of time was rapidly slipping away. Rounds of vodka sodas were ordered and dancing commenced with said lady.

As we danced close to the “stage” (a one foot elevated platform), she stepped on the stage, no band yet, and was promptly told to leave the establishment. Being the gentleman I am, I tried to drunkenly resolve the situation, and was kicked out as well. This left the two of us drunk in a casino, neither with any experience gambling. I made the bold decision to see what damage I could do with a $100 in blackjack. And we won! And lost, but then continued to win, with no experience and getting handsy at the tables, until we walked away up $250. Riding this high of success, a pizza was split and we made our way to her place for the remainder of the evening.

After establishing we enjoyed our time together, and some soberish fun Sunday morning, I returned to my brother’s apartment to find out he and everyone else had also been kicked out of the bar for also getting on the stage minutes after the band came on. Thinking it was a great weekend, and up in cash, we began the trek to the airport, with scaries present but dehydration worse. Suddenly, my brother received a text from our mother. Come to find out, he tried to play wingman the previous evening, by DMing the lady I was with my phone number, so she and I could connect beyond the night. However in his drunken state, he had sent her my mother’s phone number, not mine. Thankfully our mom is oblivious and thought it was a spam text she received, but it sent the scaries to an all time high while in the midst of trying to process the evening’s events and recover from (successfully?) attempting to keep up with 21 year-olds. After a turbulence-filled flight with an aborted landing that felt as if God was trying to make a point, I spent the afternoon on the couch with my cat and Coldplay to calm the scaries.

You know how I know you’re—

Actually, nevermind. Too low-hanging fruit and I actually don’t hate a select few Coldplay songs.

But just imagine if this girl you hit it off with had fired off an unsolicited nude or something. Just imagine. This is reason enough to be aggressive when it comes to getting a number before you part ways. Can’t leave it up to chance.

Ran the broad street run 10 miler today while training minimally… got hammered after to ease the pain. Just submitted a grad school paper still drunk and need to teach 10 year olds in north Philadelphia all day tomorrow. Also probably won’t be able to walk.

Just so many bad decisions in such a small submission.

You ever have one of those days when you’re so drunk that everything happening around you seems normal, but then you wake up sober and you reflect back on it and all you can think is “wtf???” That’s how my weekend went. Here we go.

Saturday was prime for day drinking being that it was Cinco and Derby Day, so naturally our only plan was to get wasted. My roomies and I headed out to a bar that always has a big event for Derby Day and of course there is a big line, so we wait. As we are standing there these dudes come up to us and are like “hey you’re with us at our table right?” Why yes, yes we are. They pluck us out of line and bring us into the bar and start pouring us drinks, and tell us “hey you are under no obligation to stay and hang out, we just have a ridiculous spending minimum that we have to hit so please, have as many drinks as you want” The dream. These guys ended up being cool so we did stay and were having a great time. But, as everyone knows, with unlimited drinks, comes unlimited potential for disaster. Here’s where the wheels start to come off.

I’m standing there chatting and happen to turn to say something to my friend, only to find her making out with one of the dudes who is MARRIED. So I’m like yoooooo and immediately start looking around the table but somehow NO ONE has noticed this is happening. This happened no less than three times before anyone finally realizes, and suddenly his buddy is TRIPPIN. He’s like “omg, what do I do. He’s my best friend I feel kinda responsible, I gotta stop him” My advice? “No, just get drunk. Get so fucking drunk. That way nobody can expect you to do anything” and then I forced him to chug a cup of vodka. Swell.

My friend then goes to the bathroom and as she’s gone, the aforementioned adulterer turns to me and and slurs “yer friend is soooooo hootttt” To which I replied “yes she is, you are also soooo married” This fact is lost on him and he simply says “she’s soooo hot. Yerrr also reallllly hot” This guy is fucked.

Meanwhile, one of the other guys is so beyond blacked out that he’s been using the table to hold himself up. We hear a commotion going on behind us and we look to see that he has three bouncers tossing him out of the bar like he’s Jazzy Jeff. He decides to fight the bouncers, so the Adulterer goes over to get involved. He really did have all the right intentions, but given how drunk he was, his execution was poor. He says “hey I’ll take care of him” but makes the mistake of grabbing the bouncers shoulder a little too aggressively, which prompts him to then grab him and slam his face down into the pavement. We’re in shock. The Adulterer rolls over and his face is all blood. He’s got a gash in his head the size of the Grand Canyon. People are yelling to call an ambulance. Security immediately takes him out of sight of the main entrance while someone else is frantically washing the blood off the pavement. The bouncer then goes back to checking IDs like nothing happened. He probably murders people in his spare time.

Within minutes we’ve got an ambulance pulling up, cop cars, fire truck, the whole nine yards. Jazzy Jeff is in cuffs and open mouth sobbing on the curb. The Adulterer is being carted away. My roomies and I are like “yeahhhh this is a good time to peace” and skedaddle. We proceed to hit up another few bars before coming home, and it is at this point that a coworker Snapchats me to tell me he wants to fuck me, complete with a dick pic. He has a gf of 5 years. Men are trash.

I mean, yeah, men are trash. Especially these bozos. Everyone knew Cinco de Mayo and Derby combining into one day would lead to disaster. At least you aren’t the coworker who fired off a photo of his hog. Can’t imagine the Sunday Scaries he had.

Great performance this week, everyone. As always, please send your worst weekend stories to will@grandex.co so everyone can share your pain. If we’re all Scared together, we’re less Scared individually. .

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Will

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

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