The Drunken Hookup Failure Contest is underway. You guys are a bunch of sick bastards. We mean funny sick, and just plain sick sick. Enjoy the stories of drunken hookups gone awry, then vote for the one you'd like to see re-enacted in video.

Entry 1, from Matthew D.:

It's 6 A.M., I am alone, I am drunk, I am now mad at my friend Tom. It's 6 A.M. Tom's been alone for about a half hour. He is drunker than me. He knows how mad I am at him.

This is a story of failure, sort of.

Earlier this summer New York City decided it wanted to be hot as balls all the time. Pushing 95 degrees at night with 98% humidity, no chance of rain; yeah, that kind of hot. Friday night rolls around, everyone loves Friday for obvious reasons and my friend Tom is going a Yankee game for a work function. So myself, (I'm Matt by the way) and a few of our other friends decide to meet up with Tom and a few girls he works with after the game at a bar on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Immediately after getting there, I see her. We'll call her Pujols (baseball players are a clutch way of talking about women while they are in your presence). Pujols, who has earned the name for being somewhat of an MVP herself, is hosting this little bash at whatever Irish bar we were at; buying everyone beers, putting shots back, just showing everyone a good time. Pujols is also accompanied by her roommate, Holliday. Holliday; good looking, just not as good as Pujols (see where I am going with this?) has an advantage on these other girls though – she has a set of bags that are unmatchable.

As the night progresses, people start to leave the bar, giving Tom and myself a better opportunity to step it up a little. We make our way to Brother Jimmy's on 78th, a go to spot for a good time, and of course, our comfort zone. We take a few shots and at this point everyone is dancing, having a great time. It's only me, Tom, Pujols and Holliday dancing to 80's and 90's songs at our finest. Of course Tom and I look at each other giving the "which one do you want?" look. I'm not much of a body language guy so I say, "Let's just play it out." Clearly I was gunning for Pujols. So we start just dancing in a circle switching on and off when it becomes clear that I got my MVP and Tom has his "other really good player."

We head back to our apartment (not my apartment, his, I just say I live there when his roommates aren't home), which has a roof deck and we are there and talking to our respected Cardinals, when I look over and there is Holliday on top of Tom in awkward fashion just sucking face. (Light Bulb) "Pujols, you want to head over to my room, leave these two alone?" "Yeah, let's go." I head back to "my room" and Tom goes to his actual room. As things transpire, it's around 5 AM. Tom walks into my room, I'm naked and sleeping, she is naked and sleeping, and yes she is directly on top of me like we are trying to stack people. Oh and if you didn't figure it out already, YES, we fell asleep in the act (FAIL). I woke up to see this heathen staring at us, not moving, not blinking, jaw on the floor STARING. "Tom? What the fuck are you doing?" "Nothing", he says. "Please get the fuck out of here." "No, I'm good" "Tom!" "Yeah?" This goes on for a good minute or two and while you're naked with someone 1 or 2 minutes of having your friend stare at you like he just saw the ending to The Sixth Sense is a pret-ty long time. You guys agree with me right: What the FUCK Tom. So now Pujols starts to get dressed and says she should go. I am ready to kill someone. That someone is _(name of someone else in this story)_. (sorry, I've always liked madlibs, judge me all you want assholes)

After Tom watches her get dressed and stops sweating (I was too, naturally) she leaves. Now keep in mind we are closing in on 6 AM now. Tom is significantly drunker than I am and was probably significantly more aggressive. Ok, definitely more aggressive. I asked him what the hell happened. I mean when a girl is on top of you in front of others it usually means something good is coming.

He tells me in detail, "We were hooking up, as you saw. Things were going well; I brought her back into the room and started taking her clothes off." I'm listening, I'm listening. "I was sucking on those utters, having a straight up sesh." Now knowing Tom's previous history and his "handjobs only please" phase, I knew I was about to hear some kind of excuse or some lame reason for her leaving When he drops the Hiroshima of excuses on me - She gave him the line, which will forever go down in infamy:

"Oh my God! I just remembered, I have to go walk my dog!" -Holliday (5:30 AM on a Saturday morning)

He replied with, "You have got to be fucking with me, now I have heard it all." She gives dirtiest look you can possibly imagine, a Medusa-like look and grabs her clothes and leaves.

Like an admirable man, Tom did not give chase. Personally, I would have chased, with a weapon, but I would have chased.

After Pujols and Holliday are officially gone we start hysterical laughing/crying about everything that just transpired. Two guys could not have been more confused and cared less. Needless to say Pujols and Holliday have not made many appearances at the plate since that fateful night. I wonder if they just don't have good cell service or something? That's probably it. Definitely is it.

Entry 2, from Patrick M.:

Take this as you will, but this would be involved in "Cheating women making an ass of my drunk self".

A few years ago, a guy on my lacrosse team had just broken up with his girlfriend. She had told several of us on the team (including "Paul Wahl" - her boyfriend) that she had very firm intents on sleeping with us. She succeeded with three of the four in five weeks. We were savory guys - Hos definitely came before Bros. Anyway, I was the last one left for her to take down and, since 7 of my roommates played soccer, they invited the Vuvuzela crew to my house for the soccer team's initiation party. I had no intention of dealing with 20 wasted freshmen taking dives every time anyone touched them, so I convinced my roommates place the keg outside my door and let me sit in my room while blasting music and chastising every ridiculous hazing ritual they had as they came to fill up their cups.

It took a few hours of aggressive drinking, but I was finally drunk enough not to care about the AIDS-fest that was going down in my house and I decided I was going to have myself some fun and play a game. Obviously, because everyone on the soccer team was already drooling and sweating, I pledged to hook up with the first girl I could find. Naturally, it was the lacrosstitute. Shit. I wanted to make it at least one more week so the stagnant semen of my roommates could die...

...And, here is where it gets interesting. My pickup line was the ever-original and suave, "So, are we going to have sex tonight?" To my absolute surprise /utter chagrin, without a word, in one fell swoop, she closes my door, straddles me, and starts making out. I figure "why not" and go with it. I wake up about an hour later, on my back, with a condom on my lil' guy, no splooge in it, and she is nowhere to be found.

I go out to the bathroom to see if she's anywhere to be found and cannot, for the life of me, find her. I peek into my roommate's room (which happens to be right next to the bathroom) and I see her riding away - reverse cowgirl. I try to process this thought, but my alcohol-addled brain will not let me figure out what is going on until she asks me to join.

AND I REALIZE IT IS MY ROOMMATE'S ROOKIE TEAMMATE. IN MY ROOMMATE'S BED!!!

I think, and hope I won at life that night.

Entry 3, from J Money BS:

Back in college, of course, I get into one of those hookup-striving nights... hit it off with a girl I sort of know, lots of flirting, little making out, etc. Oh, let's go get something to eat. Okay, whatever. Eventually - finally - back to her apartment. So we get to her house and she wants to show me her parakeet. No, not a metaphor. An actual parakeet. Opens the cage, takes him out... oh, look, he perches on your hand, how wonderful. I go back to feeling her up and the whole kiss from behind, trying to get her motor running and to, you know, get her mind onto something besides her bird. She puts the parakeet back in the cage. We get back to heavy petting and whatnot.

For some reason, we go down to the floor and not the couch, bedroom, whatever. Maybe it was our youth. Doesn't sound like fun now. Anyway, we're making out hardcore, her shirt's off, we're rolling around, and so forth. I decide, naturally, to go for the bra hooks to keep this party going. As I'm reaching around for the bra (remember, we're on the floor), I feel what feels like....feathers. Something soft. Huh. So I do that thing we've all done where you open your eyes and look around while kissing... you know, usually it's to see a sportscenter highlight or whatever, but I'm trying to figure out what's behind her. I am able to glance at the floor and see....the parakeet. Lying there lifeless...neck broken. Whoops.

Apparently, she forgot to close the door to the cage (I guess I distracted her), the parakeet exited and was trying to get near her... or me...or whatever. I don't know. But we somehow rolled over him and killed him and didn't even know it.

What did I do? I just went back to making out, a bit preoccupied, trying to think of what to do... do I shove him under the sofa and hope she doesn't notice till I'm gone? I froze, of course, and she noticed him when we got up to head to the bedroom. Yeah, that sort of killed the mood for her.

Fucking parakeet.

Entry 4, from Geeves:

This is probably a mistake:

Unfortunately, there of course, have been many failures. This one, however, stands out from the rest for me. This involves that girl that you always see at a series of parties over a few weeks. You want to go up and talk to her, but can never manage the stones to it.

The third or fourth party at which I saw this girl, I had convinced myself that she may be looking over at me and want to talk to me. I convinced myself with beer and denial and made my way over to her. Turns out in this rare instance I was correct and we immediately hit it off. We drank, we laughed, we played pool and we danced and she finally drags me off to a room in the house - turns out it was the laundry room, but it had a lock on the door. Bottle of Jaeger in hand we took shots and made out with her pressing me back against the washing machine and not too long after that I had her pressed up against it. Pausing ever so often to take another shot.

She became bold and put her hands on my shoulders and lightly pushed down. I knelt down in front of her and lifted her skirt while lifting her onto the washing machine, I tried to then get her panties off all in one smooth motion in which I nearly pulled her right off the washing machine. I slipped backwards and she managed to catch herself and pull herself back up, in the process flailing her feet she accidentally kicked me in the head with her heel. I recovered and moved back between her thighs. There I thought everything was going to be good, and it was for a minute or two until the room started to spin uncontrollably, as if I had vertigo. I knew where this was going: stomach churning, mouth unseasonably wet and not from where it just was I lunged for the industrial sink and emptied untold number of Jaeger shots and beers into it. It was over very quickly and I turned on the water and rinsed my mouth.

Then I heard the sobbing. Then I realized why she was sobbing. The room was still uneasy for me, but not spinning. I tried to explain that it was not her, but she was having none of it. She then made her way to the sink and started to heave. After she expelled the alcohol she had consumed, I was able to explain - somewhat coherently - what had happened. She accepted the explanation, I think... but said that we should probably forget what happened.

Entry 5, from Drew H.:

After a long night of drinking at the local hole, a couple friends and I headed to the Waffle House for some late night calories. While waiting for our food, the shots that we lined up and executed at last call were beginning to take their toll on me.

I was boasting about the booty call I had lined up down the street, when our food arrived along with a massive bottle of Tabasco sauce. Now, I will let it be known that I am an connoisseur of hot sauces and by that, I mean, I have been known to drink a whole bottle of hot sauce (when drunk). So naturally, in the same breath that I was rubbing my later hook up in my two lonely friends faces, I challenge myself to drinking this large bottle of Tabasco.

I slam the rest of my water, pour the ice out on my plate and begin to empty the bottle of Tabasco into my glass. This was to allow the largest opening, in order to drink the hot sauce. As soon as I got the last drop into my cup, I slammed the entire contents of the bottle in one fell swoop. Everyone applauds and I eat the other guy's remaining food to quench the burn.

So I finally get to my late night hookup's apartment. I stumble my way around her cat and fell into bed. She undresses me, after getting me a glass of water she felt I needed after seeing the beads of sweat running down my face.

Once in bed and under control, we start to fool around. It's great, a lot of times you think you have all the bases covered only to be cockblocked by some fatty friend or cabbie with attitude, but this time I had it in the bag. So I start to go down on her and she's enjoying herself.

After a minute or two, her pleasure-filled squirming transformed into an all out leg thrashing. In my super drunk stupor, I couldn't hear her telling me to stop. But I understood once she dug her heal into my ribs like a pack-mule. She hops up and runs towards the shower screaming "it's burning! it's burning!"

Needless to say, it's hard for a Hot Sauce Drinking Champion to perform Cunnilingus.

In our hearts, the No. 1 drunken hookup story is The Switch, a heartwarming story of best friends, a drunken night and a pregnancy gone awry starring Jennifer Aniston and Jason Bateman. (Click here for the trailer!)

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But vote for your favorite tale—the most original, the funniest, the most embarrassing—below. The winner will score tickets to see The Switch and a free (really expensive) genetic profile from 23andMe ....not to mention the winning story will be re-enacted in glorious video and posted on Deadspin for all the world to enjoy/mock. The other vote-getters will snag tickets to the movie. [Voting closes at 6PM EST on August 18. Check back to see the winning video on August 20! Official rules here.]