The DRUNK PEOPLE thread has inspired me start a 'HIlarious Drunk Stories' thread.

Here's mine.

Dry Exposition:

So this summer we were having a 'welcome back' party for a friend who'd moved to Georgia. None of us have seen him in a year. I am in Rhode Island the same day, working a camp, so I literally have to orchestrate this shit from 6 hours away--calling various friends, telling them to bring tents, booze, etc--we're partying down by the river at a friend's house who lives in the country.

I'll skip most of the exposition. How we got lost on the way there. How our friend was late so we all got completely trashed before he even showed up. I'll skim over the part where me and my buddy Dylan, lurching up to the driveway to wait for our back-from-Georgia friend Chad, found the keys in our host's neighbor's tractor mower and spent 5 minutes revving it up, trying to find the gas before someone yelled at us and we sprinted away.

And I will skip to the best part, what happened to our friend Dylan.

IF YOU WANT TO READ THE SHORT(er) VERSION START READING HERE.

Dylan, at one point, got up to piss. Feeling drunk and mischievous, I sprint at him (I am both strong and fast) and send him hurtling into the bushes. He comes up, cock out, piss covering his pants. He grumbles a few angry fuck yous, stumbles off towards the river to continue his piss-and trips over an embankment, tumbling down a four foot drop into a bunch of mud. He come's up looking like a fucking swamp monster. 

Understandably upset, he takes off his shirt. Feeling even more belligerent, I grab his shirt, and fling it full-power into the river. It sails out of sight and, for us, existence; it is never seen again. Dylan is angry. Mad. "A hot girl gave me that shirt," he bellows over and over. He tries to go search for it, breaking a flashlight as he gets in tussle over it. We have no other flashlights, only the dwindling fire.

Eventually we go to bed. Me, Dylan and Chad are in one tent. Dylan, who drank waaaaay more than anybody else, gets sick and crawls to the entrance to puke out of the tent flap. This results in his ass being shoved about 3 inches away from my and Chad's faces. In a drunken rage we start pummeling his ass with all the force of an over-territorial mountain Gorilla. In between puking he screams for us to stop. Chad rips off his belt and starts whipping Dylan's bare back with it. While he does this I send him a text--"Suck my balls" (which he doesn't get for some reason.). 

Giving up on beating him into moving, Chad tosses aside the belt and tries to give him a wedgie. It does not work. The waist band rips off of his boxers entirely, and ends up encircling his chest. I drunkenly pick up the belt and tie his ankles together. 

Dylan pukes a few more minutes. We get sick of it. As we get up to leave, my feet get stuck in something--Dylan's spare pair of shorts--and they tear with a sharp, tragic ripping noise. Fuck it, I decide, and we round up the other three dudes there. We get the sober one to drive us home (about half an hour away).

Semi-interesting Aftermath:

At 6 AM, still-drunk Dylan, who fell asleep in his own puke and got rained on, is woken up by his phone. He lurches for it, opens it. "Suck my balls.". My text finally arrived. He looks around for us. We are all gone. He is alone with our creepy host (his name is "Zippy", and we all hate him and basically just used him for a place to party). 

When we finally show up the next day, he is so hungover he still can barely talk without feeling sick. We drive his basically-clothless, filthy ass home. He looks like he has a beard from the mud and puke on his face. We stop once so he can vomit. He arrives home at 1:30, and leaves woefully informing us that he has to meet his straight edge girlfriend for lunch at 2:00.

So. Longer than I thought it would be, sorry, if I post any more they'll be super short.

thiz finbyb man walkm inr batr figt the screavmijn gv fighting bklack eye funy huhawe polize and dwi funy shiut

my drunken story IS the drunk people thread.

i just read your story after reading rubang's post, and my god, boy. that is one hell of a story

This guy's too familiar with all the different types of gorilla ass-pummeling forces.

Mmm I remember one night. One of those: We have a survivalrun tomorow, we shouldn't make it too late this time!

I got home at 4:30 in the morning. We were supposed to start driving at 7:30. The night itself was not that eventfull. I remember some bar-dancing and me insulting tourists who could not understand me. The aftermath is were it was at.

I miraculously managed to get up in time and get to my friends' house from were we would be driving. Me, and 4 other friends would do the run (a survivalrun is either a 8 - 11 mile run with various 45-70 rope and tree constructed obstacles in the way) only problem was that only me and the other guy who did not drunk were up on time. We had to keep ringing the doorbell to wake him up 10 minutes past leaving time. At that moment our driver had arrived, still red-eyed and ready to vomit. Still drunk probably.

The last guy, brother of the person who's house we would meet at wasn't even home and wouldn't answer his phone. No one remembered what happened to him. Suddenly we got a call 15 minutes later - Guys pick me up, quick! And take my gear!

Apparantly he went home with a girl and when he woke up... her ex was in their room. He had to fight him off in his boxer, still drunk! He managed to win though, get out with his close and clothed himself on the street. We saw him running towards the car when we drove there. He changed to his gear in the car and when we asked if it was worth it he drunkenly replied:

"I couldn't even get it up. I just used my tongue and fell asleep half-way".

At least the drive there was incredibly funny even though we had to slap the driver before he fell asleep, praying that we wouldn't be checked.

We started the run still drunk, demotived, and puking the whole fucking course. We were especially pissed off that we had to start the first kilometre with a log on our shoulders, wading through rivers. Thank god there are banks to puke in...