Since I have never been drunk I thought I'd share the story of my brother's drunken night. We were 17(we're twins) and my brother was at a friend of his house. He calls me and tells me that he is going to spend the night so let mom know for him. Well, if you knew my brother you'd know he hates staying at other people's homes. So I decide that I'm going to head over and see what's going on. I get there about 11p.m and my brother is just walking out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a leopard print bra and panty set.

I immediately leave and go buy a disposable camera. I come back to find him dancing around the living room still in the outfit. I snap a few pictures and finally convince him to drunk dial a few friends. He proceeds to explain to my best friend's mom everything he could and would do to her if she wanted. He told my now sister-in-law that he wanted a three way with her and her best friend. After this he goes into the bathroom to pass out.

So at this point I decide the show is over and start to play a game of Soul Caliber with my other drunken friend. At one point he jumps up toward the bathroom and realizes the door is locked. He then begins choking on his own vomit. Luckily he only weighed about 120lbs. so I easily picked him up and threw him over the kitchen sink. I stuck the sink sprayer down his throat in an attempt to clear his airway. This luckily worked and that crisis was avoided.

I now decide it is time to check on my brother. I kick open the bathroom door to find him naked laying in every body fluid you can think of. So I clean him up, dress him, and put him to bed. I then put the other friend to bed at which point he tells me his parents will be home the following morning. Let's just say if you ever want to remove all evidence of a party from a home give me a call. The bathroom was spotless and there was no evidence of any underage drinking be the time the arrived the next morning. Anyway, sorry this wasn't a funny Shadian was drunk story as you'll never find one of those :D

Wow...I wish Shadian was my brother. Or neighbor. Hell, do you want to move into my basement???

Wow...I wish Shadian was my brother. Or neighbor. Hell, do you want to move into my basement???

You have high-speed internet, right?

Indeed, as well as an LCD projector-based home theater, 6 ft. wide image, 5.1 surround sound, and PS2 connected to it to boot. All this can be yours in return for vomit-mopping!

Indeed, as well as an LCD projector-based home theater, 6 ft. wide image, 5.1 surround sound, and PS2 connected to it to boot. All this can be yours in return for vomit-mopping!

I'll hook my 360 up to that. Ok, let me go home and pack and i'm omw. I'll be bringing my wife, 2 dogs, and cat.

I'll hook my 360 up to that. Ok, let me go home and pack and i'm omw. I'll be bringing my wife, 2 dogs, and cat.

OK just don't bring your twin; he sounds like TROUBLE.

Since I don't drink very much I don't have any "Drunken Oriole" stories. Actually, I've never been drunk before. HOWEVER! My sister does drink and since I know she'll never ever read these forums I think I can freely tell this one. Honestly, it's not really a drunken story it's more of an amusing anecdote about alcohol.

One weekend, when I was a teenager, my parents went away for the weekend and left my sister and I home alone. Sometime in the afternoon I got this phone call from my sister:

Sister: "When are mom and dad coming home?"
Me: "I dunno, around 3 or 4. Why?"
Sister: "Quick! I want you to go downstairs and hide all the beer bottles for me."

I was pretty annoyed with my sister for making me hide her mess. I go downstairs into the basement and find the place littered with beer bottles. I stand there for a moment thinking "where am I gonna hide all these bottles?". Under the bed of course! So I shove all the beer bottles under my sister's bed and leave. Mission accomplished.

Needless to say my sister was not very impressed. I think she managed to convince my parents that the bottles weren't hers. I'm not sure. Unfortunately, I wasn't privy to the conversation.

I want Shadian to stick a sprayer down My throat when I choke on My own vomit! No fair!

Oriole...beer bottles smell. That was a terrible hiding place.

stick a sprayer down My throat

Lux, you just ask for it again and again...

Oriole...beer bottles smell. That was a terrible hiding place.

Yes I know. :D I did it on purpose. Cause I'm evil ;)

OK, bumping this thread with some Real Drinking Stories (number 2 is by far the best, although 4 is pretty wild too)

I'm not in the story telling mood, but pictures are worth a thousand words.

I assume those are not in the correct order???

1: Fort Knox Christmas 2004, before the MPs hauled me up to my room (thanks to my friends who were kind enough to take the picture, but NOT get me out of there)

2, 3, 4: My initiation as a platoon leader in May 2005, in order. Notice SGT Salter's 'nub' left hand- had two and a half fingers shot off in OIF, which left him a weapon of untold creepiness when he 'nubbed' you. Especially when drunk and tied up and helpless.

And some from College...

I love these.

I especially love the bondage ones. This is how I learned to chug in college...by force.

Here's the passed out pic of me that disappeared from this thread.

Details of that night can be found here.

Ah hah! There it is!

Yeah, I saw him on the ground and just threw a blanket over him. I'm NICE.

... Bren is a buckeye?

O H

damn right

I O

She might allow you to hug her now.

I O

I KNEW YOU WOULD NOT LET ME DOWN <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Not only would I allow you to hug me, I would even share my beer with you. We are best friends. A buckeye bond cannot be broken. <3

Friend of mine from the circus went there. Skinny dude playin' a tuba.

So, in order to resurrect this old thread, I'm gonna throw in a story of my own.

So, I used to live with a couple in Base Housing. Dan and Julie. And their two kids. This wasn't a bad situation as it made my initiation into drinking that much more enjoyable. IE getting drunk and then destroying a motherboard with a hammer or getting drunk and singing along with Moulin Rouge. Great times.

Anyways, Julie leaves for a week with the kids to go see her sister's wedding. Me and Dan decide on that weekend that we're tired of the usual mixed drinks/beer/straight shots of Goldschlager that we usually have. So, we, being the internet gurus that we are, decide to find a site that will help us in our endeavor. We find one that allows us to give it a listing of every single piece of alcohol in the house and it will give us a list of drinks we can make. We're DELIGHTED.

Now, both lists were quite huge. We know we're not gonna make it through the list of drinks in one night. So, we get selective and just pick and choose. Some were quite good. Like Dr. Pepper. Half a can of beer, half a can of coke, shot of amaretto, drop it, chug. Tasted exactly like Dr. Pepper. Some were very fucking horrible. Like Motor Oil. Don't ask what's in it, I don't remember, never gonna try to find out. Fucking horrible.

So, after having ingested many different drinks, we top the night off with Peppermint Schnapps. Why? Because Dan loves Peppermint Schnapps. He can drink it like water. I, being highly fucking inebriated, take very very small sips from my glass of Peppermint Schnapps. Then I black out. Then I come to. Worshiping the Porcelain God. I have no clue as to how I got there. Dan remembers though. As he told it to me, he watched as I stared at my computer screen. Then watched as my head met the desk rather quickly. This is the sign to him that I need to go to sleep. So he drags my skinny ass up out of my chair and proceeds to drag me down the hallway to my bedroom. Halfway to my bedroom, I bolt out of his arms, into the bathroom, and proceed to worship. After I have given proper prayer to the God of Porcelain, he asks, "Are you ok?" I say yes and drag myself into my bed.

This is not a good thing. Because laying down is the room's cue to begin swirling around and around. While my eyes are closed. I fight this for about 15 mins and then decide, "Ok, I give stomach, let's go." But it's too late for that. My stomach isn't waiting the 10 secs it'll take me to get to the bathroom. So, in this rush of frenzied thinking of where I do and do not want to puke I spy the kitter litter box. I don't know why the cat's bathroom was situated in my bedroom but at the time, any bathroom would do. So I get on all 4's and proceed to add to the pile that is inside the litter box, with my own pile. Then wipe my mouth, slide back into bed, and pass out.


Needless to say, the cats were really fucking pissed at me. But I didn't give a shit because I wasn't gonna sleep in my own vomit made out of Motor Oil.


-Ress

PETA'S GONNA BE AFTER YOUR SKINNY ASS FOR THAT!!!

I'm currently in school down at Ft. Lee for Army Logistics. There are about 20 foreign officers also in this class, one of whom happens to be a pretty cool Slovak captain. Milos (pronounced 'meeloash') Sopoliga (i dunno, I just call him Milos). Since 90% of this class is married and thus lame and doesn't go out drinking on weeknights, there is a small group of us that have bonded over our proclivity to consume alcohol in obscene amounts.

Well one day Milos, feeling greatful, offers to share a bottle of slivovitz that he brought from home. He's happy because this stuff is distilled from plums and only contains a certain type of sugar as a byproduct of the process which is sweet bordering on tasteless and supposedly hangover proof. Unfortunately, I had a prior engagement to go as part of a large group to a Lebanese restaurant with our Lebanese exchange officer Mohammed, so the plan is to combine the two events.

Still suffering from the night before, I claim rights as DD and pick up my buddy and drive over to Milos' hotel. After munching on some chips, he breaks out the bottle with a huge goofy grin. Its like he's showing his baby pictures. He also produces three fine little plastic cups, the kind you get during in-flight meals, probably 6 oz, and proceeds to fill each nearly to the rim. He then raises his glass, proclaims something in Slovak that I no longer remember, and downs the thing. Me and my buddy stare, thinking we were going to sip these. Not wanting to offend, I down the glass. GASOLINE. I just drank gasoline. That shit was FOUL. My friend then takes a sip, sets down his drink, and says "Man, I can't do that". Milos is already refilling our glasses as he simultaneously rags on my friend to man up. Not wanting to back down from a challenge, or endanger my drinking crown to a european, I accept the next glass, look at my friend, and tell him that he is now driving. "Dude, I'm fine with that. That shit will mess me up." I call him a pussy. Hah!

Within 20 minutes, the entire 1.5L bottle is gone. My throat feels like it is closing and I cant feel my teeth. I ask for a beer to chase. "Nonono!" says Milos. "You cannot mix with the slivovitz!" I drink like 5 sips anyway just to confirm that my mouth and throat still work, then its time to pick up Mohammed and our other friend. By the time we drive the 3 minutes to the other hotel down the street, I am already staggering and slurring. Mohammed gets in the car and immediately starts laughing at me. I can just hear him thinking "Stupid westerners. This is why I don't drink".

At this point a critical flaw in the plan is revealed- I am the only one who knows where Sarah, the last friend we have to pick up, lives. As my peripheral vision is starting to turn fuzzy and then black, I attempt to dial her. After a few wrong numbers, and maybe what was a right number but I was unable to effectively communicate anything intelligible, I tell Luke to just start driving south on I95. Skeptically, he complies. I manage to direct him to the correct exit, then tell him to turn right. My vision fades for a few moments, then I tenuously reconnect with reality enough to realize that was the wrong way. "Dude, this is the wrong way, you fucked up" is how I manage to delicately convey that to my driver friend. By now Luke is pretty pissed and we're pretty late (making Mohammed late to his own party). Luke stops the car, digs out the phone from my own pocket, and dials Sarah himself. My world is now black...





...I come to an unknown amount of time later face down in what I slowly realize is a plate of tabbouleh. I am vaguely aware of stange music and voices around me, the cold hard surface of the table under my arms, and that I am sweaty. My vision is limited to what is in about a 60 degree arc in front of me and within 18 inches. I involuntarily groan.

"Ah! He's awake!" I hear Milos' booming voice. I vaugley hear some of what are probably my friends saying "oh, leave him alone" and "not again". I'm not sure what this all means. The effort of trying to figure this out apparently redirected enough blood to my brain that it was able to determine that there was a vile amount of poison in my stomach. Poison which must be ejected. I push up from the table like the risen dead and I can just at the edge of my awareness see astonished faces of restaurant patrons as I stagger miraculously right into the men's bathroom and lock the door behind me. I proceed to eject a foul red and orange miasma at a high velocity, mostly, but not entirely, into the toilet. After a few heaves, my stomach is calmer, but at what effort! I wipe off the seat, and sit down. Again, I descend into blackness....


.... "Bren, are you okay?" This is through the bathroom door. Oh shit, I'm still in the bathroom. "Yes", I lie. I pull up my drawers, flush whatever may have still been down there, and open the door. Sarah is standing there and looks shocked at my sight. She pushes me immediately back into the bathroom and shuts the door behind us. I vaguely recall a giggle forming at the back of my mind about the two of us locking ourselves into the bathroom for nefarious purposes, but the puke all over the floor and the toilet sorta ruined the mood before it began. She helps clean me up, cleans up my mess as I help the wall stay up, and then we exit. "He puked all over the bathroom" she annouces to the whole table. "It wasn't me!" I lamely reply. The moment that escapes my lips, I am ashamed. Even as drunk as I am, I know that was a pretty weak attempt. I notice it is dark outside now, where as it was quite a while from sunset when I first went in the bathroom. Suddenly I am VERY HUNGRY. The tabbouleh with my face still imprinted in it is consumed in less than 60 seconds, followed by some leftover kebabs. As I am polishing off the last of these, a tiredness hits me and my vision is once again restricted to about 18 inches. As I feel the blackness approaching, I manage to mumble to Sarah, "I need more meat". Laughter, then blackness....



... My nose is wet. And hot. "Leave him alone, guys". This is Sarah. My head is off the table, which is funny cause I know my neck does not have the strength to keep it up, and I have a cup of coffee in my face. Milos and Luke are trying to "pep me up". There is much laughter, and the flash of cameras. I dont want the coffee, and i try to say this, but with the cup up to my lips, I only manage to sputter and make motorboat noises in the cup. There is now coffee all over my chin and shirt. This provides another uproar. I frown a sad frown and put my head back down to sleep. I just want to be left alone...


I wake up in the passenger seat of my car. My apartment is in front of me. I look over and Luke looks back at me. He turns off the car. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask accusingly. "I'm putting your drunk ass to bed." "Oh." Finally home, I manage to pass out in my own bed.

The next day, Milos is one of many calls to make sure I'm okay, which I lie and say I'm fine. "Brendan, you would have been fine, but you drank that beer."

Sure, Milos. It was the beer.


Pictures to follow when I get home...