I used to drink tequilla...

Apparently, every true veteran drinker has a story that starts with this. Well, it's time to see if we have any of those around here. Plus I figured that with the holiday season coming to an end soon, it's the perfect time for people to post drinking-related stories. Perhaps as a warning.

So whether you want to tell us about your worst alcohol abuse, or about that time when you woke up in a farmhouse 3 provinces away (or states, or departments, or fiefdoms or whatever, depending on where you live), this is the place to do so.

Unfortunately, I don't have much. There is, however, that time I ended up in the hospital. It was in late spring this year (2006), and people from school had organized a party to celebrate the end of the year. It was open bar, but I strongly dislike shots, which I knew is essentially all they'd have, also meaning the alcohol would be stuff like white rum, tequilla and amaretto (the latter being the one and only liquor I absolutely hate, to the point of having puked at the mere thought). Not too interesting. Now, what I did is, I went to the liquor store before the party started, got my own bottle of rye whisky, and brought it there. I figured I'd share, and I'd get a glass or perhaps two at most before the bottle was empty. However, very, very few people were interested. As time went one, I found myself being essentially the only one drinking from that bottle, and while I was busy explaining quantum mechanics to other people (you'd be surprised how much more sense it makes when you're drunk, and people really do seem to be following you), I kept drinking without really noticing. The end result was that I pretty much drank the whole bottle myself, and quite fast at that. From this point on, I remember very little, if anything, but apparently, I was talking in english (keep in mind that this was in a small city in Quebec, where everyone speaks french), and doing what people later told me was "the best Joseph Stalin impersonation they've ever seen". Eventually, I'm not sure how, things ended up with an ambulance trip to the local hospital. I do seem to remember the ambulance guys giving me a shock or two. Those guys sure as hell know how to party.

The aftermath was me waking up in an hospital bed. While I did not have the immense luck of getting a stomach pumping, I did have the rather unwelcome opportunity of using gravol. In suppository form. I ended up spending the whole day puking anyway.

The lesson is, quantum mechanics is fucking dangerous and should only be approached when sobber.

Alright, that was longer than I wanted, now I want other stories. Oh, and I guess the mods should feel free to move this elsewhere if they want to, not that they need my permission to do so anyway. I'm just not sure where the best place for this thread is. I figured The Kitchen would do.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Being a 'beaner', I drink tons of tequila, in shot form... and I can handle quite a lot (the most tequila I've had myself in one night was a bottle and a half... that day was sick), but I can't bear drinking vodka (alone or with juice or whatever) or white rum (which is the cheapest alcohol down here, so there's lots and lots of it).

The ONE night I decided I'd drink vodka, I puked over the bar's table, inside a glass, the waitress hated me (she had to pick up the puked glass to the kitchen, hahaha), my girlfriend had to drive my car and all I remember was waking up in my car infront of her house the morning after.

There's that other time when I went to a bar with some friends and ended up at another friend's house. I started drinking (vodka, again) and I really can't remember much after that; but people have told me some quite creepy stories of that night. Apparently, I kissed the sister of one of my best friends infront of him, made out with a girl I met that day (which was ugly as hell, but she had a nice body [I saw pictures]), puked all around my friend's house and myself and ended up being brought to my house by some friends, not before I tried to kill one of them because "I wanted to party". I woke up at my living room just to puke some more. That's, by far, the worst alcohol abuse I've had.

How ya doing, buddy?

Wow... I was just talking to a friend last night as we recalled one of our drunken stories, which we lovingly call: "The Legend of The Moose"

This story is pretty legendary in Isla Vista where most of my buddies went to college. A few of them live together in an apartment by the beach and when one of them moved in he had an inflatable moose head that he took while he was moving out of the dorms, which apparently belonged to his roommate. Every time we came over to drink everyone would pay their respects to the moose, give the moose something to drink and even put hats on the moose. Good times were had by all during those days with the moose. They even made The Moose his own MySpace page.

One night, I was told, they had a party and his old dorm roommate showed up and saw the moose in the living room and after a brief scuffle thought it would be a great idea to come back when everyone was passed out and steal the moose back. This was not cool and we grieved the moose very much. But seeing as how the moose belonged to him in the first place, we just had to grin and bare it.

One night, while I was down there for the weekend getting tanked with the boys as usual, we made Irish Car Bombs until everyone caught a buzz and then we dusted a 3 handles of Captain Morgan's Spiced rum between 9 guys and girls. By 1 am we were fucking WASTED and one guy randomly said, "You know what I miss, man? I miss THE MOOSE!"

Moment of silence... And then an UPROAR!

"Well alright then... Let's go get him back!" What I can only describe it sounded like after this is: BATTLE CRIES! as we all ran down to this guy's house who took him in the middle of the night. We came up, knocked on the door and some girl answered the door. Apparently our culprit was away for the weekend and his roommate was having a party of his own. We drunkenly explained the situation to her and said, "Look. That's our fucking moose and we're taking it back!" Naturally she refused at which point we left for 20 minutes and then just rushed back into the house (not unlike a home invasion, I might add) grabbed the moose hanging from the living room wall and sprinted out the door with a girl chasing us with a knife and yelling on the phone with whom we presumed was the police. Meanwhile, we're running back up the street yelling at the top of our lungs holding the moose head high over our heads like a pack of ravenous savages who had just beheaded their latest and greatest kill and were rowdily parading it down to the campfire where we'd sing and dance to our victory over nature. We were just ASKING to get arrested that night and the local cops did give chase on foot for a while but we avoided them by hopping fences and splitting up.

Moral of the story? Don't get drunk and steal moose heads from people.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

I used to drink tequila... well, not really, but this story is alcohol related.

T'was a long time ago, 8th July 2006. One of my mates was having a party at his, more of a celebration for me getting my job and starting it on the 10th July. He had plenty of alcohol laid out and I proceeded to help myself to it. I started off with a couple of beers, this was 3pm in the afternoon.
As the day went on I had beer after beer after beer. I must have had about 6 by 7pm, and I felt a bit off. But that didn't stop me. Oh no.

I then noticed that he had some vodka. I then decided that I would make a drink up with what he had on the counter. I got a pint glass and poured in some green sourz, this is meant to be for shots, vodka, and some blue alco-pops. It turned a nice looking aqua colour and tasted not too bad. Once everyone had seen it though they had to go and ruin it by taking it off me and adding more to it. They added some lager, drambuie, lemonade, cola, red alco-pops.
By this time it had turned a nasty brown colour and all I could taste was the vodka, and I hate the stuff. So I decided to make another pint of the the "aqua" mix, but again it got taken off me and I had to make do with the brown mixture. By this time it was nearing midnight and I was wasted. Then my mate suggested that we go to the play park that was near by, so off we went, with more alcohol.
Events after this are very hazy and I can hardly remember anything that happened at the park, all that I do remember is walking there. What happened there and how I got back, I don't know.

In the morning I was puking up, and felt like crap. I managed to call my parents and get them to pick me up. I spent the rest of the day either puking up or recovering in bed. I still felt rotten on the Monday, my first day of work.

Kids, don't mix your drinks.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

There are a few pretty terrible ones that I could mention. Back in the day when I was young and innocent (around about 16) I got myself into a lot of idiotic situations with alcohol.

The first that springs to mind was so bad I don't remember most of it. I had been having what could possibly be called one of the shittiest days of my life, and having been invited over to a friend's house with my boyfriend for drinks, decided to drink until I could forget the day entirely. I kind of got my wish. One minute I'm necking gin mixed with lemonade and lime cordial (fuck knows how much was in those bottles we had, obviously too much), and the other two were too busy dancing to the time warp to watch my drinking. Next thing I know I'm out in the alley behind her house, no shoes, coat or phone, literally freezing to death. Apparently I threw up a lot and they both thought I was okay, after which I got very aggresive and told them I could walk home by myself. If it hadn't been for her next door neighbours I would have died. They called up an ambulance and, well, it wasn't pretty.

Then there was the legend of V-Day (Vodka day). It was mid-afternoonish and I had just finished off a bottle of red wine whilst my friends were gingerly trying the sherry we had found in the cupboard. After wandering into town to meet another mate, I drank another bottle of wine and then bought some cheap shitty vodka. By this point I was too drunk to actually taste the stuff so I was downing it pretty fast. I kissed my best friend and joined another of them in running round in circles on the floor screaming about having squirrels under our skin. The last thing I remember about that was being at home, throwing up and singing a song about lepoards.

There was also an absinthe incident. This being the first time the three of us had tried it, we went to the nature park after school and with absolutely no finess just downed it straight from the bottle. After roughly a 1/3 each of 80% shit we were pretty wasted. I hadn't eaten all day either. I stumbled home somehow, I still don't recall how, and went straight up to my room to vomit bright green all over my carpet. Being too drunk to deal with it at the time, I covered it up with my dressing gown and then went straight back out after dinner to drink gin with my boyfriend.

Even further back in time was the first time I got drunk, 13 years of age. I found the diary entry about it today actually and I was impressed at my stamina. 8 glasses of Cava and about 3 shots of spirits. I recall feeling really warm so I tried to stick my head in the freezer but it wouldn't fit so I lay on our kitchen floor. I kept going into the lounge and asking my parents if they thought I was drunk, and then I went to bed, only to throw up and have a horrendous hangover in school the next day.

There are probably more but I forget most of them.

I was speaking idiomatically.

awesome stories guys.

The first time I got drunk was when I was 14. It was Tequila, and I've hated Mexico ever seince. Me and a buddy were home alone and my friend pulled that tfucking bottle out and we just went THROUGH it. Fucking nuts, worm and all.

Next thing you know im talking to this colombian trick on the phone trying to impress with her with my recitation of the alphabet. Then I was throwing up, everywhere. Then I was taking a hotshower and, as i went to my friends rool to get dressed I just passed out on his bed with the towel around my waist, nuts just hanging there like they belong.

Most amazing jew boots

The worst I had was walking home from the bar and seeing a couple girls and talking to them for a while, then they ran away and I yelled at them about how to save the environment. All I remember is bits and pieces... Probably a good thing.

FELIPE NO

I remember the time that I got dumped and thought that a good way to get over it would be to drink whisky in half-pint glasses. I was drinking a hell of a lot most of the time back then. Wine, whisky and vodka mainly. Never was much of a beer man. Incidentally, I used to drink tequilla at that time too, but a bottle of Jose Cuervo's finest was something for special occasions. Anyway, I think I got through about three or four of 'em before I stumbled to my bed, and slipped uneasily into sleep.

I woke up to find the guy I shared a house with at the time scooping vomit out of the back of my throat and anxiously saying "please don't die on me". Apparently I almost choked to death on my own vomit. It's not that uncommon for people to die from it. I'm pretty lucky that I have someone living with me at the time who cared enough to check in on me. What I've never worked out is why he was sober enough to save me. He wasn't necking quite so much whisky as I was that night, but I recall him being pretty well plastered before I hit the sack.

I don't drink as much as I used to... that entire year is just one long string of drunken escapades. I don't think I could have spent a total of two months sober in the whole of '97. I was every cliche you've ever heard about alcohol-abuse that year. I used to wake up and drink vodka with OJ for breakfast.

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

After a particularly heavy tequila binge I was persuaded to ride the 'cart of death' (actually a shopping trolley covered in barbed wire) down a extremely steep hill while holding roman candles in each hand. Naturally I ended up having to be cut out of the barbed wire, but luckily the small part of my brain that was still working has persuaded me to put on a leather jacket before hand.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Now for a sane post from me on this.

The last time tequila+vomiting happened for me was on my birthday a few months ago. I had a double shot of whiskey given to me by a friend, then vodka, then run, and then a huge goblet of dark red wine before going back to just beer. It was around the time of the Tequila that I knew I was in for some shit later on. Bam, leaned over about half an hour later and deposited the contents of my stomach onto the ground next to me.

Before that I always wondered why the place had no proper flooring on the outside, just plastic tables on grass and dirt... Now i Know.

Here's me threatening my friend because of all the shit he was sending my way that night.


There's nowhere I can't reach.

Damn, I've got a few. First bout of alcohol abuse was at the tender age of 15 when I first started going out into town. I got a bottle of Vodka bought for me and seeing as I had no mixer to, er, mix with it (and because I had never tried it), I went through it on my own in about half an hour. The others were sharing their booze and may or may not have had a carton of juice with them, I can't remember. I also can't remember what happened after that. But I do know that I ended up in the bowling alley. I had apparently heaved up in the toilets, and was sitting down with some of my mates in the back section of the place. The owner came up to us and said something like; "If I find out any of you has been sick in the toilets, I'll ban the lot of you!" With that he turned round and walked away oblivious to me heaving up some more into a massive white ashtray. I was in that bad a state my younger brother had to carry me home.

I swore off Vodka for a good few years after that. It feels strange saying that only one bottle knocked me out, but like I said I was only 15 at the time...

Anyway I'll follow up later with my 18th B'day Balls-up. Woop.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Should I be worried that I don't remember typing this post?

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Nah, I don't worry. The last few days I've experienced the same thing. I have my options set to subscibe me to any thread I post in, yet there are threads I am now subscibed to that I, after checking, have no posts in so all I can expect is that my post there was so asinine it was deleted.

I was speaking idiomatically.