Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase four heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
Before we get to the stories this week, how about a round of applause for serial penis taker outer Ben Roethlisberger? Yes, no one knows how to attract the opposite sex by pulling out his dick quite like old Ben here. It's a move that totally works if you're the President, or if you're a rapist. It seems women from Ohio to Georgia have gotten the "Live Salisbury" treatment from the Steelers QB. Are you one of them? Have you been exposed against your will to this man's Willie Parker? By all means, drop us a line. Together, we can help prevent women from being menaced by this drunkard's penis. I always said he was a poor decision maker.
Now, the failed hookups…
Senior-year, high school, a small Massachusetts town. Girlfriend's dad leaves to run some errands. Girlfriend wants to go down on me in the living room. Fine. However, I have a penchant to sweat out of my ass when engaging in any sort of sexual activity. It's glandular, and quite the nuisance. So, girlfriend decides to pull my pants down enough where I'm going to undeniably leave a trail of duck-butter on her living room leather sofa. Most girls do not know I have this problem and I'm usually quick enough to wipe the mess up with a sort of ass-drag as I'm standing up to put my pants back on.
Mid-head, we hear the garage door open. I button up, and move to the chair I was sitting on before our hookup started — to avert suspicion. In the hurry I was in, I forgot to ass-drag the puddle of sweat. Girlfriend's dad comes in and joins us in watching the Sox game. He takes his place — not on his usual chair, which I am now occupying — but on the leather sofa I have redecorated. He sinks in, soaks it up, and does me a solid. 30 minutes later, he gets up and goes to complain to his wife that they need to turn the AC up. As he put it: "It's only May, and I'm already leaking oil".
Ah, duck butter. So good on a fresh baguette.
Scene: Cumberland Avenue Bar Area (i.e. the Strip), University of Tennessee, late 80's
One of our friends was a guy from a small town in Tennessee who had left his girlfriend back home so he could come to the "bright lights" of Knoxville. She was going to the local community college but had decided to come up and visit him to meet his buddies and go out to the bars, which apparently were things they didn't have in their town. She was going to bring some of her friends (random pair up-feel the pride!) so that we could all spend the weekend together.
They are late getting to town and we passed the time getting progressively intoxicated as he kept checking his beeper (woo-you can find me anywhere!) to let us know she is at his apartment a few blocks from the bar. Finally, two hours + after the original ETA, he gets the magic beep, but by this time, we are pretty far gone, so he treks up the hill to meet the girlfriend and her friends to drag them back to the bar. 15 minutes pass and they return...and the girlfriend is incredibly pissed. The crappy drive, the fact that her friends bailed on her (she was flying solo) and now, instead of spending the "quality time" together, she is being dragged to meet his "We go to a real college" friends.
Introductions get passed around and we continue to drink, with our friend drinking faster than we can, probably because we all kept buying his drinks for him. The girlfriend is trying to get him to go back home and he is working the "THESE ARE MY BUDDIES, BABY!" line over and over, as well as pulling the dick move of making fun of her for going to a community college instead of being "up heeeeerreee in Knoxville". Finally, she starts saying that she wants to go now, at which time the boyfriend yells at the top of his lungs "DAMN, BABY, ARE YOU ON THE RAG OR WHAT?"
Things get very quiet for a minute as the girlfriend gets up and storms off to the bathroom, leaving us sober enough for a second to realize that this has gotten pretty ugly. Our drunk buddy is staring off to space, trying to decide whether or not he should go find her in the bathroom when the girlfriend walks back up to our table, hand at her side. He stands up to try and stammer an apology and at that moment, the girlfriend yells at him, "AS A MATTER OF FACT, I AM!" and proceeds to lift her right hand...and takes her bloody, skin crusted pad and smacks it right into the side of his face.
You know how when you see a picture of a flounder and both of their eyes are on the same side of their head? That is what our friend looked like, desperately yearning to see what is now stuck on the side of his face. Slowly, slowly, slowly, this bloody, clot streamed pad slides down the side of his cheek and plops on the floor, leaving behind a oozing trail of blood and other unmentionables on the side of his face and managing to make our friend look like "Extra #3" from a George Romero film.
The girlfriend storms out, walks back to his apartment, makes a nice arrangement of key marks on his truck (naturally, he drove a truck) and drives back to her small town. He tried to chase after her but with being so drunk, barely made it out the front door of the bar before stumbling and laying his bloody, crusty head on the sidewalk. We had the bonus of being "detained" by a Knoxville Police Department officer who suspected our friend had been involved in some type of fight, but after explaining the nature of the bloody smear on his face, got released with an admonition about treating women like "ladies".
Postmortem: When the girlfriend arrived back in the hometown, she shared the story with everyone and my friend was persona non grata with most of the people in town until he apologized to her "Momma and Daddy" for his behavior. They did not ride off into a red-tinted sunset together.
That's boyfriend's name? You guessed it: Lane Kiffin.
I took a young co-ed I had just met back to my fraternity house for some late night fun. We went at it on the couch in my room for a good while, followed by me apparently blacking out and passing out on the couch.
The rest of the story is as it was told to me the next day: After a couple futile attempts to wake me up, the girl decides to turn on the lights to find her clothes so she can go home. When the lights come on, she realizes that she had unexpectedly gotten her period that night. Both the cream sofa and my naked body are covered in red. Mortified, she throws on all her clothes, and goes running out the front door of the fraternity house trying to cover her face.
Meanwhile, a freshman girl I had been seeing was standing in the lobby of the house, trying to convince my fraternity brothers to let her back to my room so she can get her leather jacket, where she left it at the beginning of the night. My fraternity brothers, knowing what I had been up to that night, tell her that I'm fast asleep, and they'll get it for her. Only when they come back to the room, they realized that I am buck ass naked on the couch, covered only by the afore-mentioned leather jacket.
A team of 4 extremely disgusted guys decide to stand over with me with a bedsheet, which 3 of them will drop, while the 4th one simultaneously rips the jacket off my body. I don't wake up, and the girl gets her jacket back. I wake up the next morning to a trashcan with a bloody condom, a very dirty body, and a destroyed couch, which I fix by simply flipping the cushions over and turning the throw pillows backwards. The next evening, another girl I was dating came over to hang out and watch TV on the couch with me and my roommate. I'd been seeing this girl on and off for 3 years, and she was highly (and rightfully) suspicious of me dating other girls. She plops down on the couch, puts a pillow on her lap, and sees red on the pillow. "What is this, lipstick?" she asks me accusingly. She starts scratching at it with her fingernails to see if she can get it to come off. My roommate runs out of the room, and I just play dumb and shrug my shoulders. None of the above girls ever figured it out. Couch hit the trash heap soon after.
I met this girl at a party and got her number. Texted her a couple times and we agreed to get drinks. We meet up on the night in question at around 8 and proceed to go bar hopping. We end up at a bar a couple blocks from her house and she asks if I want to come over for a night cap. I'm like "Fuck yeah."
I should've known things were starting to go bad on the walk back to her house. Out of nowhere she runs on this kid in skateboard clothes and knocks his sideways hat right off his head. I give the kid a look of apology, shrug the shoulders and move on.
We get back to her apartment building and proceed up to the second floor. The place has these wrap around steps with a landing. Her neighbor has naively left their bag of trash in front of their door to take out the next morning. Without warning she grabs up the bag of trash, whips it over the stairs' railing all the while screaming at the top of her lungs "take your fuckin' trash out." Its 12:30 in the morning by this time. Unphased due to having guaranteed sex in my sights, I wait for her to open the door. As she does, her cat makes an attempt to bolt for its life. I had no idea what kind of omen this was at the time.
We get inside, she makes drinks and turns on some early 90's dance music. She proceeds to have a solo dance party in the middle of her living room. Not sexy dancing; techno fist-pump dancing. In the midst of this spectacle of flesh, her cat makes the mistake of bumping up against her leg. In a move that defies all gravity, she dips down, grabs the cat and slings it over her shoulder. At this point the cat is giving me a look that I can only imagine is a plea for merciful death.
I finally corral her back to the couch and we proceed making out. It gets hot and heavy and just as I think we are about to have sex, she stops, grabs me by the shirt collar, bringing me nose to nose. She whispers "God I want to FUCK you, but you have to leave." I'm am totally taken back by this. I talk my way back into a make out session again. It gets hot and heavy, and she stops short again whispering "God I want to FUCK you, but you have to leave." At this point I agree that I need to leave.
Kind of disappointing and a turn on all at the same time. I like her cat throwing policy.