Okay recently some of my friends were talking about their worst morning after stories. The most bizarre I heard came from one of my friends who after a long night of drinking and partying woke up in a pasture field with no clothes. He was handcuffed to a fencepost with the word “bitch” magic markered on his forehead. Any other dopers have some good stories to add?
One time I woke up and some bastard was cuffed to a post in my pasture. And, I couldn’t find my magic marker anywhere.
Sorry dutchboy, he was in mine. My paintball gun was handy though, i figure he’d already been markered.
I did wake up once lying next to my bed, with my clothes and assorted stuff (keys, wallet, watch, cigarettes, etc.) left in little piles leading to the door.
um, I woke up beside my bed one morning stark naked. My clothes were strung from my front door to my bathroom. Had to call friends to make sure I didn’t come home w/ anyone, but was a little worried for a while.
Had an impromptu party once, almost 15 years ago now,in a place where the landlord lived upstairs. Got really really hammered, and somehow in there my friends Caitlin and J.D. ended up shaving my head. With razors.
Woke up the next morning to the sound of the doorbell. I was blind, dehydrated, my head was pounding. I lay there thinking: did that really happen? I turned my head up the pillow and heard this disgusting rasping sound. O God. The doorbell is still ringing. I somehow lurch to my feet, wrap a towel around me, and answer the door.
My mean ol’ landlady was standing there with a mean ol’ look on her face and a double handful of something. She sticks out her hands and snarls, “Here!”
I blindly reach my cupped hands out, and she deposits about a hundred cigarette butts she’d picked up from the lawn and the driveway into them and stomps away.
How I didn’t puke right there and then I’ll never know.
I once woke up, alone, buck naked on a slab in the morgue of Pasadena Southmore Hospital.
Did you sue over the misdiagnosis?
“This patient is dead.”
When I was 16, I once woke up in a dry ditch. Aparently, I was unable to finish the 15 kilometer bike ride home from the party. In fact, I got to about 400 yards. It was a warm summer night, so I just laid back against the bank of the ditch, next to my bike. An early cyclist must have spotted me from the bicycle path and alerted the police there was a corps alongside the road, for I was rudely awoken just after dawn by a police officer. They told me to get on my bike and piss off. 
I woke up in my underwear, face down in my hallway, right outside the bathroom door. The unusual thing is that my bed was turned down as if I had been about to get in it, but all my clothes were in the hallway outside my apartment.
I know some army guys that did a mean prank to one of their buddies. They were all on a base in Ontario. Their buddy passed out at a party.
So they drove him out to a field, bundled him up snugly in a sleeping bag (to keep him nice and warm over night), left him with some basic supplies, and a map…
…of Quebec.
Let’s say he was a mite bit disoriented when he woke up in the “neighbouring province.”
I was never a drinker, so that always left me the opportunity to play with the drinkers…
So, some of us left one guy with one hand and a large sausage in his pants. I always wondered what went through his mind the next morning. Anyway, he’s sober now, so I think it was a ‘good deed’.
I also got my best friend (and myself, by extension) permanantly barred from one bar. I hated that place. She was pretty drunk and didn’t want to leave. I did want to leave, so whenever the bartender wasn’t looking, I flipped a popcorn at her. I did this for a long time. Eventually she got angry enough to throw a couple of handfuls of popcorn at me and earned a lecture from the bartender. Finally, she got really angry and dumped the whole bucket on me which the bartender saw and he sent us both packing.
Madison, WI in the early eighties was a party town. And Halloween was one of the biggest parties. I woke up in a basement whose floor was covered in mattresses. I mean, wall to wall mattresses. There were probably forty other people down there. I didn’t recognize the people next to me, nor did I recognize the people next to them. I went upstairs, and people were making a massive breakfast. I told the people there my prediciment. They just laughed at me and fed me. A half hour later my buddy appeared, looking just as confused. He began to tell me about the basement full of mattresses, but I already knew. Together, we pieced together the evening. Neither of us could figure out how we ended up there though, and nobody else knew.
Walking out of a house one morning trying to figure out where I was, I looked next door directly into my boss’ surprised stare.
Up until a couple of weeks ago I lived with my best friend in a condo. About 6 months back her and I went out to a bar we frequented. To make a long story short it appears that this one man drugged our drinks. Bad choice on his part because we had plenty of friends at the bar and we could party like rock stars- roofies or nay. But we were wasted out of our minds. However, her and I are strong willed, heavy drinkers and we can take our medicine. Not that either of us remember any of this but we got in her truck and drove home. The next morning I woke up feeling like death… I rolled over in my bed and into something wet. The wettness was coming from my mattress and some clothes. I was butt naked. I sniffed the bed and it didnt smell like anything… meaning… pee. I didnt remember anything. I checked all my orfices finding nothing askew. I threw a robe on and opened my bedroom door. My roomate’s room is directly across from mine down a short hallway. She opened her door at the same time and we just stared at each other. She said she couldnt remember much of the previous night except standing above her toilet and trying to puke all the while peeing all over the floor. We spent the day trying to peice it together. We figured out that I had sat on my bed and began to pee- then ran into the bathroom to finish ( i had found pee soaked undies in the bathtub…) when I came back to bed I had dumped a glass of water onto what pee was still on the bed- covered it with my clothes and passed out ontop of it. My roomate, having peed all over her bathroom floor and all over her clothes- threw a towel down and crawled- also naked- back to bed. I know the ‘being drugged’ part of the story isnt funny and we contacted the bar about it- but it was so funny. Ill never forget walking out of my room and seeing her with the same blank questioning expression as I had both saying, “what the F happend last night??”
Another story… although it differs from the topic. Still- very interesting story.
My friend recently got back home after being stationed in North Carolina as a marine. His roommate back in NC had quite the incident about a week before my friend left for home. The roomate was a huge guy- 6’3 and built like a brick wall. He went out to a local pub. He got very drunk but nothing out of the ordinary… All his friends left the bar and he started talking to a group of guys making friends and such. Since he was drunk, the group- I think it was 2 or 3 guys- offered to give him a ride home. He accepted gratefully- unfortunatly for him. They get in the car and leave… but instead of taking him home- they tie him up and gag him… drive out to the middle of nowhere… pull him outside, slit his throat and left him.
Like I said, this guy was a bear… he actually tore his shirt up, tied it around his neck and RAN to the nearest phone. True story! The doctor said that because his neck was so thick the slice in his throat didnt go thru the major artereys. Can you imagine running with your neck slit open??? Crazy…
It was February of 1994. I was 8 months out of college, unemployed, but sitting on a fairly big wad of cash (it’s a long, painful story involving litigation–don’t ask). I was sitting at home, watching TV, smoking pot. It’s very cold and very rainy outside. The weatherman is predicting that the rain will turn to snow. It seems like staying in is a good idea.
I get a call from Jack the singer in my band. He’s a bartender at a normally hopping bar, but the weather has everybody spooked and there are exactly zero customers. The owner/manager is insisting that they stay open, but he’s not there and says he’s not going out. It’s just Jack, the waitress Nico (who actually looks like Nico, which is why I have chosen this as her fake name) and the cook Rick. They’re stuck there because of their asshole boss and they want to get stoned, but none of them have any weed. Jack says I will drink for free if I come to the bar, hang out with them, and smoke them out. I agree. Beats the hell out of sitting at home alone watching an MST3K you’ve seen four times already.
This is the night I learned a very important lesson: It’s good that drinks cost money. If drinks were always free, I would be dead by now.
We have a merry old time at the bar. No customers ever show up. My free manner with the weed earned me the admiration of Nico, with whom I had previously been only marginally acquainted. After about six hours of fellowship, I accompany Nico to her apartment and we become very well acquainted indeed.
The next morning, I wake up in Nico’s bed. It’s very dark. Nothing electrical is working. There are curious crashing sounds periodically coming from outside. My clothes are missing–they were in the living room. Apparently Nico and I made a lot of noise in the living room the night before and earned the wrath of the roommate. The power is out all over the house. We look out the window to find that the rain from the night before turned into ice. A huge ice storm has paralyzed the city. Not knowing the extent of the storm, Nico, the Roomate and I go out looking for breakfast. EVERYTHING is closed. There is no power anywhere. Trees are down all over town. Finally we find a restaurant open–there’s a two-hour wait to sit down. With no other choice, we do that. After breakfast, Nico says she has to find a pharmacy open. “Why?” asks Roommate. Nico whispers something to her, and Roommate replies “I thought you said it had cleared up.”
Ummm…
I ask to be deposited back at my car. It was more difficult to find than you might think, but it was undamaged by falling debris, which is more than I can say about the other cars in the lot. I clear a path and set out over the icy streets for home. Not only are the streets treacherous with ice, but the first four routes I try to take home are competely blocked by fallen trees. Finally, I make it home. We didn’t have power restored for a week. I ended up going to Mardi Gras.
And that was how I spent the night of the Great Memphis Ice Storm '94.
I’ve possibly told this story before, but here goes…
I was drinking in Sydney with a few friends met earlier that week in Queensland. A young woman Karen* had kindly offered accomodation to my best friend and me a few days earlier. We left our backpacks at her house, somewhere to the north of Sydney proper. Being Saturday night, we made our way into the city, planning to have a big one. Karen drove us all, my car being 3500 km away.
So we’re drinking and carousing and making fools of ourselves in a variety of fairly seedy Sydney pubs. Things turn a little hazy, and before we know it Karen has jumped into a taxi with some random guy, and my mate and I are left at the pub drinking way too much beer with a bunch of English backpackers.
Mild panic sets in because (i) we’re in an unknown city with no way of getting back home to our gear, which is at Karen’s (whose last name or address we don’t even know); (ii) there’s no way I can keep up with our foreign friends on the beer drinking front; and (ii) where the fuck did Karen go?
Fortunately, our new English friends took pity on us and offered to let us sleep with them at their backpackers’ hostel. So around 4am we stumble back past Darling Harbour and sneak into the hostel (no extra guests were allowed, but we were possessed of drunken cunning).
Cue sleep/passing out. The night wears on and it becomes apparent to me that the room we’re in is crowded. I mean, really crowded; it’s teeming with English backpackers. There was eight in the room when I originally went to sleep, but they keep piling in. There’s pale English folk sharing single mattresses, on the floor, wedged half in the wardrobe, slumped under beds, etc.
The newcomers soon explain their presence: “Oh, Mark* was shagging some bird in our room so we had to find someplace else. C’mon, squish up!”
I think no more of it and return to beer sleep. There’s someone else in bed with me, but we’re both strictly there for the zeds.
Two or three hours later, I’m outside the hostel in the morning sun with my friend, a cigarette and a thumping dry headache. Our English hosts have been thanked and bidden farewell. We decide to try ringing Karen’s cell phone, just to see where she landed. To our surprise, she answers.
“Hey. Where are you?”
“Uhh, inside some backpackers I think.”
“Cool, so were we–we met some nice people who put us up. Whereabouts is your hostel? What’s it called?”
After a pause and to our surprise, she gives the same name as the place we’re standing outside of. The penny is beginning to slowly drop.
“Hey, what was the name of the guy you went home with last night?”
“Uhhh <pause>… Mark.”
The penny makes a clanking sound in our small, hungover brains. Karen’s the reason our room was crowded; Karen was the mystery bird Mark was so publicly shagging, forcing the evacuation of their room.
I mean, what are the odds?
Karen soon came outside, we found her car and quietly drove home. The laughing started as we crossed the harbour bridge.
- Name changed, to protect the guilty.
I came home feeling very ill from a night of partying. I made it in the house almost to the bathroom and puked all over the dining room floor. I cleaned it up right away as quietly as I could. My parents had a bed room down stairs, not far from where I was getting sick. I didn’t realize it had splatter all over the wall paper. I went up stairs, laid down in my bed and realized I had to puke again. I didn’t have enough time between my brain telling me to get up and the hurl. I got up, took all my sheets off my bed, took them down stairs into the bathroom and put them in the sink. While I was in the bathroom, I puked some more. I went back upstairs, laid back on my bed with no blankets or sheets. I don’t remember what I did with my pillow. My mom woke me up the next morning, asking me what was wrong. I told her I thought I was coming down with the flu. I don’t know why she believed me, but I was always thankful she never got up in the middle of the night while I was throwing up. If she had, I am sure she would have smelled the alcohol on me.
My brother found himself in Edinburgh for NYE one year, knowing no-one. He was ‘adopted’ by a friendly bunch of strangers and celebrated Hogmanay in fine Scots/Scotch style.
This is all fine but he wakes up in a hospital bed the next morning. What’s happened to me!?! he thinks, and quickly checks all external surfaces, can’t see anything wrong. He rings the nurse to find out what’s wrong with him.
Turns out the answer is - nothing. His new friends decided he’d had enough but couldn’t call him a cab as they didn’t know where he was staying, and he wasn’t coherent any more. So they called him an ambulance instead.