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

W (not the ex-Prez):

my best friend Keith and I spent the summer of 1989 snorting a lot of coke. One night we went out drinking with some friends, and we were planning to hit a local club afterwards. We said we had to drop by my house before we met them. So we snorted a decent amount and went to meet them, at this point feeling great about ourselves, about life, and about the world. A guy I knew told me this girl asked him who I was after she'd seen me talking to him. I just knew that meant she wanted to have sex with me, because, well... who wouldn't? We got to talking and she invited me to go to her friend's apartment "to watch Crocodile Dundee." Buzzed as I was, I was certain I was going to nail her. We watched a bit of the movie, and she said she was going to go change clothes. My cue: I immediately got stripped down to my socks and was standing there with a hard-on when she returned. She was stunned & screamed, then pointed at me while yelling for me to put my clothes back on. I was humiliated. I apologized profusely, and she actually let me stay & finish out the movie... I did end up going out with her a couple of times afterward, but I never did hit it.


I love how he put "go watch Crocodile Dundee" in quotes, as if it's some kind of UrbanDictionary term. "Going to watch Crocodile Dundee" obviously means the girl wants you to pry her jaw open and teabag her*. That's not a scrotum. Now THAT is a scrotum!

*Act originally performed by Paul Hogan on Linda Kozlowski

UK Hoosier:

Upon finishing high school I went with eleven of my friends to the Greek island of Kos for two weeks of lads' holiday drinking, sun etc. We went through something called ‘Club 18-30' (don't know if you have this in the US), which is basically a way for randy young adults to go on a sunny holiday with high boozing and low morals.

On one of the first nights of the holiday we were on an organised bar crawl through the town, stopping at each place for drinking games that mostly/all were of a sexual nature. I had been spending much of the evening thus far with a cute girl who was staying in our hotel: we were both getting drunk, and she was pretending that my 18-year-old wit was actually funny, so I was feeling confident about my chances.

We were then invited to find partners for a ‘Tequila Shiver Showdown', which was basically a contest to see who could do the most body shots in 60 seconds. My ‘friend' and I volunteered to be one of the couples in the contest, which I was particularly happy about as she had great boobies.

Confidence was still high, although in hindsight I should have been more cautious: a year before I had had an especially unpleasant incident when I downed the remains of a bottle of tequila (perhaps 1/5 remaining) and had spent the next 24 hours hugging the bowl and looking like a patient from Outbreak. In my rush to put my face in this girl's boobs I forgot about that, and started the contest.

1st body shot: no problem. 2nd body shot hit my stomach and caused me to begin to retch. As she was lining up the 3rd shot I threw up hard: it was a big one, no half measures. It went all over her, covering her from neck to toe (only her face was spared). I didn't even stick around to apologise, just ran down to the beach and finished barfing into the sea.

"Barfing into the sea." I'm all but certain that's also the title of a Yeats poem.


It was 1993. I was 17-years-old and on a mission to lose my virginity while still in high school. After weeks of dogged pursuit, I finally got this Catholic school girl who was known to do it - let's call her Kathryn - "watch a movie" in my Greg Brady apartment down in the basement.

By the time the credits were rolling things had gotten pretty heavy and after a good amount of dry humping, she said the magic words of, "Do you have a condom?" She was so eager we were skipping third and going right to the Promised Land! I didn't to ruin the moment by suggesting we walk the 10 feet from the couch to my bed so we stayed put.

Am embarrassing amount of attempts later, the plane of the goal line was finally crossed and things were going along swimmingly until I got a few pumps from finishing and noticed the blood.

I'm not exaggerating when I say there was so much blood that my couch could have been the stunt double for the backseat of Jules' car after Marvin got shot in the face. I sprinted to the bathroom with my bloody hard-on dripping a nice trail of blood in case I got lost. All I wanted to do was wash my gear and scrub the blood out of my pubes.

By the time I got cleaned up, Kathryn was dressed and ready to call it a night. The goodbye conversation was more than a little awkward and she disappeared into the night leaving me with a deflated set of blue balls and a spot of blood dead center in the couch that was so big not even a pizza box would cover it.

Now here's where the situation gets tricky.

1) It was 11:30 on a Saturday night and my mother was upstairs sleeping with one eye open. The slightest bit of suspicious noise would have her up and investigating.

2) I had never done a load up laundry in my life so pulling the slip cover off the couch for a midnight wash would certainly get my mother to pay a visit to the laundry room to see why her son suddenly decided to pop his laundry cherry and for that there was no explanation that wouldn't result in me leaving home to become a hobo.

It took a while, but by 3:30am I stumbled onto an epiphany when I noticed a shoe peeking out from under my bed. Out of all the options I didn't have, it quickly became apparent that there was no other choice.

In '93, we all wanted Doc Martens, which you could only get in the big city so we made do with the next closest thing: steel-toed Sears Diehard work shoes.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I took that heavy shoe and proceeded to bash myself in the face until blood started gushing from my nose. I then ran upstairs in the best fake panic I could muster and burst into my mother's room covered in blood screaming that I broke my nose when I tripped in the dark and fell face first into the coffee table. While my mother assessed the damage I worked in an apology for bleeding all over the couch.

Once she determined a trip to the ER wouldn't be needed, after all, my nose was merely broken - it's not like it fell off or anything- she sent me back to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, my throbbing and bruised face was there to remind me about what happened the night before. I looked around my room and noticed the slip cover was missing. I rolled out of bed and made my way to the laundry room where I saw my mother scrubbing away at dried vag blood. The water pooled in the utility sink was a nice shade pink so she was obviously making good progress and said "Toddy, I can't believe you bled so much. You must have really hurt yourself."

Yes I did mother. Yes I did.

Now that's using your head, young man.


It was Spring Break 2004, international waters on a cruise ship and me and my typical friend of white suburbia were primed to great wild and drink to our hearts content for the first time in our lives (we were all 18).

Anyways, it was a 7-night cruise and each night we got progressively more hammered. On night three I met a rather ravishing young female that invited me to a 3AM hot tub session. For some reason I turned it down (how my testicles just didn't fall off at the point I'll never know) but anyways needless to say I regretted my mistake.

The ship was like 6,000 some people so finding her again wasn't the easiest thing in the world. After a few glasses of wine, several shots, and the last 30 minutes of a power hour our paths met again on the last night. I was fall down drunk at this point but I knew the task at hand. We attempted to dance at the club but I fell down every time she grinded back into me.

Since dancing was out we proceeded to sit down at a table where I ordered shots for her and her friend. Finally with her sitting on my lap we started to go at it with an aggressive make out session. I guess her friend felt left out because all the sudden I felt her getting in on the action too and going at my neck. Thank God I was so hammered or I might have lost my load right there. Feeling invincible at this point, I slide my hand up girl number 1's skirt. She stopped looked at me and said, "We can't do this here." My reply was a simple flash of my room key and me and her and her friend were headed out.

On my way out of the club a girl on each on arm I shot my roommate a look... and that's when it happened. He said this foul look came across my face as I moved my hands to cover my mouth. I proceeded to projectile vomit, the vomit hit my hands and flew sideways all over both girls.

My buddies dragged me out of the club and back to the room where I was put to bed momentarily.

About 3 hours later, my roomie returned with a fem of his own only to find me not in my bed. Concerned, he put the hookup on hold to search for me. The search didn't take long when his girl heard a groaning from the bathroom. They opened the door flipped on the lights to find me naked and crying in my own puke.

Here is the dialogue:

Me: Ryan it hurts so bad.

Roomie: What happened to your clothes?

Me: They got wet!

Roomie: How?

Me: (Crying) I don't know, My mom is going to be so disappointed in me.

Luckily my antics were not enough to stop the roomie from getting his.

NOTE: All women involved in the above story were over 60 years old. Or so I would presume.

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