VOR.....LOL!!! Damn boy. Thats all I can say. Damn. When I was in college, I went over to some buddies house to kill off a little drink before we went to the club. I had like 2 beers and a couple of rum and cokes. My friend, though.....wow. After several drinks of whatever, he lined up about 5 shots of 151, lit them all on fire, and tossed them all back, one after the other. Actually, I don't remember exactly how much of that **** he drank....he's a big guy, about 6'3, 260lbs. We (there were 3 of us) stopped by the ATM on the way to the club, and then went on our merry way. When we got there, I saw some people I knew and stopped to talk for about 30 seconds, and then I looked around for my buddies, and they were nowhere to be found. After about 1/2 and hour, I ran into one of them (not the 151 guy, the other guy).....turns out we both had been looking for the 151 guy. We figured his drunk ass had run into his sister (who was supposed to meet us there) and left without us. We partied, and then left several hours later. We went back to the house, and NO ONE had any clue as to what happened to 151 guy. The next morning, we got a call from him. He was in JAIL!!! Turns out he was a LOT drunker than he was letting on. We stumbled into a different part of the club, leaned on a table, and promptly fell over and passed out. Security hauled his ass outside, where he passed out again and woke up only to puke everywhere. Police took him in for public intoxication. We got him out of jail, and we were pretty ruthless in our razzing. He looked bad. He never took another shot of 151 after that. ------------------ "I have no regrets except that I wasn't up to keep Randy from getting on that plane." --Ozzy Osbourne on guitarist Randy Rhodes
Here's another one. WARNING: it is loooooooong. The Scene: My Freshman year in college, Spring Break 1995, South Padre Island, Texas. Me and a couple of buddies decided to go to Padre. With no place to stay, we figured we'd just camp out in the bed of my buddy's pick up, on cots and in sleeping bags. One of the guys was staying in a hotel with his brother and some friends, so my other friend and I crashed in the bed of the truck. For those that don't know, hotels and condos in Padre are dicks (rightfully so, I think) when it comes to Spring Break. You have to have an arm band just to go upstairs. No way we could crash with our friends. The pick up was just fine, and it was our plan from the beginning. The Story: Our friend woke us up about 10am the morning after we got there, beers in hand. We got some grub, grabbed our beer, and headed to the beach. We had a couple of cases and 12-packs, and a few bags of ice. We picked a spot and started digging a hole in the sand for the ice and beer, when I hear the yankee-ist accent I've ever heard in my life say, "Youse wants to use our shovel?" Cool. So we start talking to these guys. They came all the way from New Jersey just to party for SB. Cool. So we use their shovel, dig our hole, and toss in our stuff. Then they want to know why we aren't drinking yet. "Its not cold yet" is our response. They're like "F*** that! Drink off our keg!" Hell yeah! To sum up this part, we never saw our beer again. Its probably still buried on the beach in Padre. We never saw our beer again, and we ALL got absolutely hammered for free. Anyway, I drank SO much that day. Keg stands, beer-bongs....all day long. So I'm drunk as hell, walking around and talking to everyone. I wasn't begging for sex, like our good buddy VOR . I was just really drunk and really friendly and having a really good time. The Aftermath: So around 5pm, I start heading back to my group. When I get there, one of my friends asks me what happened to my knee. I look down and find that I have somehow cut my knee (not badly) and it had bled down my leg. Apparently I had fallen down at some point, as my lower leg was a mix of blood and sand. "No Problem," I say, "I'll just wade out into the ocean and wash it off." So I get out about a foot deep when this itty-bitty wave hits me. That "itty-bitty wave" knocked me flat on my ass. Just so everyone knows, that water is still damn cold at that time of year! The next thing I know, I'm wet, I'm cold, I'm laying down somewhere, and its really effing windy. I wake up to find myself in the cot I had been sleeping in, and my friend is driving about 60 mph over that tall-as-hell bridge that separates the island from the mainland. Fortunately for me, I was too drunk to care. The next thing I know I'm sitting on a bench. My head is on a picnic table, and it smells like BBQ. I dared to lift my head up, and my bud is trying desparately to get me to eat. I found myself ravenous and I devoured about 3 BBQ sandwiches and immediately passed out again. I remember b****ing that there wasn't any cheese on those sandwiches, but oh well. I vaguely remember him saying something about a campsite he is looking for on the mainland with public showers ((Hey, we had to get cleaned up to go to Mexico, right?)). The Coolest People I Have Ever Met In My Life: The next thing I know, I'm waking up on the cot in the truck bed again. This time we were in some residential neighborhood (we could have been in Houston, for all I knew) and my bud is dragging me out of the truck and into some house. Odd thing is, I'm starting to sober up. My friend tells me he stopped at a convenient store to ask for directions to the mystery campsite. A guy in line behind him had seen me, heard my friends tale of showers, and took pity on us. So I get into the shower. I get out to the feeling of, well, nothing. I had gone from passed-out, not-knowing-a-damn-thing to stone-cold sober. I walk out into the living room of this house to find the guy who was so nice and this old woman. The guy is grinning ear to ear, and the woman is looking at me with the most amused expression I've ever seen in my life. She is also smoking this cigarette with the longest ash on it I've ever seen. She was waving that smoke around like a symphony conductor on crack, and I just kept waiting for it to fall, but it never did. At this point, the sand was out of the cut on my knee, and it was bleeding again. The cigarette-smoking woman continued to scrutinize me, all-the-while smoking on the never-ending cigarette with the mile-long ash. She finally looks me in the eye and goes, "You the drunk one?" "Yes, ma'am," was my reply. Then she says, "Well, lets go take care of that knee." She took me into the other bathroom and busts out with the rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and some gauze, and she proceeds to give me the best field-dressing I'd ever seen. These were officially the coolest people i've ever met in my life. They sent us on our merry way, we got some dinner, hooked up with some friends, and went to Matamoros, where we partied til about 5am. Yours truly was the designated driver that night. I was sober, and I stayed sober that night, to say the least. If you made it this far, then I'm proud of you. This is my favorite college-party story, and I've got a million of them. ------------------ "I have no regrets except that I wasn't up to keep Randy from getting on that plane." --Ozzy Osbourne on guitarist Randy Rhodes
My sophomore year in college, second semester, the first two days of class were cancelled because of weather. So, of course, we decided to drink the days and nights away. I had been drinking all day, then that night, we went back to the liquor store (too icy to cross the street to class, but not too icy to go to the liquor store) and I grabbed a bottle of Jeigermeister. So, we get back to the dorm, pop in Kingpin, and I decide to take a shot at each funny line. Kingpin is one of my favorite movies, so needless to say, I was nearly done with the bottle about halfway through. All I remember is waking up in a friend's room around 4 a.m., sitting on the ground, back to his couch, feet propped up on his desk. The best thing? No hangover, none whatsoever. I know that doesn't belong here, but it's my favorite drinking story, just because of the no hangover! I guess my worst would have to be the time I was puking in the bathroom...of Katy Church of Christ. I'm going to hell. ------------------ www.swirve.com I think my w**** is dead.
Oh, man, RM95, I was a senior (if I'm thinking of the right time) when they cancelled classes. Jesus I figured we'd at least burn the house down... My story takes place in the summer of 1992, when I was 17 years old. Back then, me and my friends thought it was funny to drink the cheapest, ****tiest stuff we could get our hands on. So we drove down to the Fish Market, which I believe was off of Parker (may have been Jensen), and bought: * Two bottles of grape Mad Dog. * An untold number of Olde English 40s. Too many to carry on one trip out to the car. * A case of The Beast. Additionally, one of my friends raided his parents' liquor cabinet and stole all of the stuff he figured they would not miss-- mostly minibottles of flavored liquer. This is already gross. You can walk down the greenbelts to different parts of Kingwood, and we walked down one to this little lake that borders the Kingwood Country Club. We started drinking at about nine PM, I think, always keeping an eye out for narc types (grownups in Kingwood, we were convinced, were out to keep teenagers from ever having fun). By midnight, I had finished off two bottles of Mad Dog and had moved on to alternating sips of malt liquor with sips from the various minibottles. You're never supposed to mix drinks if you're getting drunk, but you sure as hell should not mix drinks when each of them could kill grass. Frivolity ensued. One of my friends fell into a creek and passed out. Dragging him out of the creek took so much energy that I decided to fall down in the grass and rest. And rest. And rest. And vomit. And rest. And finally wake up to see the dawn's early light poking through the trees. I was, however, in such a state that I didn't recognize this for what it was. My only thought was, "My friends ditched me!" (Apparently, they had tried in vain to wake me and, figuring I was dead, left me there). So, I struggled to my feet and began to walk home. I glanced at the hands on my watch and though, "Hey, 12:30, no problem. My parents won't have noticed I'm gone!" It was when the two joggers passed me that I began to rethink the situation. I glanced back up at the sky and noticed it was AWFULLY light out for 12:30. I looked at my watch more carefully and noticed that, drunk as I was, I'd mistaken the minute hand for the hour hand. It was 6 AM. Panic does not begin to describe the feeling that overtook me. I broke into a world class sprint, flying down the greenbelt as fast as I could. I finally arrived home at about 6:45 and immediately noticed my dad's car was not in the driveway. Now, it was Thursday, so naturally, Dad had gone to work as he always did. I, however, was immediately sure that he was out driving around Kingwood looking for me. There was only one thing to do. I jumped up onto the privacy fence next to the garage and somehow pushed my way up on top of it-- a feat I know I could never duplicate in a million years. I climbed onto the roof, crawled to my bedroom window, and snuck in. I woke up around 2 PM feeling as though I'd swallowed a napalm bomb. It was horrible. I was covered in about 6,000 mosquito bites (that's what happens when you're wearing shorts and a t-shirt and you pass out in a field in Houston in summertime) and puking madly. It took my three full days to recover-- I mean, literally, I couldn't eat or move for days on end. And after that, I never drank again, except for about a dozen more times that summer and for the entire five years I spent at UT, plus the three years after I left school. ------------------ BK: "Hey coach, great season. Thanks!" Rudy: "Thanks guys, appreciate the support." This really happened.
