| What's your worse / best effort? 20:45 - Jul 5 with 1778 views | bluelagos |
I once got p*ssed at a works do when I was on my placement year - and in the morning got called in to see the boss and got a life ban from all future company dos.
Feel like a proper amateur now.
What you got? |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 20:59 - Jul 5 with 1675 views | Illinoisblue |
Paddy Power has Lucan at 1/50 favourite to win this thread. |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 21:04 - Jul 5 with 1655 views | bluelagos |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 20:59 - Jul 5 by Illinoisblue |
Paddy Power has Lucan at 1/50 favourite to win this thread. |
Never in doubt. | |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 21:06 - Jul 5 with 1656 views | BlueandTruesince82 |
Yeah but what did you do?
I once game home from a night out at uni with a copy of Kidulthood on DVD. To this day I don't know where it came from and have no memory about ram raiding blockbuster |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 21:16 - Jul 5 with 1622 views | StNeotsBlue |
Wasn't work related but I used to have a post pub arrangement with a nurse who lodged in a house 100 yards from my local. The landlady never locked the back door so I'd just rock up whenever suited. Unfortunately after a day out when I'd been particularly thirsty I've let myself in and jumped in the normal bed. Sadly my nurse pal was away that weekend and the landlady's Mum was sleeping in her bed, not sure which of us was more shocked, this was prior to mobile phones.
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 21:19 - Jul 5 with 1605 views | BanksterDebtSlave |
Passed out having a sh1t in a hole I had just dug in a field at a free festival. Trousers still around my ankles when I woke up hours later. No idea how long I was there but day had become night. |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 21:22 - Jul 5 with 1588 views | Cheltenham_Blue |
When I was about 36/37 I got told by a load of 20 year olds in our office that they would drink me under the table, which was like a red rag to a bull.
I left the club last, at 7am, but was so smashed I could only get as far as the office, where I fell asleep on my desk and was woken up at 12pm by the cleaners who were interested to know who had curled off a sh^t in the sink.
I told them what I knew, which was I have absolutely no idea. [Post edited 5 Jul 2022 21:22]
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 21:23 - Jul 5 with 1584 views | gtsb1966 |
Got absolutely hammered one Xmas Eve. Don't remember anything. Woke up Xmas morning and the Mrs and baby were already up. Burst through the door shouting happy Xmas and the Mrs said " don't you happy Xmas me. I've been up since 4am because you pissed in the cot". Learnt my lesson I can tell you. |  | | |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 22:03 - Jul 5 with 1485 views | STYG |
I'm winning this.
Spent £400 on a very fancy suit for a big work party and drove into town parking in my work car park before getting completely slaughtered.
I woke up the next morning not remembering anything after what must have been 8pm other than kissing a work colleague in Fire and Ice and having a disagreement with one of my bosses on the dance floor.
I was laying face down in the biggest pile of sick imaginable. It was absolutely stuck to my jacket and trousers which were clearly beyond saving!
That evening, when I was of the view I was now safe enough to drive I called a cab and went to wait outside so it could take me into town to pick up my car.
My car was outside! I was almost sick with worry that I'd driven home in that state. Went into a full blown panic attack and I went to inspect the car for damage assuming I must have hit something or killed someone driving it home, was contemplating handing myself into the Police for fear of having killed or injured someone (I hate drink drivers as much as anyone) and burst into tears thinking it was only a matter of time before the plod knocked on the door and they'd rightly throw away the key.
My housemate came out to ask what I was getting in a state over and it emerged that a work mate of mine, who didn't drink (and lived a couple of roads away) had driven us home (at my request) and they'd both been laughing at the state of me when I stumbled in at 3am, disturbing my house mate who'd fallen asleep watching TV in the lounge.
£400 on a suit down the drain, found out I'd spent nearly £230 on drinks, I remembered nothing of the evening, had to ventilate my bedroom for a week, had a full blown panic attack over fearing I'd done the one thing I hate more than anything, had apparently been an absolute state unable to stand up in front of my entire work and to top it all off I then found out the row I'd had with one of my bosses was because he'd ended up with the girl I'd kissed earlier in the night, who I'd fancied for months and thought I was in there with. They got married and had two kids I think.
I started looking for another job a few weeks after that party and left a few months later.
Top that! [Post edited 5 Jul 2022 22:08]
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 22:28 - Jul 5 with 1354 views | Rozz |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 22:03 - Jul 5 by STYG |
I'm winning this.
Spent £400 on a very fancy suit for a big work party and drove into town parking in my work car park before getting completely slaughtered.
I woke up the next morning not remembering anything after what must have been 8pm other than kissing a work colleague in Fire and Ice and having a disagreement with one of my bosses on the dance floor.
I was laying face down in the biggest pile of sick imaginable. It was absolutely stuck to my jacket and trousers which were clearly beyond saving!
That evening, when I was of the view I was now safe enough to drive I called a cab and went to wait outside so it could take me into town to pick up my car.
My car was outside! I was almost sick with worry that I'd driven home in that state. Went into a full blown panic attack and I went to inspect the car for damage assuming I must have hit something or killed someone driving it home, was contemplating handing myself into the Police for fear of having killed or injured someone (I hate drink drivers as much as anyone) and burst into tears thinking it was only a matter of time before the plod knocked on the door and they'd rightly throw away the key.
My housemate came out to ask what I was getting in a state over and it emerged that a work mate of mine, who didn't drink (and lived a couple of roads away) had driven us home (at my request) and they'd both been laughing at the state of me when I stumbled in at 3am, disturbing my house mate who'd fallen asleep watching TV in the lounge.
£400 on a suit down the drain, found out I'd spent nearly £230 on drinks, I remembered nothing of the evening, had to ventilate my bedroom for a week, had a full blown panic attack over fearing I'd done the one thing I hate more than anything, had apparently been an absolute state unable to stand up in front of my entire work and to top it all off I then found out the row I'd had with one of my bosses was because he'd ended up with the girl I'd kissed earlier in the night, who I'd fancied for months and thought I was in there with. They got married and had two kids I think.
I started looking for another job a few weeks after that party and left a few months later.
Top that! [Post edited 5 Jul 2022 22:08]
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I caught norovirus in my first year at uni and it was truly f£cking miserable. After a week and a half travelling no further than the shared bathroom of our 10 (TEN) bed flat, I decided I was well enough to get back out there.
Fast forward a couple of hours and 3 litres of lambrini, and I'm in the queue for a club in Nottingham when I suddenly get the urge. Situation critical, I left my pals in the queue and made a B line for the 24hr gym I was a member of at the time. I'm trying to remember the code for the air lock style rotating doors, legs crossed, sweating like a bastard. I must've gotten it wrong before 10 times before a cleaner took pity and let me in. This gym is enormous, but it's just me and this poor cleaner as it's well after midnight.
I run for the bogs with tears in my eyes as I manage to get my kecks down just in time. Sweet relief, I thought, until the projectile vomit. I panicked - I was already sat on the only reasonable receptacle. Long story short, I was violently ill into my pants & trousers.
In my drunken embarrassment, I panicked further and tried to dispose of the evidence by flushing my dirtied pants. Of course, the toilet begins to flood the stall in some biblical vom-poocano, and I'm the only muppet in the building. I had no choice but to plunge an arm in up to the elbow to retrieve them before things really escalated. My pants remained on the floor of that cubicle as I walked 2 miles home, commando, in vomit filled jeans. I think I cried.
I cancelled my membership the following morning and never went back. |  | | |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 23:02 - Jul 5 with 1284 views | Gogs |
first posted this over a year ago. I still haven't surpassed this effort:
Alcohol by Gogs 13 May 2021 23:26Christmas 1992. I remember it all too clearly. I was 18. I was walking into Town down Carr Street towards my first port of call, The Great White Horse. Some couple of @rseholes appeared from nowhere, well presumably the alley by woolworths, and jumped on me from behind shouted 'happy christmas, mate!' and started giving me a kicking, i got a thick lip and a cut ear, but anyway they got startled by someone and legged it before they could do any real damage. So on i went to the GWH a little bloodied and bruised but shaken up more than anything. Aside from the aforementioned two @rseholes i'd been unfortunate enough to meet, it was the season of goodwill to all men, so friends started buying me drinks out of generosity and sympathy. My tipples of choice at the time were Guinness and the occasional Pernod & Black. I was getting bought loads of them there and at my next and final port of call, the Water Lily. By the end of the night I must have had 10 pints and as many double Pernod & Black 'chasers'. I staggered home, plastered. Still living at my parents at the time, the following morning - Christmas day- I woke surprisingly free of hangover, so took my presents through to my parents, relatively bright and cheery and full of the festive spirit. My mum then asked me what had happened last night and asked if I'd been sick. I said i didn't remember, so she said i should go check in the bathroom mirror. It was not a pleasant site. I had encrusted puke and blood from the thick ear i'd received, down the side of my face, in my hair, in my ear. I then returned to my bedroom where i noticed the real horror of what had happened when i went to bed. I'd puked in my sleep and pretty much covered my bed with it apart from a silhouette of me where i'd laid.
Here endeth the tale of why I am never ever drinking Pernod again
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 23:27 - Jul 5 with 1233 views | Lesta_Tractor |
Had an absolute disaster one hockey awards night.
At the end of my first season as Men's captain I had to give a speech, unfortunately I'd been hit in the face that day and the dental resin which had replaced my front teeth many years earlier had been knocked out. Pre-speech nerves, made worse by fears of having grin like Iwan Roberts, led me to drink and it all went down hill from there.
I managed an indecipherable two lines of my speech before dropping and breaking the player of the season trophy, prompted to leave by my vice captain I ended up passing out in the doorway of the nearby Holiday Inn.
A couple of the lads found me and called my wife to come pick me up, on the way home one of the lads in the back of our car was violently sick all over my head which triggered me vomiting in to the passenger foot well.
I was amazed to find my car showroom clean when leaving for the in-laws the next morning, my hangover really kicked in on the way to theirs and I ended up taking myself to their spare room for a nap.
Surprisingly this night is never mentioned except by my vice captain who'd had a heart attack earlier in the season but was made to strip on the doorstep by his missus when he arrived home due to his suit being covered in my vomit. It was -4c that night! |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 23:28 - Jul 5 with 1227 views | ArnoldMoorhen |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 20:59 - Jul 5 by Illinoisblue |
Paddy Power has Lucan at 1/50 favourite to win this thread. |
And specifically the time he thought he had lost his wife's handbag after getting off his effing tits on a train, and then found it hours later hanging from his arm, where it had been all along.
That was a good one. | | | |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 23:51 - Jul 5 with 1185 views | hatch |
Not sure my stories are quite peak funny enough but my partner’s bridesmaid-to-be next year had a famous night in her Kent hometown. She got so drunk she forgot where she lived so went to the only home she could remember which was her ex boyfriends (as it was next to where she worked).
She turns up around midnight and rings the doorbell. There’s a small gathering going on downstairs, she walks in and says ‘don’t worry I’m here to see Dan’. She heads straight upstairs to his bedroom and gets into his bed.
30 seconds later the door opens and her ex-boyfriend walks in, turns the light on and says ‘what the hell are you doing here?’. She says she was here to surprise him.
She looks across and in bed next to her is his Nan saying ‘hello dear, who are you?’
Dan replies - ‘My Nan moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve moved bedrooms as a result. And I’ve got a new girlfriend downstairs wondering who the hell you are!’
I was in hysterics hearing it the next day. She’d been trying to get me drunk on horrible tabasco shots with her so it felt like payback. |  | | |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 07:51 - Jul 6 with 923 views | Churchman |
I can’t compete with these epic stories, despite many a libation and plenty of adventures.
Many years ago, my gf was bridesmaid to her best friend in St Johns Wood. I was living in Kent, promised to go and to take her home.
Well the night before me and my mates, as we usually did, went out. I made it clear that restraint was my middle name as I had to be up and at ‘em the following day. After an evening when all resistance collapsed by 8pm, we mangled an Indian and finished at a chum’s place where we played poker until about 5am accompanied by cans, various.
I took my leave thinking I need to sort myself out. I tottered home. After an hours kip I woke up thinking ‘not so bad’ but mr bath is required. Mr bath delivered, but beer and curry takes more than that to stop you wilting the flowers. I crawled to the car at about 9 feeling like satan’s rear end and drove to north London (in those days an hours kip sobered you up didn’t it? Er nope).
I had to stop twice to throw up in the gutter. Not good. Flecks of splashback on the shoes and trousers are never a good thing. The tissue wipe (or smear) just lodges it in the stitches and edgy bits. Not good. The whiff of it just doesn’t go away.
I got to St Johns Wood safely but was absolutely bursting. Sort of twisted in the drivers seat level of desperate. No, St Johns Wood isn’t notable for its volume of public conveniences. I found the church. Weeping by now, only one solution - the graveyard. I chose a leafy bit, out of sight and an old Victorian grave having duckwalked through the churchyard.
After an apology to the resident six foot down, the rivers of Babylon flowed. Ahhhh, the relief even from the slightly crouched position to avoid attention. One of life’s pleasures. Halfway through, I looked up …….into the Vicar’s face. I nearly had heart failure and jumped out of my skin. The trouser leg took a hit. His expression is one of mono brow disgust, but he said not a word. I just mumbled ‘morning’ with a winning smile.
I pretty much dried out by the service but fell asleep snoring through a bit of it, nudged awake by a stranger who was not impressed. I left the church at the end, shaking hands with the very same vicar. His expression changed from happy day smiles to calling down a thunderbolt or two. If there is a heaven and hell, I suspect I’ll be in the warm place.
The reception went ok. I hid in various places zzzing after restoring health with a couple of beers. The gf didn’t say much on the way home. She just sort of blanked me.
Anyway, all was well. The moral of the tale is that if you are busy the following day, always show restraint the night before. [Post edited 6 Jul 2022 7:58]
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 08:11 - Jul 6 with 874 views | Blueastheycome |
Three spring to mind at the top of my head
When I was at uni we lived in a semi detached house with a window in the attic bedroom and we used to climb up and sit on the roof of the house after we had a skinful. One time on an all night bender we thought it would be funny if we took our clothes off and walked across the roof and let ourselves into the student digs house next door through their attic bedroom window which we found unlocked. We were walking through the house completely starkers giggling little girls when a student came out of their bedroom door and screamed when they saw me in the hallway. I froze and then just turned around (completely starkers I’ll add and pissed as a nut) and so nonchalantly and cool as a cucumber “don’t worry, I’m just the gas man!’ That sentence that has gone down in history amongst my mates.
On another occasion, in the midst of an all night bender I knocked on the door of the local Irish community centre at 10am and in a very no doubt rubbish Irish accent, introduced myself as Shane from Limerick and I was looking for some information on my dad who I believed had moved into the local area (this was of course just made up on the spot) What I didn’t expect to happen was for them to invite me in and then spend an hour or so going through with them their directory of Irish counterparts they keep on file who use the community centre. In the end I had got in so deep I just ended up running away at a really random moment.
On another occasion, I was out on an all day bender the day before I had an interview at 9am the next day on Monday morning 200 miles away. The plan was to get the evening train home but as time rolled on I got more and more sloshed, the plan to catch the train got pushed back further and further back. In the end it got to about 10pm and I had missed the last available train to ensure I got home for the interview. However, I rang my misuses and said “yes love, I’m on the train now…. And held the phone away from my ear and shouted CHOO CHOO…see told you I was on the train! I then continued drinking til about 3am and then paid a local taxi firm £200 to take me all the way home. I got home at 5am, still bladdered, and I had to get up at 7am to get the ready for the interview. 7am alarm went off and I thought screw this I cant be assed to get out of bed so I just blew the interview off, |  | | |
| What's your worse / best effort? on 08:22 - Jul 6 with 853 views | jeera |
Posted before but possibly the most ashamed was getting kicked out of a hotel in Penang mid-90s.
Got back early hours to find the place closed and the perimeter gates locked up.
Climbed the fence and got stuck getting over the top, caught up on the wire, ripping my clothes.
Scrambled down to two guard dogs hurtling towards me from nowhere. Manged to get on top of a parked car just as a load of lights came on. I was there atop a car roof, all lit up by floodlights with a bunch of people staring at me.
The next morning I had to do a walk of shame out of the place with the staff lined up glaring at me. It was the look of disappointment from the owner's family that got to me, as they had seemed to really like me before. |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 08:46 - Jul 6 with 803 views | GlasgowBlue |
When I worked in abroad in the early 90’s I finished work at 4pm and we all headed to the bar. Went on an all night bender then went straight into work the morning without going home. Sat in front of clients feeling slightly worse for wear, before eventually throwing up all over them. |  |
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| What's your worse / best effort? on 10:22 - Jul 6 with 681 views | BlueandTruesince82 |
Another that occurs was my mates wedding in Lapland
Small gathering, family only plus me his best mate and best man.
Wedding was midway through the holiday and the night before guys and girls peeled off to do sort of stag and hens.
Got back to the hotel and decided to dig in at the bar, the girls got back and the bride to be had a row with her dad who she hates anyway, no idea why he was there. At this point I'm only mildly drunk and decide I'll have one last drink and head to bed only to be told tbe bar was closed, I asked if there was anywhere to get a drink that didn't involve walking back to down and was pointed in the direct of the on site "rock bar" (this was a separate building and halfway between the main hotel and my lodgings in the also separate from the main hotel new building) perfect I thought, rock bar and on the way back to my room
Well I entered m, still with the intention of having 1 drink but then the bloke at the door insisted I had to check my coat (at a cost). I tool that as a sign went to the bat and ordered 5 different shots then bumped into our rep who took it upon himself to introduce me to all the other reps. There was no rock music, I none the less danced the night away getting more and more wobbled whilst hastling the DJ for old school euphoria tunes. Finally departing at kicking out time around 3 am.
I remember leaving and heading towards the building where my room was.
There is then a gap.
Next thing I know I am stood in the corridor in nothing but a pair of sunglasses. Too pissed to comprehend what has happened I assumed I would just go back into my room but it was locked. I concluded the only explanation was that I was outside the wrong room and if I tried enough doors eventually I would get it. My block only had around 60 rooms over 2 floors and after 30 mins or so of trying them all I was able to wrap my booze addled mind around the fact that I was defo locked out.
I was not however sober enough to accept that I couldn't get back to the lobby without walking into the snow, I then spent another 30 mis going from one exit to another (there were only 2) convinced that 1 would lead to a corridor of warmth, neither did.
Finally I was sober enough to accept I had no choice an so out into the snow I went, sunglasses on my head and not a stich more, I strolled into reception where I explained to a shocked (rather beautiful) Finnish receptionist that I had somehow locked myself out my room, she gave me a key and back into the snow I went finally getting into my room
Somehow she was the only unfortunate to be presented with the sight of my cold shriveled nakedness that night.
I was however the talk of the resort for the rest of the trip as our party took great pleasure in relaying the tail that I had told them the next morning | |
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