======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
I can fully say that this week’s crop of stories may be some of the wildest I’ve ever read. I’m sitting at my desk in awe of the work that you people put in this weekend.
Alright, let’s get into this weekend’s crop of stories which can be found unedited in blockquotes below.
My best friend from college just got engaged. Typical. We decide to roll on down to my Alma Mater to celebrate. Typical. His whole family is from my college town, so basically was a huge double whammy, seeing as though I will be visiting his single mom who is a huge milf and I’ve had a crush on her since I was a freshman, and his brother. Friday night rolls around and we decide to get drunk at his house with his mom, brother and fiancé. Him, his brother and his fiancé end up going to this bar that they like, but his mom and I were very content at the buzz we had already acquired, so we stayed at the house. We end up watching Seinfeld on DVD at his house, and she is flirting hard with me, and obviously I’m accepting it. We start making out on the couch, and I start to eat her out. Right after this, she says she wants to fuck and we go up to her room and drink more and fool around as foreplay. Im pretty close to blackout at this point, but I know I want to remember this (so I thought). I have probably been fucking her for about a minute when my best friend walks into the house. I scramble to the guest room and hop into the shower. He calls up to me he was just asking if I wanted to come and smoke in the backyard and throw bottles at a brick wall, a common occurrence when we were undergrads. I respectfully declined, and thought that was the end of that. But minutes later, his mom came into my shower and we fucked again. Kill me. I thought it was a one time thing, but it is two days after and she wants me to come down next weekend to “hang out” with her. Fuck.
Wait, what did I… what did I just read? Like, what?
You’re like Shitbreak from American Pie and I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a knock on you. Having sex with your friend’s mom while your friend is within shouting distance is downright disrespectful but, like, I think I kind of get it? I mean, your friend should punch you in the face. I think you recognize that. But at the same time, every one of your other friends should high five you? I don’t know. I’m legitimately stirred.
I was out on the lake one Saturday and ran into this family I knew through Boy Scouts. Wound up catching a buzz with them and they suggested that I come to their Oktoberfest that they host each year. Seeing as how I had nothing apart from some homework due at midnight, I figured I would go by for a drink or two and a free meal. So I go in and come across all of the older guys who had to deal with my dumb ass as a kid. He pours me this really good German yeast beer and I start catching up with everyone.
Fast-forward four beers and one bratwurst later, and I’m buzzing hard at a table of about forty people, all of which have at least twenty years on me. Then the guy hosting it that I met on the lake asked me if I was okay with doing the “first-timer ritual.” Naturally, without knowing at all what he was referring to, I agreed.
Next thing I know, I’m in front of this group of forty middle-aged people, with this guy next to me telling some story about how he gained membership to some German bar in Berlin in the ’80s. Then, once Jason Bourne is done telling his to everyone, he starts pouring me drinks and tells me I’m going to recreate this challenge in front of all these people. Basically it involves a double shot of everclear and a liter of a really dark German beer, which didn’t phase me, I was planning on leaning on my fraternal experience. However, I learned that in between those drinks that I would be snorting tobacco. I was not pleased with this, but decided that at that point I was committed, and had to push through. So I did it. The shot was disgusting, the snorting was quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, and a good bit of the beer ended up on my shirt, but I completed the “ritual.” All of these old people went wild cheering, and I decided to celebrate by ripping shots of Jager with all of these former boy scout people.
What followed was the quickest instant blackout I’ve ever experienced. I woke up at home, on the floor, with my laptop broken in front of me. I guess managerial accounting was too much for me to handle, as I’d gotten a 26% on the assignment and broken my laptop. I spent the next three days trying to settle my stomach and blowing strands of tobacco out of my nose. old people can still be fucking wild..
Once the word “snort” gets involved, I’m pretty much out. Whoever came up with this first-timer ritual is an absolute psychopath. If someone could please comment and explain the best way to snort tobacco, that would be awesome. I think inquiring minds want to know.
Like many others I’ve been a long time reader but first time story sender. It should be known that I generally I don’t get the scaries too badly due to a lack of shame and what some might consider a distorted perception of accomplishment.
This past weekend I went to DC to visit some old high school friends and my sister. I started off the weekend by drinking an old fashioned at 9:00 am in an airport bar because social stigmas about drinking have no place in airports and because I believe bloody Mary’s are trash and have no right to the pre noon cocktail monopoly they hold. I wind up in DC at around noon with a slight buzz going and meet up with the rest of the crew (who were all flying in from other parts of the country for some bars at a beer garden in Arlington. We have a great time catching up, reliving old stories, and generally giving each other shit. We continue this revelry into the evening and wind up on U street for some bar hopping which surprisingly went well.
Saturday starts with brunch, where I stuck to my anti bloody mary position and ordered a couple of maple bacon old fashioned’s and some fruity concoction called a tiki bomb which was served in a pineapple. It was at this point that I realized I was still drunk from the night before and that these drinks were acting as some sort of catalyst to getting blitzed again.
We decide to do some monuments to sober up and end up collectively scaring at least one middle school field trip worth of 12 year olds and many many families with our antics. At the end of our little tour my sister meets up with us and we decide to grab dinner which again was accompanied by too many drinks and then we head back out to a margarita/ tequila bar. Sober me DOES NOT LIKE tequila, but drunk me loves the stuff (in other news, water is wet.) My buddy who was hosting decides it’s a good idea to invite out some girls he knows, which somewhere way back in my mind I knew was a bad idea due to the fact my sister was there and ditching her to hook up with a rando wouldn’t/ shouldn’t be the move. But drunker heads prevailed and I highly encouraged the addition to our group.
It turns out I end up hooking up with one of the new additions to our group, a 25 year old divorcee in the middle of the bar and the only reason I know this is the multitude of snapchats I received about it the next morning. I end up going back to the house of this girl who lives on the opposite side of DC and in my groggy state she decides what we need is a cold shower to liven things up. At this point I should have just said no and crashed on her couch but again drunker heads prevailed. We take the shower which did its job and shocked me into a very loose version of sobriety, and get to fooling around. All in all I think things are going pretty well. Once we get to her actual bed, she decides to mount my face before proceeding to hate fuck me while choking me for a solid 30-40 minutes all while yelling out her ex-husbands name. I was terrified but incredibly turned on. When I woke up I snuck out of there and took an uber back to my buddy’s place where a very unhappy sister was waiting to reprimand me.
I learned a lot about myself this weekend and in my airport reflections but probably the most concerning/ enlightening thing is that I am kind of into the freaky shit. Also I’m not entirely unconvinced that this girl won’t be coming to Boston to murder me.
Damn, you people are absolute freaks this week. And I don’t mean that in the outcast way, I mean that in the way Petey Pablo uses it in his popular song “Freek-A-Leek” off of his critically-acclaimed album, “Still Writing in My Diary: 2nd Entry.”
Be careful getting choked out, though. I don’t have experience, but choking kills. Remember that.
The following are not my personal Scaries but Scaries nonetheless. Friends I knew from college decided to have a Saturday cookout for folks we all know from work/the gym and were expecting a fairly low key affair so they got enough alcohol for maybe 30 odd people. Turns out most of those people brought their own booze and as a result nearly everyone was 50 shades of “you’re about a half shot away from hospitalization” drunk. My friends quickly transitioned from hosting a cookout to trying to prevent a mass casualty event but In the midst of this chaos, three other friends/former coworkers (each of whom is either in a committed relationship or married) decided it was the perfect time to go tits out for the boys in front of a crowd that included their coworkers and the majority of people who train at their gym. While it would be a stretch to say these women were all of us in 2017, I can say with confidence what was next for those women in 2017 was a whole lot of awkwardness at work on Monday.
It’s pretty hard to lie to your coworkers about what you did over the weekend when your coworkers were there to see it. That’s tough but let’s hope no one confronted this head on come Monday morning.
Big fan of your Worse Weekend Than You series, reading them every week always helps me feel like I’m a little less of a degenerate than I really am. Yet, here I am writing to your about the experience that led me to being aggressively hit on by 2 guys (I’m a straight male), losing $2100 in 2 nights and nursing the worst hangover I’ve had since freshman year. Here goes.
Graduated in the spring and immediately moved across the country to pursue my MBA in California. I know nobody out here and school has been keeping me busy, so I’ve only drank a handful of times since commencement. Decided to visit some friends in Montreal this weekend as an escape. As soon as I arrived I copped a handle of Cuervo and 3 12 packs of Coors Light. Kept it relatively tame on Friday with a local bar and some brews in anticipation of an insane night on Saturday. An insane night it was: woke up at 9 AM and started off with bottomless mimosas and light beers at brunch. Proceeded to a pool party on the roof of my friend’s apartment building and blacked out by 2 PM. Came back to around 6 PM, ordered a pizza and kept going with some beers and a few shots of Cuervo. Went to a pretty fun bar downtown where I met a girl that was totally out of my league (7.5-8) I’m a 5.5 on a good day. Started talking to her and some of her friends who bought me a few rounds of red bull vodkas then invited to a club. Turned on find my friends and got in an uber with my new friends. When we arrived I got a table with bottle service (I was at that level of drunk, spending money I definitely don’t have).
A few bottles of belvedere later and one of the girl’s guy friends starts flirting with me and proceeds to put his hand on my thigh. I immediately slap it away in disgust and get up to go to the bathroom where I notice several gay couples hooking up; I finally realized I was in a gay club. On my way back to the table another guy grabs me and offers to buy me a drink to which I politely declined and ducked back into the crowd. I found that the girl I went there with was gone and a group of guys I had never met were drinking the liquor I paid for. I told all of them to fuck off and decided to drink the rest of the vodka since I already paid for it.
Woke up in some random hotel at 7 AM butt naked with a hangover all the bacon in the world couldn’t cure. Put on my clothes and called an uber to my friend’s place to collect my stuff and try to make my 9:15 flight. Made it as they were closing the gate and booted 3 times on board. Checked my credit card statement about an hour ago and turns out my tab at the club was $1400 and the hotel I stayed at was a 5 star Marriott at $400 a night. Still hungover contemplating calling my wealthy dad to beg him to pay my bill for the month so my great credit doesn’t get trashed. Never going back to Canada.
1. I’ve always been hesitant to go to a gay club because I think I’d get really down on myself if no one hit on me. That being said, I’m straight so I don’t really want-want anyone to hit on me.
2. Canada is awesome.
3. Nice humble-brag about your wealthy dad. Must be nice.
It’s 5:24 am and I am coming to you live from a hotel room bathroom. Many drunken shenanigans occurred over the weekend leading to this cumulative hangover but the last 8 hours take the cake so I’ll skip to that. After a full day(s) of drinking me and one other friend were the only two still able to go out. Every single bar line was down the corner so naturally being the broke college student that I am, I pay $60 for both of us to get into one without waiting. Once we got in though, this investment paid for itself because dads were out and they loved us. Shots on shots on shots. At some point I start talking to a dude. The guy mentions he would like to take me home but is on a guys weekend trip in an RV so he doesn’t have his own room. I lost my apartment key Thursday so I explained I couldn’t bring him back to my house. The man said it’s fine and took me to a hotel to bang. Turns out whatever is in “dirty sprite” (served in double styrofoam cups) shouldn’t be ingested by humans because I have spent the last SEVERAL hours naked and puking in this hotel room bathroom. Someone tell me there is at least one youth in Asia left bc I’m ready. Really excited to be the joke of this dudes friend group for the next 10 years.
Honest question: would you rather be hungover in your own bed or in a hotel bed? A lot of hotel beds are nice and you can kind of just loaf around the hotel room like a piece of shit knowing that you don’t have to clean up after yourself. But at the same time, you don’t necessarily have Apple TV and/or whatever else people use to binge television. I don’t know. I think hotels may be low key solid for hangovers, especially if they have bomb room service.
I did it. I went back to my alma mater. After getting sufficiently drunk off the open bar in the suite where we were watching the game I made the mistake of going out and trying to party like I was still in college. After last call I went home with a 22 year old college senior to the most stereotypically disgusting college boy house I’ve ever seen. We did a bunch of blow and had sex until sunrise and I narrowly dodged his roommates seeing me naked in the hallway. I managed to sneak out this morning and Uber back to my parents’ house where I’m staying for the weekend only to find my mom in the kitchen waiting for me. I had hickeys on my neck, last night’s makeup, and awful sex hair. She told me she doesn’t care what I did last night but I need to clean myself up and lie to my dad so he doesn’t think his daughter is a complete trainwreck. The only good decision I made is taking tomorrow off work so I can fly back to DC and recover before I have to face the real world again.
Well this was a whirlwind of a story. I’m both confused and surprised by the fact that you stayed at your parents’ house while at your alma mater, and I’m even more confused as to why you would ever have a night that aggressive when you know you have to face your mom in the morning. Luckily, it’s turtleneck season so you can cover those hickeys up.
I don’t even know where to start with this shit show of a long weekend away so I’ll start off with the first night.
Three of my friends from work and I decided to take a trip down to St Pete’s Florida, the first night I wasn’t feeling well so the rest of the crew went out. Turns out two of my friends did drunk karaoke and wobbled the entire night while the third friend got puked on in the bathroom and witnessed some lady snort a line of coke. None of this is as bad as what happened on the third night.
The second night we all went out and bar hopped in downtown St Pete’s. Everything went pretty smooth until we hit the last bar where one friend made out with two different guys and almost started a fight with another girl. My two other friends both made out with foreign dudes and I was in the clear, so I thought. I went to go to the bathroom and the 60 year old male bathroom attendant asked me out numerous times and tried following me into the stall. All four of us safely made it home that night.
The third night is where things got interesting. One of the friends knows a guy who lives in Tampa and he so kindly invited us to go out with him and a bunch of his buddies. We first arrived at the pregame and everything was great. We played flip cup, mingled, took some tequila shots and then proceeded to the bars. Fast forward to the last bar, I can’t tell you how many drinks and shots of tequila I’ve had at this point but things got hazy. One friend was practically having intercourse with one of said buddies in the middle of the bar, the second friend was dancing with another said buddy, and the third friend left to go home with the guy she knew. I drunkenly invited myself back to one of the buddies apartment. Me and two of my friends make it back to the guys apartment I invited myself to and he quickly became a douche bag and kicked both of my friends out. I didn’t want to join because there was a bed 10 ft away and I didn’t want to take a 40 minute uber back to the air bnb. I wake up the next morning to the douche practically kicking me out and me frantically trying to get ahold of my friend to come pick me up. We both arrive back at the air bnb and I was so excited to lay in bed and sleep the hangover off but I found out the girl I shared a bed with drunkenly pissed in it and was too hungover to wash the sheets. Also, said friend who pissed the bed, yeah she shit in our cooler that night too. I repeat, she took a shit in a foam cooler we bought for a dollar. Mind you, our air bnb was tiny and the bathroom was never more than 15 ft away from you. Oh, and she lost her phone at the bar. And to top it off found a hickey on her neck (she’s the one who was having intercourse in the middle of the bar). Thought that was all the surprises for the third night out until later Sunday I found out that the guy I went home with was a porn star.
This weekend will give us enough scaries to last until the next trip, which is hopefully not any time soon.
Like, I know it’s cuffing season and all but you people are out here wildin’ and bumpin’ uglies left and right. You literally had sex with a porn star, Random Internet Girl. You somehow outshadowed a girl who pooped in a cooler.
That being said, to your friend who peed the bed and was too hungover to clean it up – you’re trash. I don’t care how hungover, drunk, dead, whatever you are – you need to clean up that bed. No excuses, just results.
2 margaritas were the only alcohol I consumed all weekend, so no bad decisions were made in that respect. But I did spend almost 4k on furniture for the house I’m closing on in 8 days. Both my bank account and morale are dwindling right now while the Scaries are rising. Could use some words of encouragement right now.
Somehow the least drunk stories are always the scariest.
I haven’t gotten out of bed in fear of the scaries. Had a few friends come visit so decided hit up the bars after a long day of drinking. Blacked out hard and woke up with no drivers license. Watching my alum lose in football while nursing a hangover didn’t help either. Decided to go for round two and brought my passport so I could get in the bars. Things started to go downhill for me so I took a tactical vomit to keep going. A few minutes later some chick barfed on my boots. Called it a night and called the uber for my friends where one of them throws up, this caused another friend to puke. That ride cost me $276 and a 1 star rating. I also lost my passport, I am not responsible with anything.
Losing your passport is 100x worse than losing your driver’s license. Hopefully the boots were L.L. Bean Duck Boots so you could just hose ’em off and keep going.
*Insert Tom Hanks excited to type GIF*
My ex-girlfriend of a year and I broke things off at the beginning of the summer. It wasn’t a bad break-up, but we stayed in touch which ended up causing more fights, and we pretty much stopped talking a month ago.
Cold weather, a fun Friday night, and a lack of motivation kept me in and sober Saturday night. I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie, and was awoken at 3:30 by my dog barking at someone pounding on my door. This scared the shit out of me, because not only do I live alone, but someone would have had to get over a gate in order to be knocking on my door. I grabbed a bat (it’s Chicago, after all) and looked through the peep hole to see my ex-girlfriend hammered drunk and sobbing.
I let her in and find out she has lost her keys and her phone, and her roommate is out of town. After a bit of calming down, I find out this is the second weekend in a row that she has lost her stuff (apparently last weekend her purse was stolen when she went out). She can’t remember friends last names on facebook and is a wreck, so I get her set up in my spare room, and as a last ditch effort, call her phone.
By the grace of God, the cab driver answers the phone and offers to bring it over. This girl who was sobbing and couldn’t speak a word an hour ago, finds out she’ll be getting her phone back, and promptly passes out. I stay up for another 30 minutes, pay the cab driver $40, and lay the phone next to her. I head back to bed, and when I got up this morning, she was gone. She texted me she was on a train back to her parents house in the burbs, presumably in the clothes she wore out the night before.
When should I hit her with that venmo request?
Man. Well, first and foremost, congratulations on winning the breakup. That’s always difficult. I’d wait until mid-week. It’s not enough money to ruin her day, but she definitely sounds like a bit of a wreck right now. You’ve already won the breakup so a death blow isn’t necessary.
My Saturday started with some work in a city about 2 hours away from mine, and as soon as I was done I drove to my buddy’s house in that city who had recently gotten engaged and asked me to be his best man. Prior to arriving at his house I had to stop and buy some champagne and IPAs so that I could get him completely obliterated to celebrate. Got to his house, the champagne flowed, the IPAs disappeared, and then we went to a nearby sports bar to watch college football.
Continued drinking and at some point switched to Captain & cokes that tasted like they were 70% Captain. I do not recall how many of these we consumed but I browned out a short time later and came to as my buddy & I were walking back to his house. We got back to his house and he had clearly consumed more than I had and I could tell he was #blacked. He went to bed and I drank a bunch of water and then went to sleep. I was so confident that I was going to wake up and have one of the best Sundays in recent history. I woke up to 8 missed calls and a voicemail from one of my other good friends at 8am.
Voicemail: Hey buddy, call me ASAP! Said friend had gone out in the city that I live in and he woke up in the hospital. Apparently he had been doing some dartying and stayed alive into the night when he got an invite to go out on the town that he apparently couldn’t resist. He remembered going to 2 bars and entering a third, but did not remember getting tossed for being too drunk, or passing out on the sidewalk in the cold fall night, or the cops attempting to wake him up, or the ambulance ride to the local hospital. He said his first memory was waking up in the hospital bed and continuing to tear his IV out after the nurse would put it back in. They eventually strapped him to the bed. When he finally settled down they said that they wouldn’t let him leave until someone came to get him, hence the missed calls on my phone. His parents are going to absolutely kill him when that ambulance ride and those medical bills show up as he is still under their insurance. The transferable scaries are killing me as I write this from my hotel in Traverse City (your neck of the woods). I believe/hope my buddy is going to be taking a break from the drinks.
Yeah, your buddy somehow just gave me second-hand anxiety.
Shouts to Traverse City, though. Nice area.
So this weekend I had a friend suggest we go to Atlantic City with a bunch of rich boys we knew who had crushes on us. Obviously we’re old AF now and still not married so I happily accepted. We had plans to attend a club where a popular dj we loved was playing. Naturally while getting ready we got bombed per usual. A new boy comes into the mix and I’m immediately in to him. We hit he club and I start hitting on him. Before long I’m making out with him at the bar, annoying the fuck out of his friend and ensuring I get no more invites. Before long we get so drunk me and my friend make it into VIP, and end up on stage with some guy who makes out with me conviently slipping me E. Naturally my body can’t handle all of this excitement and I proceed to take a nap in VIP. (This next part was explained to me the next morning) Security comes and brings a wheel chair and wheels me into the back where EMTs check me out and my friend continually tells me to get it together. I then look up and am like, “ sorry I lost my shoes and am so drunk! I need to go home” lucky me they let us leave and send us back in a cab to our hotel. All the boys come back frantically to check on me, at this point I’ve come to and am ready to rage. We go find another club to go to and stay out till 6am. I woke up the next day around noon with the boy I had originally made out with wrapped around me. Literally said out loud what the fuck. He’s still texting me after all that. Can’t wait for next weekend!
You know you’re hanging with the rich boys when you’re doing ecstacy in the club and getting wheelchaired out.
Be safe out there, everyone. No more hard drugs. We’re too old but just afraid to admit it. .