Cockblocked By The Evening News!

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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.


About a year after we all graduated from college, a couple of buddies and me went out for a night on the town to one of our usual places here in Dallas. It's a rowdy bar and on the weekends its full to the brim of people our age. We end up running into a girl who, though my friends knew her well from college, I only had met once or twice and had spoken maybe five words to her in my life. But we recognize each other and get to talkin and takin shots. During the whole night I really thought of nothing until I realized it was closing time and we had been taking shots and talking for the last couple of hours. So I ask her to come back to my place and she gladly abides.

Once we somehow get back to my place we immediately start going at it, dirty Rocco style. The whole thing lasts a long while, and for a while we did the dirty deed to the best of my ability. She was a pro at it and liked being on top more than anything. After I while, I let her know that I'm about to spew me gigglies, so she says 'Ok' and goes down to finish the job.

When we got home, I had thrown on the TV to drown out any noises so my roommate wouldn't hear and, given its about 4am now, the nightly news is on replay. And they have been running a story on how a family of four got murdered that night, including two kids. So I can't concentrate with this going on, so I decide to look for the controller and turn off the TV. But no way in hell I'm asking her to stop. So without moving a muscle in my body besides my arm and neck, I look for the controller. After about 30 seconds I finally find it on the complete other side of the bed, just out of reach of my arm. I stretch and stretch to reach it, without moving my body and interrupting her work of art down there.

As I'm reaching for it, I realize she starts deep throating in a way that would make Lindsay Lohan jealous. I give one last heave with my arm to reach it and I FINALLY reach it. But, the second I grab the controller, I hear a noise. It was an awful noise. As I grabbed the controller, I ripped the loudest, deepest, sheet staining fart. I froze, I didn't know what to say or do. I was drunk enough to hope that she didn't notice that I farted basically in her mouth while she was performing her A game. I slowly turned my head back to her and all I see is a silhouette of a girls face looking at me (TV is still on with that damn murder story) and two white eyes staring at my soul. Her mouth still agape, probably because she is afraid to close her mouth and have permanent stank breathe. She yells 'Are you serious?!" and all I could muster at the time was an 'Oops.' She immediately rolls over and leaves me with a horrible case of le blue balls.

She passes out. I am still in shock I didn't shit the bed with that James Earl Jones' voice-inspired bubble earlier. I took her home the next morning, redefining the word awkward. Nothing was said, until we pulled up to her apartment and all I said was 'So...sorry about the fart.' She wasn't amused, got out, and I hadn't seen her since.

Yes, I am husband material.

Openly farting? You sure are.


We made the trek to New Orleans for one of my good friend's bachelor party. We had driven 6 hours to get there, from Houston, giving me plenty of time to liquor up on the road. By the time we had checked into the hotel, I was already pretty lit and ready to party. Bourbon Street was a mad house. We went from bar to bar constantly taking shots along the way. However, soon it became evident that I was not going to last much longer and was needed to head back to the hotel. This is where my night begins to become hazy.

Somehow, while I was stumbling home on Bourbon, I lost my group of friends. I remember talking to 2 random older females on the street who seemed very engaging and interested in me. Me, being wasted and horny, offer the 2 ladies to head back to my hotel room to "continue our conversation". They seemed into it. However, being that I was utterly plastered (and my phone was dead), I had no idea where my hotel was. Being the problem solver that I am, I spot a random hotel on the street and immediately book a room anticipating the potential 3some that awaits. I walk into my room with my 2 ladies, but being
completely shit faced, I passed out immediately once I hit the bed. The next day, I woke up butt naked, alone, with my wallet and my possessions gone. I had been robbed.

The next day, when recapping the events to my friends, they had mentioned the last time they saw me was when I was talking to the ‘2 prostitute looking females on the street corner.' So apparently, I had willingly purchased a hotel room and let 2 hookers disrobe and rob me. Oh, and 2 days later, I came down with swine flu. My New Orleans trip consisted of me losing all my money and contracting swine flu from 2 dirty hookers.


Isn't that what they tell you in the city brochure?


My friend Laura is friends mostly with guys and whenever she gets a female friend, the new friend, for whatever reason, bangs one Laura's guy friends. I almost boned one of her friends and got far more than I bargained for.

This past summer, one of her female friends, Amanda, threw a going away party for her roommate at her apartment. I had known Amanda for about a year and had been flirty in previous occasions, so she invited some friends and me over. It was only about 20 people getting hammered in a shitbox Boston apartment, but it was a good time. After some drinking games, I need to piss so I walk down the hallway towards the bathroom. Amanda follows me and before I open the bathroom door taps me on the shoulder.

"After you come out of there, my room's right here," while pointing to the adjacent door. I decide to skip the bathroom and start making out with this girl. I am smooth.

After some fumbling around in the dark (while the party is in full swing next door), Amanda starts giving me a blowjob. I don't get to feel this cool that often, so I sit back and relax. Right before I finish, there's Vic Mackey-level BANGING on the door, followed by Laura screaming "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN THERE?!? IF YOU TWO DON'T BOTH GET OUT HERE, I'M DONE WITH BOTH OF YOU!!"

Apparently, Laura had specifically asked Amanda not to hook up with any of her guy friends, since Laura had such previous bad luck with her girlfriends. I was unaware of this prearrangement.

Amanda gets up and starts throwing her clothes on madly. I have no idea what to do so I collect my clothes from the floor and start dressing, only getting my boxers on before Amanda went outside to calm Laura down. Naturally, when she opened the door, I jumped in the closet and started to dress when I hear Laura walk over to the closet and try to open it, yelling "GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!" I said nothing and Laura left to scream at Amanda.

I took this opportunity to jump out of her closet, pick up my sandals and slide open her bedroom window. She lived on the first floor and the drop couldn't have been more than 4 feet from the window. I jumped out past the back deck and into the back alley, running to the end of the building development a block away, waiting for Laura to leave so I could return to the party. I am smooth and brave.

The next day I have serious trouble walking around on my right leg. A week later, an MRI reveals a hairline fracture in my right heel.


Laura should probably join the military.


I worked at my student paper, and during my senior year, a junior joins the staff at on a different desk. So I start talking to her with the sole intent of winding up in her pants. (Hey, I was graduating, and college newsrooms are just one gnarled web of random hookups anyway.) I started by being friendly and offering to help with the computer editing programs, and eventually worked my way up to the "where are you drinking tonight - we should meet up" move.

She goes for it, gives me her number, and tells me she's not sure what her friends' plans are that night, but to contact her and meet up. The plan is working so far.

Fast forward to about 11. I have been drinking at my friends' house since classes ended, and looking back, was in no shape to be venturing out. But in my drunken eagerness, I text the girl to see what she's up to. After a few texts back and forth, it is decided that she will be dropped off where I am, and we will walk to the bars (about .5 miles) together. I am excited, and apparently completely ignorant of my inability to function. Well, wouldn't you know it, when she is dropped off, she is in pretty much the same state as I. Immediately we set off to lope, stagger and sway our way to the bars. When we get to the door, I find out my wallet in not in my pants. (No ID means no entry here). Well fuck. My solution? Take off my sandals (to increase my speed of course), and run back to my friends' house to retrieve my wallet from my backpack. On the way I somewhat recall face-planting at least once into a hedge. But nontheless, I doggedly return, probably extremely sweaty, with my ID. She promptly decides to skip the part where we got into the bar, and suggests we just walk to her apartment. NICE. (But what did I do all that jogging for?)

On the way, she attempts to sit down on random benches throughout campus and pass out. Now I basically come an incapacitated babysitter / luggage hauler. I'm not sure how we made it through campus without getting arrested, since she was trying to pass out all over the place, and I probably appeared to be attempting to kidnap her. We make it back. I black out.

I wake up in the morning. I have no fucking clue where the hell I am. I see her. I recognize her. I sort of remember what happened. She has jeans and a bra on. I must have succeeded in getting her shirt off ... or she was just getting ready for bed ... who knows. I am fully clothed and ready to split. I go to the bathroom, and come back to get my sandals. She is up, fully clothed, and apparently pissed. She rips the comforter off the bed to show me a giant bloodstain down by our feet. I look down, and sure enough, there are cuts on my toes and feet. Awkward. I mumble an apology and I think I offer to wash the sheets. She hints that I should get the hell out.

She wasn't hard to avoid at work. But I did ruin a perfectly functional pair of sandals.


And those aren't always so easy to find. Take it from a guy who once spent an hour in a DSW looking for comfortable ones.