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It’s Always More Fun When When It’s Your Wife Vomiting

Illustration for article titled It’s Always More Fun When When It’s Your Wife Vomiting

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


My sorry drunken hookup failure begins at a former coworker's wedding late last year. My wife and I packed up the kids, sent them to the relatives, and intended on having a good time out, as many of my old coworkers (and good friends) would also be in attendance. We all currently work in or formerly worked in public accounting so drinking is second nature.

My wife is having a good time at the reception, chatting up the wives of my coworkers. I was to be the driver later at the end of the night so I set out to have my two Long Islands early in the evening and drink water after my allotted alcohol has disappeared. The evening grew later, we danced as she whispered in my ear the things she wanted to do when we got home. Keep in mind, being a mid-30's public accountant, dancing is like a foreign language that I don't speak. And when I do attempt it I am sure to get into my wife's pants, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of the fact I made her laugh, or perhaps she lacks the ability to judge when drinking. I don't care. I'll take it.

We head out around midnight to make the 1 hour drive back home where I will proceed to get my sexual groove on. But wait… no less than 10 seconds after walking out of the reception she sputters the words no man hoping to get some wants to hear, "I don't feel so good."

Ten minutes into the drive home she rolls down her window and proceeds to empty her stomach down the side of my Saab (I told you I was in public accounting). Not only do my chances of getting laid go out the window with her booze but now I have a vomit bullseye on the side of my car for any cop to see. And if that wasn't enough 30 minutes later she repeats her gastro activity on the interstate. Only this time she proceeded to keep half of it inside the car.

Finally we arrive home. She headed to the shower, I head to the sink, grab a bucket of soapy water and start washing the vomit off the side of my car at 1am on a cold late October Minnesota night, blue balls and all.

The next day she admitted to drinking half of each of my two Long Islands while I was away from the table, on top of getting wrecked via the numerous drinks purchased for her by my former coworkers. Bastards.



I was at a bar with my girlfriend of three months. We were watching game 6 of the Cardinals-Rangers World Series. I am a life-long Cubs fan, so naturally I was pulling hard for a Rangers victory. My girlfriend (an Ohio native with zero interest in baseball) was being a good sport and was rooting along with me.

By the time the 9th inning rolled around we were both pretty hammered. My girlfriend was very enthusiastic about the impending Rangers victory. Certain arrangements were made for our post-game "celebration." The Rangers were up 7-5, and everything was looking good on my part.

But then David Freese completely ruined my shit. There would be no sex with the lady-friend that night. Turns out that her ex-boyfriend, who she broke up with a month before meeting me, was a huge Cards fan. Instead of a night of intense, drunken fucking, I ended up going home alone. She broke up with me a week later.

God hates Cubs fans.


Like most non-frat guys, I dated a crazy girl in college, Jennifer. We went to a friend's house on a Friday and drank a LOT of Vodka. Later, we all decided to go back to my dorm for some video games. On the (admittedly drunken) drive over, Jennifer starts babbling about how she wants to fight someone. I repeatedly told her she didn't really want to do that.

On the walk from the parking lot she screamed "I WANT TO FIGHT" and punched me square in the jaw. I was so drunk, she knocked me down. My friends laughed. After I unlocked the door to my dorm and turned to let them all through, she started screaming about how she wanted to fight, she punched me in the face. I fell back against the cinderblock wall, but not all the way down this time.

"If you punch me again," I said, "you're sleeping on the floor."

After my friend and his wife left, it was drunk-ass sexytime. I got on top of her and as I lifted up, she punched me square in the nose without a word. I yelled at her to sleep on the floor. Crying, she crumpled onto the rug and went right to sleep. She was so drunk she didn't even try for the top bunk).

I didn't get laid at all that weekend.

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