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Drunken stories thread
I'm over at my friends house drinking... my good buddy (completely and utterly wasted) just fell backwards out of my friends 2nd story window, landed in the bushes, got up and ran home, then IM'ed us asking to find his glasses and sandals that he lost on the way down. It's a good thing he did, because he woke me and my friend up from our druken sleep by pouring champagne on us, and in return he was going to get a big dick drawn on his head with a permanent marker once he was passed out.
That one will be spoken of for a long time to come... so share your own.
Ahhhh, I have sooooooooooooooooooo many drunken stories.. Here's one!
Back a few years ago, one of my girlfriends decided to have a huge party. This was nothing unusual, as usually, she was the party host for the group of us. Anyway, we all went, (we being about 50 fifteen year olds,) and as the story goes, we all got trashed.
Well this one girl, big girl in fact, decides to drink a whole 40 of golfcart to herself, and some other unknown drinks along the way. Needless to say, she was more trashed than anyone I have ever seen!
Well, her body couldn't handle that much alcohol, so she ran to the bathroom to puke her guts up, and locked the door behind her.
FINALLY we get the door open, and we see her passed out on the floor with puke beside her, and on the toilet seat. And... brown stuff on the walls, her face, the toilet, the floor, her hands and everywhere else that it could be wiped on.
We're all like "WHAT THE FUCK???" And with a little further investigation (smelling around), we realize that the poor girl had shit herself, got it on her hands, and in the process of trying to wipe it off, successfully got it on everything else too.
She was so humiliated that she transferred schools and never came to one of those parties again. It was sort of sad because the WHOLE entire highschool knew about the girl who drank herself shitless.
THE END...
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| Originally posted by Theresa Ahhhh, I have sooooooooooooooooooo many drunken stories.. Here's one! Back a few years ago, one of my girlfriends decided to have a huge party. This was nothing unusual, as usually, she was the party host for the group of us. Anyway, we all went, (we being about 50 fifteen year olds,) and as the story goes, we all got trashed. Well this one girl, big girl in fact, decides to drink a whole 40 of golfcart to herself, and some other unknown drinks along the way. Needless to say, she was more trashed than anyone I have ever seen! Well, her body couldn't handle that much alcohol, so she ran to the bathroom to puke her guts up, and locked the door behind her. FINALLY we get the door open, and we see her passed out on the floor with puke beside her, and on the toilet seat. And... brown stuff on the walls, her face, the toilet, the floor, her hands and everywhere else that it could be wiped on. We're all like "WHAT THE FUCK???" And with a little further investigation (smelling around), we realize that the poor girl had shit herself, got it on her hands, and in the process of trying to wipe it off, successfully got it on everything else too. She was so humiliated that she transferred schools and never came to one of those parties again. It was sort of sad because the WHOLE entire highschool knew about the girl who drank herself shitless. THE END... |
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| Originally posted by twisted420 AHAHAAHAHA poor girl!! oh god....i would have shit myself too.... laughing but seriously..i would have hated to be her  |
a friend of mine took a shit in a bathtub earlier this summer 
that was in between passing out multiple times in various positions around the bathroom with his pants off
man drunkeness can be fucking hilarious
Theresa, that story made my day though hehe
ahh...i may as well post one
well this isnt a very funny story but i dont drink much so:
me and my buddy have birthdays one week apart, so we decided to have a party for the both of us. me, him and 8 of our best of friends all chip in and buy mounds of alcohol which included: two bottles of alize, three mickies of vodka, two six packs of sleeman, we had a half a bottle of wine laying around the house so we took that. im sure there was more..but i do not remeber..im not even sure if that was accurate. lets just say it was a helluva lot.
so got our boose right, we get the perfect idea to chip in and rent a limo for a couple hours. the limo gets there, we load in our boose and friends. we just cruise around Downtown Vancouver, to these housing projects where one of us lived, where we stopped to get bud. we end up parking down at Stanley Park, which is a huge park downtown.
we just go to sit at the beach and drink. at this point ive drank enough that im really tipsy and having a bit of trouble walking...in that dumbass, giggly state. i go to take a piss, and little do i know, that im standing on the edge of a pretty steep, rock drop off. its about 3am so its pretty dark, plus where in a park, so i couldnt see very well. as im undoin my zipper, i slip and fall about 6 ft into this huge fucking puddle of muddy sand. i was compeltly fucked at this point. i started swearing and yelling, and just goin nuts.
the fucking limo driver wouldnt let me back in unless i cleaned up, so i ended up spending like 30 min in the bathroom cleaning up, while everyone got to party it up out side. i get out, its all fine, they pass the bong to me, and give me some alcohol to pay respects for my muddy, and very much, in pain ass.
so after all that we get into the limo and continue the journy...but i had to sit on like 20 paper towels on the wayback. i get the limo driver to drive me back home at the end. so they drop me off, and its about 3 blocks home.
i walk the distance, open the door of my house, and end up, from what i remeber, falling asleep on my foyer stairs with the door open. the weird thing is, when i wake up, i wake up in my neighbors lawn, one block away!
im just suprised i didnt wake up with a sore asshole and my money stolen
*well come to think of it, my ass did still hurt..but not from that hehe
well, thats my addition
the hell is a mickie? a fifth?
| quote: |
| Originally posted by blazed it the hell is a mickie? a fifth? |
This is pretty funny:
http://www.tuckermax.com/
My favorite one:
The Famous "Sushi Pants" story
by Tucker Max
I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.
I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:
9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.
9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far.
9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.
9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.
9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.
9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.
9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.
9:29: I blow again, a .04. I've been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming�four drinks�a .04�that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.
9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.
9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven�t ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.
9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn�t pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm.
10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.
10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl�s class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a �legitimate, certifiable science,� while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) �legitimate, certifiable idiots� because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table.
10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up.
10:10: .07
10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.
10:26: .09
10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.
10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don�t leave money for my drinks.
10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I�m only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.
10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.
11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.
11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn�t even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.
11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.
11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don�t have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.
11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity.
11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.
11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.
11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.
11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.
11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. �Cognac and Alize.� There is a God, and he hates me.
11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.
11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.
12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.
12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.
12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, �Who runs this bar now, BITCH??� The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.
12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me.
12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.
12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.
12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn�t go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.
1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.
1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.
1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.
1:14: I can�t figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.
1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to �get that fucking light out of my face.� The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. �Son, where are your pants?� Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn�t laugh. Another long pause. �You�re not driving tonight are you?�, �Oh, NO, NO, NO�no sir, I don�t even have a valid driver�s license.�
1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab.
1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don�t know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.
1:24: I can�t find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn�t thrown up yet. I tell them to �kiss my fucking ass.� My last clear memory.
8:15am: I wake up. I don�t know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.
8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt.
8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can�t find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.
8:22: I drive home anyway.
Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.
My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.
lol that IS pretty funny
I once molestered a goat.
Im not sure anyone will be able to top Spec's story...
about three weeks ago, my buddies and i did the 24 challenge (24 beers in a day), after finnishing my case of labatt 50, i decided to take out the ATV (yamaha banshee 2003)... bailed going 80 kmph. hurt myself pretty bad too, my left side was purple for a week. then decided to go play in the hayloft... bad idea, fell down the hay chute, landed up in the calf pens, woke up to a baby holstein licking my face..... that was the start of the worst hangover yet...
Damn farmers!
I think Spec is winning so far, that story was hilarious!!!!!
Eh. Tucker Max is pretty funny. Sushi Pants isn't my favorite story, though. Austin Roadtrip is way better.
I got pretty freakin ripped up Saturday night. I went to a birthday party for one of my out of town girlfriends, and here's how that went.
Drink two tallboys (miller light) while getting dressed and ready to leave.
leave my house around 6:30. Pick up an 18 pack and a 6 pack of tallboys. (miller light)
7:30, realize that I've driven too damn far, and my friend's brother has given me SHIT directions.
8:00 stop and get gas, and throw out my empites. All 6. (yes, I realize that driving while drinking is not good. so, spare me the lecture)
8:30 I make it to the party, and bust open the 18 pack. I mingle with the crowd and am feeling pretty damn good. I'm telling my jokes, laughing with everyone. It's a good time. Everyone loves me.
later on- begin taking shots, and drinking margaritas. I get a little louder. I start talking to all the cute boys at the party (yes, I realize that when you're my age they're not "boys" anymore... but whatever)
Every single attractive man I talk to is married. WHAT THE HELL? How do I know this? Their spouses let me know they're taken. Oops.
10:30 I take off. This is bullshit, and I'm going to have some fun, damnit. I grab a few beers for the road, an head downtown to go out to hear some yummy housemusic.
I arrive, and only have a $100bill. try to pay for parking. Can't. I run to the club, the girl can't break it for my cover, so in a moment of brilliance, what I decide to do is give the bartender the 100... and ask him to give me 50 back, so i can pay cover and parking. I figure I'll drink the rest.
I did.
I don't remember leaving the club. I barely remember taking the Johnny Walker Black Label shot that did me under. I DO remember falling down on the dancefloor and not wanting to get up. I have big bruises all over my body.
I woke up Sunday morning. In a McDonalds Parking lot. In the passenger seat. WIth my car unlocked and running.
Oh, and I was still drunk.
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| Originally posted by XaNaX You sound like my kind of girl. |
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| Originally posted by FunkySimon a friend of mine got severly injured because some ****** hit her with his car while he was drunk  you should be drinkin and driving |
You two are absolutely right.
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| Originally posted by spec My favorite one: The Famous "Sushi Pants" story by Tucker Max *snip |
I dont drink alcohol.
nothing has ever happened to me.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by spec This is pretty funny: http://www.tuckermax.com/ My favorite one: The Famous "Sushi Pants" story by Tucker Max |
Bah. Tucker Max stories are not allowed. It's not your story! (Though they are rather hilarious)
One cold night a long time ago, (March Break 2003) I was up at Petawawa, Ontario. Why is it that most army bases have to be in some middle of godforsaken nowhere? (Yes, I am in the Canadian army)
Anyways, as part of support staff that week, well, a gathering of other young soldiers and myself decided to do what we did for last few nights; play some euchre, drink some beer.
As new learner of euchre (The official card game of Canadian army) I was immensely addicted. For some reason the beer beside me keep getting drained and magically replaced somehow.
Being an Asian guy who weighs 130 pounds soaked and wet, it didn't take too many beers for me to... feel the effects.
Someone notices the funny state I'm starting to go into and says, "Hey, Y, want a shot of JD?"
Me in my drunken state said, "Sure!" Down goes one shot of JD. And another. Another. And a few more.
Then that guy says, "Hey, Y. Wanna try a Crazy Russian?"
Early that evening, the same guy already tried to make me do a Crazy Russian and I refused. I wasn't insane.
For those of you who don't know what a Crazy Russian is, it's snorting a shot of vodka through your nose. It's also known as Chilly Willy.
Anyways, by this time, I'm so drunk that I'd probably make out with the most fugly girl in this world at the drop of the hat. Well, so I did a Crazy Russian. And another.
I think I must have been really woozy or something because my buddies somehow lead my drunken ass to my bed. Thank goodness I'm not a violent drunk and my quarters were just across the road.
Anyways, so I was stripped to my undies and placed in the bed. (At this point, my memory is kinda hazy so I'm going off what my buddy told me) Some of them didn't like how I was doing, like I might die on them or something. They were kinda scared.
So a medic was called up and she checked me out. Her recommendation; let him sleep it off.
Well, this little group of my wellwishers were talking things over and they left my room for few minutes. When they returned, I was gone.
Their collective reaction; "Oh, S**T! Where's Y?"
Off they split for a search. I don't know about you, but a drunken Asian kid in his underwear who might have stumbled outside in mid March in Northern Ontario (well, the latitude is somewhat same as Sudbury) and it's flipping cold outside and the fact that he might freeze himself to death is not out of situation considering the condition he's in.
Thankfully I was found at the bathroom puking my guts out. At least I thought I was puking inside a toilet. Evidence clearly showed, as my buddy took a video of me puking... at a water fountain. Thank you my buddy. There's a whole group of them with beers in their hands chanting my last name as I heave mightily. Good people I work with.
So they drag my sorry ass back to my bed and suddenly I go, "Give me the trash can!" Again I heave. And I say, "Wipe my face! Wipe my face!" Thank you good sergeant who wiped my face with a towel.
Thankfully to everyone, I pass out. Some of them sat in my room for few hours ensuring that I didn't die. Thanks guys.
Next morning, I didn't feel too bad. So I got dressed, driven to work. But I did get a good jacking up (meaning yelled/lectured at) by this big black captain who also was in OPP tactical assault team. He was frazzing huge and I almost s**t my pants. Luckily I didn't get charged as I deserved if I wasn't able to do my job.
But after an hour or so, my stomach felt like elephant shat on my stomach without telling me and that went on for the entire day. I've never had hangover that bad before and to this date.
Later that night, I did go out to the bar but I didn't drink as I swore off alcohol forever. Yeah right. I shouldn't make promises I couldn't keep.
Well, by the end of the night, I was the most sober one left and I was left to organize cab rides for aboug 15 guys and I was the most junior one there in rank.
Have you ever tried to get drunken sergeants and above to stay still while you get enough cabs? It was the most interesting organizing thing I've ever done as they insisted on being loud in the streets, going off to places and I had hell of a time trying to keep them together.
So that's my story. If you took time to read all this, well, I thank you but I say you need to check your sanity too.
Cheers
last week i was all drunk downtown just got out of a club and went to the bank..the bank machine started spitting my twenties all over the ground and i fell over passed out on the floor lying all over 200 bucks in twenties..good times..
A friend of mine just told me a story he remembered from his fraternity house at Denver University:
One of his frat brothers got completely wasted and went to his room at the end of the night. In the morning they went to check on him and he was passed out sitting on the floor in nothing but a pair of cowboy boots and a porno in the vcr. Best part is that he wasn't wearing those boots that night, if ever. He put them on specifically for his private time.
One moment when I wasn't at my best:
I took a road trip with three of my friends from Colorado to LA for a Colorado/UCLA football game. I had a friend from Colorado living there whom we were going to stay with. He was renting a room from a married couple who were going through some rough times as one had to leave the country for a while for work and they would have to attempt a long distance relationship. Timing was already really bad for us to be there.
We arrive on Friday and my friend, Knut, and I decide to hit some bars in his neighborhood of Hermosa Beach. I had purchased a liter of Stoli Vanilla and some Red Bull already. By about 8 we had finished most of, if not all of, the vodka.
We cruise to the bars and continue to drink. I don't know how many bars we visited, but at one of them, a couple of rather attractive women sit at our table and seem to be pretty interested. They leave for the restroom and for some reason I determined they were just teases. So we left for the next bar. Of course we have continued drinking mixed drinks and shots this whole time. It is about 10:30 or 11:00 at this point.
I don't know what I did at the next bar, but I remember being escorted out sometime before midnight. I find my friend and we walk back to his place.
The owner of the house had a few friends in town that weekend as well, one of which was a Navy Seal. I get back and pass out on a couch.
The next thing I remember is waking up completely disorientated. I then start yelling at the Navy Seal, "Fuck you, Fuck you, I'm as cool as you guys." Keep in mind, I remember this very vaguely, almost like a dream. He kept his cool and I eventually passed out again.
I wake up the next morning not knowing exactly what happened and feeling pretty shitty for my outburst. Go to take a shower and see marker all over myself. I believe the outburst was a result of waking up with them writing on me.
Thankfully, I didn't abstain the ass-beating of a lifetime for trying to pick a fight with a Navy Seal!
when i was 18 (I'm 22) i lived in a house with 3 guys i went to highschool with and a couple other people.....2 of them turned into complete assholes. Anyway, the house we lived in was famous as a huge party house no matter who lived there. we had barrel parties in the pretty small basement and cash 5 half barrels easy. well i was in a dispute with 2 of my roommates about them stealing stuff, and being disrespectful, etc. they stayed away from the house for most of the night, while me and a friend would go down to the basement and fill up pitchers of icehouse and bring them back upstairs(cuz we were tired of the crowded basement every weekend). well we drank pi;tcher after pitcher and we got pretty wasted....and pissed. well the 2 assholes came home, and we started yelling at them and talking shit...one dude was walkign up the stairs and i started saying shit,a nd he stopped, and went right back downt the stairs. so we were all talking shit in the kitchen with about 5 or more so people watching, and my anger boiled over and i punched a picture on the wall that had glass over it. glass went all over, and the picture fell to the floor. I picked up the picture and chucked it in the pantry. EVERYONE left right then. my hand was bleeding so my friends g/f took me to the bathroom to wash it off and put a towel on it. i decided to leave too, in case the cops were on the way. I got in my car and drove around the neighborhood blaring music for awhile while my hand was bleeding all over. i eventually went back home and to my room and puked over and over in the garbage can. i woke up with my face on the side of the garbage can and my puke at the bottom staring me in the face. i moved out of that house that morning and havent talked to the 2 guys since(they are still fking losers). i noticed blood all over my cd deck in my car....
that's the only time i got violent when i was drunk.
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