Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase six heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.


So while I was in college, a friend of mine Joe (not his real name) had been putting in about 2 weeks worth of work to try and hookup with a waitress from one of the downtown bars. On this night, he claimed that there was NO DOUBT he was going to end up hooking up. He was texting her during the day to try and find a time to meet up with her that night. At the time she was texting back.

After about 5 hours of heavy drinking, the night proceeded with about 3 drunken text messages and two phone calls from Joe to this girl with no return. He said that she must have stayed in or that she was going to call back eventually.

Little did we know, that a former University of Arizona basketball player was in town getting married that weekend and so was about half the former team that starred Luke Walton and Richard Jefferson. As I was sitting outside the bars with Joe, consoling him for being a no-pussy getting loser, we see his girl walking right down the middle of the main strip of bars, holding hands with Luke Walton walking into his hotel room. Needless to say, he got out hustled.




December 31, 1999. I'm seventeen years old, hanging out at a NYE party with a bunch of college kids at a frat party. I lived in a college town at the time, but "townies" being invited to hang out with them was quite rare, unless you sold acid.

I had a good hookup for acid, and started selling Black Pyramid Gels to some of the kids on campus, which was probably the only reason they thought to invite me. I grab a sheet (100 hits) and head off to this off-campus house (laws in the city prevented any more than 8 non-related people from living together, so "frat houses" didn't really exist - but I digress) for what was being ticketed as the party of the fuckin' millennium, brah.

I dose a few tabs myself, hand a few out to any pretty girl with cleavage, sell a bunch to the wannabe hippies, and about an hour and a half later I'm off in some magical land of turnips and fairies and shit. I got there around 8 or 9, so I had an hour or two before the ball dropped, and I was absolutely set on finding a college chick to make out with when the clock struck midnight. Stumbling around the party, grinding my teeth with my pupils the size of dimes, I find a girl standing outside by herself. I sauntered up to her and babbled some cockney in my pot-and-acid fueled incoherence, and she giggled. I was totally in.

We spent the next hour talking about her, her family, her major, her hair, her fucking shoes, and her obsession with her. All the while, the Lysergic Diethylamide is coursing through my system, detaching me farther from reality. We're still hanging out alone when we hear a "ONE MINUTE LEFT, FUCKOS" - so we wander back inside and find a place near the TV so we can do the obligatory TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!...

The count gets to one, she looks at me longingly. I have no idea how I look because I am now completely engorged and enamored with Dick Clark. I kissed the fucking TV, with tongue, she called me "a faggot freak" and left.

Yeah, so don't do acid and try to fuck.

I so wanna do acid and make out with strokey Dick Clark now.


A few years ago I hosted an outdoor ping pong league. I was dating a dame named Jenny. Jenny was older than me and generally out of my league. She was so into me that she was willing to endure ping pong night to get a little lovin. Well this particular night I was really stroking the ball, which in turn means I was really hitting the bottle. When I finally called it a night I had a good friendly drunk going, just on the verge of sloppy drunk. I hit the sack with the lady and she's ready to get frisky. All right, I'm game. She succeeds and getting me aroused and mounts me. Next thing I know I'm literally slapped awake by an angry right hand.

"What, what's wrong?" I ask her.

"Quisenberry?!?! Quisenberry?!?! I'm fucking you and you're talking about Quisenberry?!?!"

The sex stopped. She left. I passed back out.

That night was the beginning of the end. To this day I have no idea why the Quiz slipped into my unconscious mind. Nor do I understand why yelling out the Quiz's name during intercourse would be a deal breaker. Apparently she didn't know the submariner had 244 career saves and a ā€˜stache that would make Burt Reynolds jealous.


When you think about underhanded fastball pitchers, they are really are pantomiming a fingerblast every time they throw. Two fingers out. Arm swiftly coming up. TAKE THAT!


After having some fun with the boobies, I tasted a liquid in my mouth I'd never tasted before.

Whiskey drunk, I didn't think anything about it and kept going. When a few minutes passed and nothing had changed, I'd had enough. Pausing, I looked at her and said,

"Are you lactating?"

She comes back with, "Uhhhhh, no?"

So I jumped outta bed and turned on the lights of the bedroom. Getting closer to the scene of the crime, I almost vomited all over her and the room. I HAD SUCKED THE SCAB OFF A BOIL ON THE SIDE OF HER BOOB AND HAD BEEN APPARENTLY DRINKING THE PUSS FROM IT.

Not sure who wanted to get out of the room faster.

Too bad it wasn't Craggs as the protagonist for this story. Few people know this, but the man has quite the scab-suckin' fetish.



As a sophomore in college at Santa Barbara, I lived with 11 other guys, so at all times at least three of us were drunk. This is the sort of place where we regularly threw knives in the ceilings, rode stop signs down the stairways, tore holes in the walls because we rode stop signs down stairways, then took pictures of what caused the hole, dated the picture and patched the hole up with toothpaste with the picture inside when we moved out as a time capsule for the next generation. We also created the most disgusting cock block ever.

A guy we knew was getting a blowjob from some girl so my friend and I got a golf club and golf ball, stripped down completely naked, jimmied the lock (easy to do in the sort of place that would allow us to live there) and walked into the room. When the guy looked up, we dropped the ball and told them, "Don't worry about us, I'm just playing through..." Blow job guy immediately gets red as shit, throws her off of him and tries to pounce on Mr. Playing through, so my buddy and I race out of the room, golf clubs in hand. All of a sudden, we're outside, still holding the golf clubs, and running away from a guy who's chasing us with a full boner. I can only imagine what the scene must have looked like to somebody else. My question: Should we not have done this? You should know that this ultimately caused an escalating hook up war that ended with us setting all of our amps up in an adjacent room unbeknownst to our buddy and playing new lyrics to "Eye of the Tiger," while he was trying to hook up with his soon to be girlfriend for the first time.


Christ, college guys are assholes.


I was on birthright in Israel and this hot tall blonde from California was on my trip and I wanted to hook up with her. The night activity was in the middle of the desert, they had some weird Israeli cover band and tons of wine. Basically the only reason for this event was to bring nice young Jews together to get drunk and hook up. And this trip was FREE! So I think this is the best time to make my move. We've been getting to know each other over the past few days, and this is the perfect opportunity to seal it.

So the night begins, we start chugging some wine in the desert and having a blast. A bunch of us hike this small mountain together and as we were standing there it was so windy, I took the girl in my arms to warm her up, and we started making out. Money! As we head back down, I ask her if she wants to take a walk out into the desert. She agrees and we walk a good 5 minutes out into the pitch black desert where no one could see us.

I start hooking up with this hot blonde, and even a little sand in the mouth from time to time wasn't going to get in my way of enjoying this, not now. So we take it to the ground and continue hooking up and picking things up a bit and then we roll over and........Ouch!

As I rolled over I felt this incredibly sharp stinging sensation in my left calf and the next thing I know my calf just went numb. Like I got a couple of shots of novacaine just pumped into my leg. I immediately jumped up and started looking on the ground to see if I could spot a scorpion. I couldn't see anything with the little light that existed but didn't think the sting was from a scorpion, at least I couldn't feel the stinger.

so we continue hooking up standing up. My leg was in excruciating pain but no way I was going to give this up, I couldn't let myself down. As time went on we continue hooking up for another 10 minutes eventually I could not take the pain anymore, and told her we had to head back. So now I'm hopping along the desert looking for our soldiers to check out leg to make sure I didn't get bitten from some deadly insect.

We get back and they believe I got bitten by a large desert ants, those things freaking kill and are huge. So not only did I blow the hookup, I couldn't feel my left calf for a day and a half.