This horror story almost feels like it should belong in The Jamboroo but hell it happened on Thanksgiving Eve so it belongs here. Around my parts Wednesday night is the big reunion night so we headed to bar where everyone was. Walking into the bar was like opening a fucking yearbook but whatever I was there to get drunk. Halfway through the night we lose track of my friend's girlfriend, we'll call her Cindy. I am indifferent to this since she is a bitch to me anytime I see her. Well, she comes back not more than 45 minutes later bombed off her ass. We all have no idea how that happened since she disappeared sober. From this point on my friend's new role was babysitter for the night.

We left the bar and I was going to give her and my friend a ride to their place they were crashing at but he couldn't get a hold of their friend's house they were staying at. Being a good friend I called my friend, "Laurie" to ask to use her empty apartment for them. As she asked if she was going to puke at her place, Cindy throws up Linda Blair style all over my back seat, the floor, and my friends lap. I can say with certainty she ate at Olive Garden that night. Figuring she was done I vouched for her and I took her to my friends apt and let her pass out in my friend's bed and about 15 min later we see her shuffle across the hall to the bathroom. After another 15 min my friend "Laurie" goes and checks on her and comes out with the most pissed off face demanding her boyfriend gets in there right now. After he goes in Laurie comes out and with the most serious face I've seen her make she tells me "SHE SHIT EVERYWHERE!" I was confused at first but she explained, "ON HERSELF, ON THE WALL, ON THE TOILET, IN THE BATHTUB!!!" I didn't know what to even think needless to say it took 45 minutes to clean it all up later on, not including my car. For the five of you that have seen Dumb & Dumberer, picture that scene with Bob Saget.

Eventually she called an ambulance for her and walked in the biggest asshole paramedics ever. They forcefully hauled her out of the tub she was currently in and put in a chair still with shit all over her pants mind you. As Cindy tries to act sober to them they yell at her, "YOU HAVE DEFECATION ALL OVER YOU, WE ARE TAKING YOU WITH US!!!" so they leave in the ambulance and we hang with the officer was there for a bit. The next morning I get a call asking from my friend asking to pick them up at the hospital. The most awkward car ride ever followed. I drove the whole way with no one saying a damn word and I had the windows slightly cracked as there was the faintest shit smell still present. We get to their place he says bye and they leave.

Worst part of it all was there was no "thank you", "I'll help clean up", or "I'm sorry" from her at any time to this day. I haven't told anyone as I feel I owe it to my friend to be polite, though not her in the least. Happy Thanksgiving! — Bob H.

My 20 yr reunion 10/3/2009 . . .

After dropping $75 on food I would not eat in college, watching the spreading the H1N1 virus thru 1000 handshakes and hugs, and watching the drinking to cover up the massive out-of-shape, balding, and fattening of my former class-mates - it was time to go to an after party . . .

Some half-pint from the local trailer park met me in the restroom prior to leaving.

[rewind]
{Half-pint was the "Don Juan" of the trailer park, and I was fortunate enough to have been invited to his wedding to the "Rosie O'Donnell" of the same trailer park. During the "shot-fest" reception a fight broke out - When I say fight, I am talking bartenders v. bride's parents, other guests vs each other - naturally I was blamed for it as I was the only sober one in the piece of shit hall they rented. After they un-piled the participants, I was asked to leave reception . . . gladly! }

[Back to reunion]
Half pint was, mf-ing me for ruining his wedding, and he was ready to fight. I think I will ask him for the Budweiser/Nascar mirror I got him for his wedding present and maybe he will be out of my life for sure. No question, he is the reason I will not be attending any more reunions. Needless to say, I quelled the situation and walked away the better man.

Thought you may enjoy . . . just happened.

I graduated in '97. Skipped my five year and was dragged to my tenth, where I had a surprisingly great time. It certainly wasn't dull.

First was the party itself. It was kind of amusing that my rather well-to-do Catholic school had our reunion in the party room of a Comfort Inn. The planning committee did a decent job- most importantly, it was an OPEN BAR. Cheap liquor and light beer, but when some pack of girls is asking you to do a lemon drop with them or you're on your third (fifth...whatever) gin and tonic, does it really matter?

I sat at a table with a few people I was friends with. Along with my then-girlfriend, I was next to my best friend and his wife. A friend of ours from the lunch table senior year joined us. Then a guy I sat next to in jazz band and his wife. Another guy we were friendly with sat down...with his life partner. No one batted an eye. Maybe we'd grown up.

After dinner, there were the usual awkward conversations, attempts at dancing, group photos. It's amazing how cliques still cling to each other. I was surprised at the number of people who didn't recognize or even remember me, one of whom I used to do homework with on the phone. Being a natural degenerate, I gravitated to the comfort of the bar rail for a good portion of the night, letting people come to me. The drinks flowing led to some interesting conversations, like the one I had with the son of the Cleveland Indians beat writer. One of my fondest HS memories was when he turned around and punched me in history class during our junior year. He was actually a pretty nice guy.

Not to mention the alcohol-induced benefits of buttons coming undone, cleavage coming out, shirts riding up, and other wardrobe malfunctions. The wife of the guy I was in band with was kind of a flirt, and oh yes, did she have a tramp stamp. At one point in the evening, she was openly hitting on my best friend, right in front of his wife. (They were both too sauced to notice, more on this later.) Two minutes later, she was talking to me and actually scratching at my chest.

The evening wore past 11, and my best friend and his wife were absolutely blotto. At one point they were dancing on the parquet…to no music. They were staying in the hotel upstairs, so I tried to herd them out of the party and into the elevator. Not too tough. The hallway to their room was another story. I fireman-carried each of them 50 feet at a time; at one point the wife was on all fours trying to wedge her head into the ice machine. This took me about 20 minutes, and I came downstairs to a very pissed-off girlfriend.

Her: Where the hell have you been? I want to go home!

Me: Um, we've got a problem.

She would be even more unhappy when we had to help get the two of them to bed, as they were puking their guts out by the time we got back upstairs. It took over two years for my best friend to apologize.

We finally got back just as the reunion was letting out. It felt like things were just getting interesting. The final capper to the night happened as we walked through the lobby. A guy and his girl (or a hooker) had finished up a very obvious and very quick booty call, and were trying to see if they could get out of there with a reduced rate —Via Juancho

Note: Photo above is not from said reunion. No, it's from Googling "high school reunion drunk." Close enough.

It was my 10-year reunion. I was reasonably excited. I felt like I kind
of got my shit together in my mid-20s and, since I had a surprisingly
good time at my 5-year reunion, it was a no-brainer to go to my 10th.

Before I continue, you should know I was totally not cool in high
school. Oh, I wanted to be. But I lacked confidence in pretty much every
aspect of my life: school, sports, dating, everything. I had no idea who
I was or who I wanted to be. One of the running jokes about me was that
whenever someone farted, some of my buddies would blame me. I think that
sort of encapsulates my teenage life. I have no idea why.

Anyway, 2002. My 10-year reunion. Before Facebook allowed us to have a
mini-reunion every morning before breakfast. The reunion was at one of
those bars across Lansdowne St. from Fenway. I should have known things
were going to go badly when I went to my friend's Kenmore Square
apartment for a small pre-reunion get-together. In walks a woman who I
have known since sixth grade, a woman who I saw multiple times in
college, a woman who I once accompanied to a wedding. She walks into the
apartment, comes right over to me and shakes my hand. "Hi, I'm Jen," she
says. "Nice to meet you." (Granted, I do look different from when I was
in high school. I now wear glasses and have been slowly losing my hair
for 15 years.)

We head over to the reunion. On my first trip to the bar, one of my
former classmates walks up and says: "So, how about that e-mail?"

"E-mail?" I ask.

"Yeah, that one that was supposedly from you."

"Huh?"

Long story short, gleaned through interviews with many classmates:

Someone created a Hotmail account in my name and sent multiple messages
to a slew of my ex-classmates. In them, the fake me announced that I was
gay and said that the reunion would be my coming out party as a
flamboyantly gay man. I never actually saw the e-mails, but supposedly
they got ridiculous enough that some people caught on. But not everyone.
And, of course, there was the telephone game effect whereby the people
who didn't get them only heard about them secondhand and assumed they
were true.

So, I spent the ENTIRE reunion doing the usual catch-up with old
classmates and then slipping in, "So, did you get weird e-mails from
me?" and then explaining they were sent by someone else and that I was,
in fact, not at all gay.

After a couple hours, I gave up. If my former classmates think I'm gay,
so be it. I live 300 miles away now.

The funny thing is, as I said, I was so lame in high school. I didn't
steal anyone's girlfriend. I wasn't a jock. I was a 120-pound nerd with
a receding hairline, spewing dumb jokes to cover up my own insecurities.
The worst thing I did was toilet paper someone's house.

Even now, I cannot fathom what I did to anyone to warrant a solid burn
10-year after the fact.

And, really, I do appreciate the magnitude of said burn. It was pretty
epic.

But I'm done with reunions.

God, I need a vicodin. Remember — still time to send yours in for Friday. Send them to ajd@deadspin.com

Update: Apparently, Time Warner also promoted yesterday's Celtics/Knicks matchup as a Chris Duhon and Shelden Williams reunion. If you see anymore evidence of pro-Duke bias from your TV's program guide, please forward because that's really weird.

An hour ago, in fact, "bill simmons wife picture" was the No. 4 hot trend:

Huh. So people are more interested in a woman they know only through her occasional cameos in her husband's popular Internet sports column than they are in a mousy character actor. Go figure.

Still via this Sports Guy cartoon

Google Trends: bill simmons wife picture, Nov. 10, 2009 [Google]

Williams posed for this photo which was released to 105.3's Brasky & Gregg show, donning an Orioles hat and ghastly make-up. This is not in response to Ms. Isleib's costume whatsoever, it's just a black dude dressing up like a white dude for Halloween.

Unfortunately for Isleib, her costume is still getting scrutinized by guilt-ridden white people and African-American studies professors from California:

Mark Q. Sawyer, associate professor of political science and African-American studies at the University of California at Los Angeles, said the cheerleader pictures suggest this is more an issue of bad judgment than actual racism. He said that many young people are unaware of the deeply offensive history of blackface performances.

"She probably asked her black friends about it with the idea that they could exonerate her," Sawyer said

But as one reader rationally pointed out — she's not even technically dressed in "blackface.":

The term "blackface" has a connotation stemming from minstrel shows in the 19th century where white people dressed as black people to embellish offensive stereotypes and racial insensitivity for comedic purposes. Was she painted black? Sure. Was she adhering to the racist undertone that "blackface" implies? I believe not, and according to the black people who called into Dallas radio stations this morning regarding this, no. I don't think anyone is offended by her outfit. Blackface implies racism. I don't think her outfit is racist. It is just, to quote My Cousin Vinny, a dead-on-balls accurate Lil' Wayne get up.

Fair enough. The Cowboys haven't officially fired her or anything and have only been quoted as saying they're handling it internally at this point. She also (wisely) pulled down her Facebook page but hopefully that's the end of it and she can go back to her normal everyday life of doing whatever it is she does when she's not a Cowboys cheerleader. But that Deron Williams, man — he's a racist dick.

Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Criticized After Blackface Halloween Photos Emerge [Dallas Morning News]

Here, via Dlisted, is famous rebounder Dennis Rodman, 48 years old (!), walking down a runway somewhere in your fever dreams, looking like a tall drink of Pepto-Bismol. He was part of some sort of fashion benefit to promote awareness of both breast cancer and Dennis Rodman. Somewhere, a Bulls scorekeeper just credited him with another rebound.

Open Post: Hosted By Dennis Rodman [Dlisted]

* * * * *

Good morning, everyone. It's Friday. Daulerio's still committing various felonies in Las Vegas, and the Deadspin highlight frog has gone AWOL. This one goes out to you, highlight frog. Wherever you are.

No coaching, no mentoring, no pigskin-related jobs for Ryan Leaf in the near future. For now, he's working with a fishing trip-planning company. And that's alright with him, as long as he's not being haunted by all that football stuff anymore.

"I sort of decided I didn't want to play because, for something I loved for so long, it sure gave me a lot of pain," said Leaf. "Even when I got out of recovery, the first thing on my mind was to do something football-wise. Maybe do something with the B.C. Lions, because I assumed I couldn't do anything else. All I knew was football, and then I just thought about it more and more, talked to my counsellor and my family, people around me and realized, for something that I loved for so long, it continued to give me pain."

Leaf has also now come to terms that he was a friendless dickhead during most of his playing days to his hyper-competitive nature. And when he was pill-popping, he became an anti-social nightmare for most of the people in his life. And he hates reporters, too, even though he's obviously talked to a couple of them in recent days to let them know about his recovery. But he'd rather not.

To be honest with you, I didn't want to do any of this," said Leaf, near the end of an hour-long interview in his downtown Vancouver apartment. "I don't want anybody to know anything about me. I'm scared to talk to reporters, because I never know. I've got such trust issues with them. But, if it helps the company that gave me the support, and they were willing to go hire a PR firm (to help me) . . . I'm putting my faith in a PR firm that does this for a living."

And Leaf plans on staying in Canada once he gets all his court dates and visa issues settled, so there is a chance that we will never, ever hear about Ryan Leaf again. It's the end of an era. Again.

The unlucky fan also had the good sense to ask one of his number-crunching buddies to formulate the odds on such a dubious feat. The odds of him going 0-19 this year at Nats Park were 1 in 131,204. Staggering.

Here's more math from his egghead friend:

It took into account that they were 33-48 at home this year, made up of 0-19 when you were there and 33-29 when you were not there. The odds that you would select 19 games out of 81, of which 33 would have been wins, and you picked none, that was the shocker. The other discussion is whether it was just 1 in 20,000, which would be the odds of going to 19 games of a team that wins 33/81 of their games in general, and seeing no wins. But we eventually decided that what was more impressive was that the team actually went 33-29 when you weren't there, and you just picked the wrong games

.

I'd actually go with "you picked the wrong team" but why split hairs?

The Nats Unluckiest Fan [SportsBog]