Drug-Induced Panic Attacks, Alma Mater Trips, And An Unexpected Baby: The Worst Stories From This Weekend

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Before we get into this weekend’s worst stories, just know that we’re doing a massive sale over at Man Outfitters. I’m talking 20 percent off, which is about as big of a discount as you can get without 1. it being Black Friday or Cyber Monday 2. you hacking the site and generating your own promo code.

Brands like Patagonia, Katin, RVCA, Sperry, RG, and Southern Marsh are all on sale if you use code SPRING20 at checkout.

Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get into some worst weekend stories for the ages. As always, these are original and unedited stories from our readers, all of which will remain anonymous.

Let’s begin with a story from weekend’s past, Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

I am a long time reader, which has motivated me to tell you the story of my near demise at New Orleans Mardi Gras two months ago.

So my buddies and I decided to go on a guys’ trip to New Orleans to let loose and to really test our might at how well our bodies can intake enough drugs and alcohol to put a horse in a coma. The weekend was going great. I tried Tinder for the first time and got a good amount of matches with girls who were also there for this glorious weekend. But for some reason I was not able to close. It was either not being able to meet up at the shit show known as Bourbon Street, or I was completely blacked out and never answered messages.

So Fat Tuesday comes along and this is when it goes downhill. After inhaling pedialyte, to help replenish as much fluids as possible that were thrown up at the end of every night, my buddy (let’s name him Lamar) brought enough blow and ecstasy to last twelve mardi gras. So of course I wake up, throw up real quick, go to waffle house to fill back up, do a couple dozen lines throughout the day, drink about six hand grenades, and then hit up clubs in order for me to take ecstasy and enjoy my roll like a 19 year old girl at EDC. I did not comprehend that the coke was still in my system when I took the ecstasy, and it put me into orbit. I was a fucking animal, and I slowly was realizing that I was losing control of my body. My heart was racing 140 beats per minute, but I couldn’t call it a night on fat tuesday, obviously.

I had a boost in confidence that made me fearless. I approached this girl who was a solid 8.4 and we immediately hit it off. We started dancing. which progressed to making out. which progressed to her and I exchanging numbers to meet up later that night.

I was so obliterated from the coke and ecstasy, I knew for a fact I wasn’t going to get a boner (from previous experiences), so I went to a corner store and got over the counter dick pills. I took them and went to her place to put them to use. thirty minutes into us having sex, my chest felt like it was going to explode. I am on three uppers and I am starting to see the light. But God was on my side that night. I finished like a champ. I am grateful for that weekend and I am grateful I didn’t have a heart attack from drugs and dick pills.

Okay, maybe we shouldn’t have started with that story. Lessons to those at home: if you’re going to to drugs, at least do them like an adult. Unlike this dude, who did them like he’s a modern day Jordan Belfort.

I lost my Napple Time hat. Whole new level of scaries my friend.

At least we’re having a sale over at Man Outfitters that’ll help you get your hat game back into the “strong to very strong” category.

I hope this makes it to the poddy, big fan. So, this most recent weekend was the all time worst and resulted in my worst case of the scariest yet. Let’s start at the beginning of the night.

My group of friends and I were going to head out to a party later this evening so we hit up a couple of girls and suggested we pregame at our place. The girls we told to pregame with us WERE, soon to not be, our usual group of females we drink with and there is one girl in particular that isn’t the greatest at handling her liquor. This girl had one of her friends visiting from another school and it was fast realized that they were very similar in the way the handle alcohol.

So fast forward we all sitting in the living area drinking, when it gets time to head out to the party we notice the two girls previously mentioned are way too drunk to even leave our place, so naturally we said fuck that we aren’t babysitting tonight and leave them to sleep on the couch. So me and my buddies head out with the other girls in that group. Party was great but now everyone goes there separate ways and me and my roommate head back to our place. We open the door and look to the couch and notice that there is not two girls as we left, but just one, and the one that is missing is the one from another school, so we were afraid this girl was lost or something. So we look around the rooms and cannot find her, we decide to sit down in the living area and call their friends to see if they know where she is, because we are decent humans.

Eventually we are told she most likely went to go hook up with a guy that they all told her not to, so we deem that she is not our problem anymore. Literally right as we get off the phone the other girl gets up off the couch, clearly absolutely hammered, and walks to the bathroom. Immediately, my roommate and I look to the couch, and what do you know there are giant stains all over the couch and simultaneously we look at each and say “what the fuck” quietly so she cannot hear. So, while me and him are panicking, she comes back and sits down on the couch. Right when she sits down she notices the couch is absolutely drenched, and asks “Wait, Why is it wet?” Multiple times. My roommate and I are so shook that we cannot even speak.

Eventually she falls back asleep because she was hammered, we immediately call her friend to come pick her up. After her friend picks her up we fall asleep pissed, Ironic huh? It’s now Sunday morning and the scaries start to hit, how are we gonna clean this, the whole room smells like piss, this furniture is provided we can’t replace it, WHAT THE FUCK! So, after searching for a quite a while on google I found a solution. I headed over to petsmart, yes petsmart, and rented an animal urine cleaner machine. It cost me $100 to rent this thing and buy fluid for it. So, we bring it back and get to work on the couch. Long story short I think it worked, but to this day the couch is referred to as “The Piss Couch” and nobody that knows what happened to it will sit on it. Also needless to say we do not hang out with these people anymore.

Oh and you best believe I sent and received her that FAT venmo charge for this.

Everyone, at some point or another, lives somewhere that has a piece of furniture labeled “The Piss [Insert Piece of Furniture].” That’s just how it goes when you’re young and letting it rip every weekend. Thankfully, I never went through a pee stage so I was never the culprit.

But with all that being said, really revolutionary stuff thinking of Petsmart as a means to get a pee cleaning machine. Innovative and inspiring stuff.

This story is actually several months old, but I couldn’t face the reality of it until now.

I was in my hometown for a certain holiday weekend, and went out on a certain night that is known for scaries-inducing shenanigans. I got approached by a cute guy (let’s call him Brad because I don’t remember his name), he bought me a drink, and our group of girls and guys merged for the evening. We go to several bars as the night goes on, and I remember thinking that Brad wasn’t being as touchy as most guys at the bar, but I didn’t really want to hook up with him, so I was fine with it.

Fast forward to closing time and all of my girlfriends are heading home. I live a different direction, so I decide to take my own Uber. As we’re forced outside by the bouncers into the wicked cold, I open the app and see that my small town + the holiday weekend + closing time = $106 to get home.

I’m nowhere near faded enough to pull a fuck it and confirm, so when Brad invited me to his place, I figured I could just pretend to be too tired and Uber home in the morning. We climb into his friend’s truck, where the four guys immediately start railing lines of blow. My anxiety kicks into high gear, as I’m of sound enough mind to know that doing blow in a flashy truck in the parking lot of a bar after closing is a BAD IDEA. Also, I have a job that, suffice to say, I definitely can’t be caught associated with that stuff. I’m ready to bail immediately, but 1) it’s cold as fuck outside and 2) the next $106 Uber won’t arrive for 20 minutes.

Then the vibe in the car starts to get weird. I’m at the point of drunk where I know something is happening, but the guys are speaking in code and three vodka waters past the ability to pick up on any sort of nuance. They all step out of the truck for a minute, at which point my solitude in the truck with a bag of cocaine on the center console leads to a full blown panic attack. I’m pretty convinced that I’m either getting arrested or murdered at some point.

But alas, our hero Brad summons me out of the truck and delivers some fantastic news. “Listen,” he says, “I met the girl of my dreams last week and I just feel like I can’t do anything to screw it up with her.” In my mind, I breathe a huge sigh of relief because, like I said, ya girl is not trying to hook up. I let him know that’s totally fine and he offers to let me crash their place anyway due to the Uber surge.

I should’ve known better than to feel like the night had been saved, as on the ride over, Brad finally starts getting handsy, which I mostly ignore. Halfway through the drive home, the driver asks Brad if he has a key, which he confirms that he does. I thought the question was a little odd, but blew it off. As we approached the gate to the apartment complex, the driver asks Brad for the code.

“Uhh…hold on,” Brad answers.

He pulls out his phone, and that’s when I inadvertently see that he’s texting a contact named “Babe *heart emoji* *kissey face*. A quick scan of their texts reveals that unless they went 0-100, he didn’t just meet this girl. More importantly, we’re headed the HER FUCKING APARTMENT.

We park and as I get out, I question Brad. He admits that the girl is his girlfriend, but that she’s not in town and it’s totally fine, he’s not even trying to hook up. I realize that going back to a girl’s house with her boyfriend is at best a trash move and at worst a way to end up on the six o’ clock news. I pull out my phone and by the grace of God, we’ve driven out of the Uber surge area and halfway to my parent’s house. My savior quickly arrives in a Kia Sorento, all the while Brad urging me to stay. He finally gave up when my Uber arrived, but not before basically pinning me to the car and giving me what was strangely the most erotic kiss of my life.

Also, the very next night I hooked up with my best guy friend and ruined our friendship. Whatever.

Man, you guys need to stop doing so many drugs in situations where you shouldn’t be doing drugs. I know I’m old as hell, but come on.

That being said, glad you didn’t hook up with “Brad.” Though maybe hooking up with a douchebag would’ve been smarter than hooking up with your (former) best guy friend.

The wife and I were out of town sans kid for the first time since becoming parents last fall. Met up with friends for lunch and drinks prior to getting dressed for the wedding we attended last night. This turned into 12 straight hours of drinking during which time the wife had zero (0) glasses of water. Fast forward to this morning and she threw up several times in the hotel bathroom and then again on the side of the road as we were pulling out of town. Good news is WE STILL GOT IT!!

STILL GOT IT.

Major ups to all the parents out there getting faded. Check out The Dadgum Podcast on Grandex Labs if you’re a parent who still isn’t sure whether or not they’re responsible enough to be a parent.

First off let me start by saying that I’ve been reading this column for months and never thought I’d ever have a story worth sharing until this weekend.

Friday I took off from work cause I had a floating holiday I needed to burn. Some of my friends from undergrad hit me up earlier in the week and convinced me to come down for the weekend to my alma mater (big mistake I know) I immediately started drinking as soon as I got into town and realized that undergrad me was kicking postgrad me’s ass. My group then decides to go to a popular bar in town where I run into my ex (lot’s of bad blood there) and her new boyfriend. I say something stupid to her which causes new homeboy to try and fight me so I then throw him into a large mirror shattering it. They leave and I settle up with the manager by paying her $200 to cover for damages and for her not to call the cops. I then go out drinking some more with the bros and I run into a girl I had a brief fling with before I graduated and end up going back with her.

Woke up the next morning with a massive hangover go get breakfast and go to a day drink I got invited to out by the lake in town. Ran into an old fwb who I hadn’t seen since sophomore year and convinced me to come hang out with her later that night. I then proceeded to black out and immediately sobered up when I fell into the cold ass lake off the dock. Ended up calling an Uber and went over to old fwb’s house on the other side of town and ended up waking up in her bed but ass naked and lost my wallet and shirt that night.

Just drove 4 hours back home without a license and shirt with another massive hangover and got a text from the girl from Friday night telling me not to forget to schedule the day off to go to the wedding with her and I’m trying to figure out how I’m gonna explain to my boss on Monday how we’re not gonna meet a corporate deadline. Sunday scaries are real.

Wow, king, do I really need to say it? Okay, I’ll say it: stop going back to your alma mater.

Nothing like sobering up upon hitting the water. I’ve been there and it’s not fun. The only difference was that I fell in with my phone in my pocket and it took me about six weeks to replace it because I thought I could just live my life as the-dude-without-a-cell-phone.

I write to you on Sunday at 5pm as a shell of a human being.

Friday started out with high morale as it was 80 degrees in the city and my company was sponsoring a rooftop happy hour. One drink turned into ten very fast but I escaped the night relatively unscathed, save a few questionable remarks I made to my secretary.

Saturday I woke up at 6:30am with an atrocious hangover so I could make an early morning tee time with my pops in the suburbs. Could’ve gone much worse as I shot decently, and made it through the round without my dad figuring out I felt like death from my poor decisions. Laid low the rest of the day to recover before a friend’s bday celebration in my hometown.

Around dinner time, I got a second wind and drank a few IPAs to pregame. My friends and I head to our hometown bar where we learn they had a special on rum buckets. Since I thought I was a heavyweight, I take full advantage and down 3 of them in an hour. You guessed it, that was NOT the move. The night gets very hazy from there. I remember falling off the couch, puking in the bathroom, but then the next thing I know, I’m waking up on my parents couch at 9am with no recollection how I got there. No keys or wallet either, but went into full panic mode mostly because I could only imagine what an ass I made of myself coming home.

Family brunch was full of tension. Didn’t say a word and let my siblings talk, but could feel my parents disapproving stares throughout. Still didn’t have the courage to ask if anyone saw me come in the night before, but the meal ended with my mom telling me “make sure you clean up the bathroom you ruined”. Yup, puke all over the floor and shower. Don’t think I want to know any more details of my night.

If this L wasn’t enough, I had to play a soccer game on Sunday or my team would have to forfeit. The devil left me no less than 3 times in the woods behind our bench. Checked my phone after the game and my boss is calling me in for a work emergency.

Thoughts and prayers appreciated. I’m supposed to go back to my alma mater for their spring football game next week, but think I’ll go ahead and cancel that now.

Please please please please please cancel your trip to your alma mater next weekend. I’d lecture you about “pregaming with IPAs,” but your trip next weekend is at the forefront of my mind. If you thought booting during a soccer game was bad, just imagine how you’ll feel in the car on the way back from trying to party with a bunch of people five years younger than you at a place where you used to be able to drink without consequence. Just don’t do it.

After spending too much time debating goat vs raccoon yoga last weekend with a fellow PGPer, I decided to check out goat yoga. Apparently you are not allowed to take the baby goats home with you, and my heart was broken when i was forced to hand over buttercup. Setting a google alert for raccoon yoga so I can report back which of the two is more fun.

Taking a goat home with you sounds like the worst idea ever.

My coworker’s dog died last week so he decided to take the following day off of work. But later that day, he got a call from his wife that she was in a lot of pain and needed to go to the hospital, so when he got home, he took his wife there. Turns out she was in labor. She gave birth to a healthy, full-term baby, and they had absolutely no idea she was pregnant. The awesome part is they were told they were infertile in the past, so it’s definitely a miracle baby. But still. No showering of gifts. No heads up to her employer about leave. No nursery in their house. No additional money saved. Instead of 9 months to mentally prepare, they had 30 minutes. I’m stressed out for them. Cue the scaries.

Oh. my. God.

I mean, yeah, congrats and all to the happy couple for starting a family, but come on. Nothing scarier than going into the weekend without a kid and then leaving the weekend with a newborn.

I went to the beach with my in laws.

Father-in-law at least buy you a couple Mount Gay-sodas?

Attempted to define the relationship with the guy I’ve been seeing/ sleeping with for about a year. He’s almost 28 years old, we hang out multiple days a week, go out to dinner/ brunch etc. and talk on a daily basis. Side note we have also been friends 2 years prior to this. He’s very shy and quiet so I I obviously let this non labeled relationship continue longer than I should have, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt that he was nervous. Last week he asked to sleep over two nights in a row bc he was moving and his room wasn’t set up yet (boyfriend privileges) so I finally had the guts to ask him. Thinking if I’m his go to person for something like that it’s time to speak up. Saturday morning I attempted to have the talk when he told me he felt attacked and couldn’t handle this and left my apartment. He has not reached out since. Scaries are at all time high but on a positive note I turn 26 in two weeks and can now ring in my mid (late?) twenties with a clean slate.

“I feel so attacked right now,” said this dude who you’ve been casually hooking up with for a while. If he didn’t see this coming, he was lying to himself. Sure, you have Scaries, but he’s probably got them just as bad because now he’s without his friend with benefits.

I get married this Saturday. The seating chart is in shambles and my mother in law wants to change the booze order because it doesn’t have her favorite wine. My fiancée just pointed out the planner picked pewter over mahogany chairs and “pewter doesn’t fit the rustic design.” Thoughts and prayers needed, this is my life for the next week.

And in a column that started with a dude doing coke and molly, we end with the Scariest Scaries of them all: growing up. See you guys next week. .

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Will

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

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