Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Spring Break Failure, where we showcase heartwarming true stories of spring break gone horribly awry. Off we go.
Spring break, 2003, Bahamas. Me and 3 of my buddies are there and in the room next to us are 3 girls. Obviously some combination of the 3 of them have to hook up with 3 of us. Luckily, one of the girls and I hit it off right away. Boom, great. Got my hook-up for the entire week set and ready to go. Well, night one her and I are in the girls' room alone, making out, and she lets me know she has a boyfriend, so that kills some of her momentum because she starts to feel guilty. I play it cool, say no worries, I respect that.
Apparently that line worked because she came back with something to the effect of "Let me sleep on it tonight and see how I feel about the relationship tomorrow." I figure I'm golden.... And I was.
The next night we're at the club, doing the whole dancey-dance thing, making out, etc. Get back to the hotel. As we get back, I realize I am having some foreign poop issues (you know the kind... you're traveling out of the country... poops get more violent, etc). So I politely excuse myself and go to the bathroom. As I sit down I know it's not going to be pretty, but I realize "Hey, I'll just take a real fast shower afterwards and say that I just felt so sweaty from the club that I thought I'd clean up," ya know... because I care about being pristine for her. So the poop happens.
After about 30 seconds, I look down and there's a steady stream of blood coming from my anus. Now, I had dealt with hemorrhoids for the better part of 5 or so years, so I was familiar with the issue, but this was otherworldly. I was losing blood by the gallon. I tried to wipe a couple times and the TP was turning into ketchup-doused napkins. So I hop in the shower and spread the cheeks to clean that shit out.... no dice. Constant flow.
After like 10 minutes I managed to get it to slow down and thought it was done. I get out of the shower, start to dry off and realize that the towel is now collecting blood. I could not stop it. I took the towel and threw it in the garbage can (not a lot of good hiding spaces for stuff in a hotel bathroom).... So then I took a washcloth, stuck it between my buttcheeks, put my clothes back on, told the girl that I was very sorry but I was dealing with a medical issue that I could not explain to her and I could not perform that night.... and then I couldn't perform any night for the remainder of the trip.... Awesome.
Sound like it was just that time of month fro your anal warts. GAH!
So some friends of mine went to Florida for spring break and naturally went straight for 3rd degree sunburns on the first day. A few days later one of the guys is standing in chest deep water in the pool, unaware that all of the skin had peeled off his back in one piece and was floating on the surface of the water, yet it was still attached to him at the water level. He was known as 'skin cape' after that.
Much better than the skin cape I have, which was made from 100% Dorothy Stratten.
Because I was not a prep school douchebag or a rich frat jagoff, I spent my Spring Break(s) typically....working. Cry no tears for me - my bitterness over this fact has never haunted me for even a single second.
Buy that man a tequila shot.
This story is not about me personally, but a friend of mine, let's call him "Jake". So it was spring break 2006 and I was in my sophomore year in college and we were in Daytona Beach. It's me and 3 other buddies (including Jake) and it was some random night of the week and we were in these girls' hotel room pre-gaming with them. Jake whispers in my ear that he really has to take a shit and that he's going to go down to the lobby instead of stinking up these girls' bathroom.
As he leaves the room, Jake's crap is creeping up on him at an astounding rate, and as he is on the elevator on the way down to the lobby, his fucking bowels release unexpectedly and a title wave of diarrhea sprays his pants – which he still obviously has on in the elevator. As he is mid-shitting himself he unbuckles his pants and pulls them down and just releases the rest into the corner of the elevator (keep in mind the elevator is still moving). The elevator reaches the lobby floor, Jake pinches his buttcheeks, pulls up his pants and as the doors open there stands 2 extremely hot chicks waiting to get on the elevator. Jake lowers his head, attempts to cover his face as best he can without looking like a fool, and as he walks past the 2 women, mutters in a quiet, nervous voice: "I don't know what happened, it's gross, someone must have shit in the elevator". Now, this wasn't just a single log, no, this was a mini-pool of foul-stenching diarrhea all over the floor and walls of this elevator, AND Jake's pants and the bottom part of his shirt are completely destroyed and covered in his shit. So, he might have tried to play it off with the women, but any moron could have easily noticed his shit-covered clothes and pinpointed him the culprit.
But this isn't the end, far from it. Still covered in his own crap and fleeing the scene of the crime in the elevator, Jake dashes across the lobby floor and into the bathroom. But he does not have his cell phone on him to call the rest of us upstairs in the girls' room to bring him down a change of clothes and he is petrified to leave the bathroom and go to the concierge desk to try and reach us because of the shit-suit he has on. Eventually 45 minutes pass, and we are still upstairs in these girls' room and we're beginning to wonder where in the hell Jake has gone. It was then that my other friend got an unidentified call on his cell phone. He answers and it is the front desk asking if we know someone named "Jake" and if we could please come downstairs to assist him and bring him fresh clothes. We get downstairs to the lobby and Jake informs us that he had waited in the lobby bathroom for nearly 45 minutes waiting for another person to walk into the bathroom. Jake's apparently asked the next random stranger who came into the bathroom to please go to the concierge desk and ask the concierge to please call his friends upstairs in Room ### because some kid named Jake shit himself into oblivion and needed a fresh change of clothes.
We then drove Jake back to our hotel (yes, we weren't even at our own damn hotel) and let him change. And, yes, we did tell those girls we were hanging out with about the incident because holy shit, this was god damn hilarious and the best spring break story we have ever been a part of – and Jake had a girlfriend and wasn't going to hook up with any of them either way, so who cares.
I haven't verified that Jake's last name is Delhomme, but I will just go ahead and declare it so.
My college buddies and I hit our usual spring break spot in Florida two years ago. The first day there, our group of six guys began mingling with a half-dozen girls from a Big Ten school. We hit it off, and since our room was only a few feet from the resort's hot tub and pool in the courtyard, we spent the afternoon rotating from shots in the room to beer pong outside the room to dips in the pool/hot tub.
I pair off with one of the girls, who is fairly hot but also clearly flaky. We play beer pong together, canoodle in the hot tub, and share rum-based drinks. She gets quite hammered, and in a hot tub packed with about a dozen other people, we make out repeatedly. She decides she wants to go in the pool, which has no one in it. We get in the pool, and she wants to continue making out. But only in the deep end. We're swimming up against the wall and kissing, and I sneak in the occasional finger massage. She grabs my butt and pulls me toward her, as if we're going to do it in the pool. I maneuver her bathing suit out of the way of my target, and manage to free my own equipment, but in the deep end it's impossible to propel myself upward hard enough to make serious contact. I have no idea how dolphins pull it off. She's wasted, and rejects my suggestion that we go in the shallow end to seal the deal. She's obsessed with the deep end.
So I have the (ostensibly) genius idea to move things inside. I tell her to get out of the pool and go into the bathroom in my hotel room and turn the shower on (to keep things aquatic), and that I'll follow her in shortly. She agrees and bolts for the room. I remain in the pool for thirty seconds or so to figure out how to conceal my boner from the dozens of college kids lounging by the hot tub, in which time she went in the bathroom, turned on the shower, and completely forgot what was going on.
So I run into the room, open the bathroom door, upon which she screams and says "You can't come in here!" I relent and shut the door, giving my buddies in the room a puzzled shrug. She opens the door, says she has to go to her room but will be back soon. I'm guessing she went upstairs and abruptly passed out, because I didn't see her again until she and her friends were leaving the hotel to go out for the evening.
The metal ladder! You should have used the metal ladder!
Finally, a small story of actual triumph in the midst of failure:
I took a cruise to the Bahamas for a Spring Break and my only luggage was Gold Bond and a toothbrush. I was so happy with myself when everyone else had to be at customs that I went and got a drink carved out of a pineapple to sit and revel in the glory of missing that line. I wore the same bathing suit and Hawaiian shirt the whole time, chafing became an issue, but not one I could not deal with. My mom did not believe me that I had gone to all of the places I had gone to because I had the same clothes on in all of the pictures, she did not share my joy in the thrill of getting to skip customs.
I'd shake Mike's hand, if it wasn't riddled with malaria and fromunda.