Yes, this, she is the thread of much laughter and the fun (see, people, I'm willing to give fake Italian a try). Here is my contribution:

The night of my 21st birthday, living in posh Newport Beach, CA, a few friends and I went out to all of the local bars, at each of which I had to inform the bartender, no longer to call me by the name on my fake ID. Anyway, after a long night of drinking, drug-taking and carousing, we ended up at my friend Mike's new apartment on 48th Street, in a rather nice section of that town. About 3:00am, the party started breaking up, and by 3:30am, people had left, and I was going to sleep on the couch in the living room, when I was awakened by a rather urgent feeling...

Suddenly, the night's activities took hold of my bowels, and I felt a growing urge to poop. I stumbled down the darkened hallway to the door of the only bathroom in the apartment of whose existence I was aware. Upon turning its handle and placing the weight of my shoulder against it, I was informed by its refusal to yield that it was occupied. So I went back to the living room, waiting, the urge growing stronger.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed, and still the bathroom's occupant had not emerged. Nor had my large intestine ceased its assault on my sphincter, so I returned to the bathroom, determined to find some way in. After knocking for several minutes and receiving no response, I took it upon myself to peer beneath the door of the bathroom. I discovered a worrying sight within: one of my friend's drunken roommates had passed out on the floor of the bathroom. It was then that sweat began to seep from my pores.

I returned to the living room to consider my options. As the turd began to crown, I realized that I wouldn't be able to make the 15-block walk home without seriously risking an accident. I looked about frantically as the proverbial jumper began edging toward the door of the aircraft. Just as I started to lose hope, I saw my salvation...

For there, in a far corner of the living room, sat a portable ice cooler, containing the water that remained from the previous day's ice, the bag that had held the ice, and a lone Budweiser, still chilled. I removed the ice bag and the beer, and proceeded, with unparalleled intensity, to let loose into the cooler. Luckily, to my joy, I produced a perfect, floating log, leaving me with a clean slate for which a splash of water sufficed. Pleased and relieved, I replaced the cooler's cover, quickly drank the remaining Budweiser, and went to sleep.

About an hour later, I awoke from what felt like a disturbing dream about crapping into a cooler. It took me only seconds to see the cooler and discover that my nightmare was, indeed, my reality. As I was still very drunk, I decided, drunkenly, to remove the cooler and its contents to the street, whereupon I dumped the turd into the gutter several doors down from Mike's apartment. After finding a hose and spraying out all trace of trouble from the cooler, I returned it to its repose in the apartment, placed the empty ice bag back in its bosom, and went to sleep. Satisfied.

"I think it's Human!!!" I awoke to the sound of an old rich lady outside, clearly mortified. At what, however, my addled brain did not, at that point, know. I put on my shoes, lit a cigarette, and walked outside to investigate. A group of older, wealthy Orange County-ites stood in the street, huddled around something, variously stating their disgust and bewilderment. I took a closer look and saw nestled against the curb what appeared to be a human turd. A good-sized one, at that. With my brain still blissfully unaware of the previous night's events, I interjected my own comment: "Whoa, that's a big 'un. Somebody's a vegetarian [as was I at the time]." Then I laughed, turned, and went back into the apartment, where I greeted my friend Mike, now awake from his slumber, with a glowing description of the mysterious turd-in-the-street.

Later that day, I remembered what happened, at about the same time that my friend Mike became suspicious of the emptied and cleaned cooler in his living room. When he asked me if I'd crapped in the cooler and then dumped it in the street, I denied it. His comment when I finally owned up, a year later? "Dude, I used that cooler like fifty times after that!"

Good times.

I am having maybe funny experience at show of Oldham Palaccinono. In-a Tucson, Italia, she was. Palaccinono and the Calexicononi.

Palaccinono, his set, she was boring of me. But then, he is asking for a, how you say, "request." I am yelling out "Drunk at the PULLPITTT!!!!" There are some laughters because is so clear, is a drunk man who is asking of this. He plays. Sounding so beautiful! Yes! To give maybe one of the points for the man of drunken! Is to give to his show, maybe, shot in arm!

But no, she wasn't enough for drunken Jungizoniona. I had to show these Palacccinono that I am knowing him so well! After these-a show, I am going up to him and to say "Hey man, say hi to John Schlesinger for me."

See, so funny because when Palaccinono was almost-bambino, he make-a the motion picture, her name is "Matewan." But no with John Schlesinger! No! John Schlesinger, he is man of directing cinemas! Yes! But not these-a one! No! Is John SAYLES, no the Schlesinger!

Palaccinono, he no knowing what to be making of this! He gives smiles to drunken man anyway! Yes! So beautiful!

Salut, Palaccinono!

I may have told this story on this very site before, but it here it is again.

Backstory necessary for the context of the story:

I used to work at a video store in college, and one night a tired and dyslexic co-worker was filing movies alphabetically and says to us "Hey guys: brainfart... what letter comes after Q?"

Another friend replied "R", but when he said it, it sounded like a pirate saying "Arrrgh!", so the inside joke with a bunch of us for a while became asking what letter comes after Q just a so a roomful of idiots would bellow like pirates. Silly and harmless, right?

So okay, the embarassing part:

I'm on vacation with one of those guys a few years later, and we're on a long hike in a national park. We're tired. We're hungry. We're grumpy. We're not fighting, but the group is far from cordial. We're walking single file up an uncline on a narrow path, and I'm at the back, so all I can really see is the pack of the guy in front of me. Out of nowhere, I hear my friend from the front of the line yell "Hey Sam, what comes after Q?" and I, thinking he is trying to raise everybody's spirits, answer with as boisterous a bellow as I can muster and let loose with an "AAAAARRRRRgggggggggggghhhhhhh!" that could probably be heard for miles.

Then I looked up. I looked up and realized my friend was not trying to raise anyone's spirits. He was in fact only intending to share an evil inside joke with me. But it was already too late. I had just yelled an impossibly loud pirate greeting directly in the face of a woman walking towards me. Oh yeah, and uh, I should add that this woman was wearing an EYE PATCH.

My face still reddens every time I tell that one. Oops.

R!

-sam

What a great thread. Thanks, everybody. How can I hope to match a story that begins:

Brett Eugene Ralph wrote:One time me and Joe Grissom went over to Gravy Dave's to snort a bunch of crank.

And yet I'll try. Okay. Before I have second thoughts…

I grew up in Honolulu in one of those townhouse condo complexes. Each house in our complex had a small courtyard in the front that you entered through a gate. A path led to the front door. Directly to the right of the front door, about three feet away, there were large sliding glass doors that opened onto the “denâ€

offal wrote:
Then I looked up. I looked up and realized my friend was not trying to raise anyone's spirits. He was in fact only intending to share an evil inside joke with me. But it was already too late. I had just yelled an impossibly loud pirate greeting directly in the face of a woman walking towards me. Oh yeah, and uh, I should add that this woman was wearing an EYE PATCH.

My face still reddens every time I tell that one. Oops.

R!

-sam

That's eerily similar to another embarrasing moment I had:

I was at a neighbor's "Academy Awards Viewing Party" with several friends and about fifteen people I didn't know. Drinking and cracking jokes, when the camera at the awards show switches to a close-up of a harpist, playing a solo. "Oh man, that's a rough job," I say, "I'll bet she spends a lot of time by the phone." Needless to say, not one, but two of the girls I had just met at the party were majoring in harp performance at USC. The one who was sitting right next to me seemed particularly mortified. What were the chances?

By the way, gmilner's story makes me laugh so much. Especially the part about prancing around to Styx. Fucking brilliant. At least it wasn't Phil Collins.

about three years ago I woke up on my couch, with my shirt on from the night before and a blanket over me. something seemed strange, my head felt awful, and seemed cold in my apt.. I knew I had gone to see Lightning Bolt last night but what else happened? I threw off the blanket, and to my surprise I had not pants, boxers, or otherwise on whatsoever. I panic'd wondering "What the fuck did I do, I couldn't have been that drunk."

My roomate came home to find me chugging water and reading a book, in very obvious pain. He asked me if I felt alright. I replied no, then he asked if I had any recollection of the events from the last night. Once again i replied no. He was kind enough to fill me in.

I guess I came home very loudly with someone else, it sounded like a girl. then there was lots of noise. then I walked into my roomates room, with no pants on, and what my roomate described as a big hard-on and proceded to ask my roomate for condoms. When he said he had none, I said "Fuck you, you motherfucker." I then proceded to dash out of his room trip over my end table, and crawl onto the couch, where I found myself that morning. My roomate said the girl left shortly after that.

yep, that pretty much sucked. Lightning Bolt was good though.

-jeremy

I was in 8th grade and was on a bluebird bus on my way to washington DC with the rest of my 8th grade class for a school trip. We had been on the road for a few hours, and I felt a rumbly in my tumbly, but unflortunately, I wasnt hungry. It was the the kind of rumbly you get before you get a bad case of diarrhea. I tried to hold it, hoping the driver would stop somewhere soon to let everyone get off and stretch and get something to eat if they wanted so I could run to the bathroom, while remebering what the driver had told us before we left the school parking lot, "there is a bathroom in the back of the bus, but remember, everything you do in there stays on the bus". I reached the point where I was having trouble holding it in just sitting still and was afraid if I waited any longer I would have major trouble holding it in just trying to stand up, so I quietly walked to the back of the bus and went into the smaller than airplane size bathroom. Luckily there was a movie being played that everyone was watching, so the noises I was making in the bathroom werent being noticed. I was in there for a few minutes trying to get it all out of me, afraid to get up too soon incase I had to run back in there, when one of the girls on the back of the bus knocked on the door and asked if I was ok, not knowing what to say, I said that I was fine but couldnt find the lightstiwch to turn on so I could find the doorhandle to open it. I talked for about two more minutes with someone on where the doorhandle was while evacuating myself and finally when I was done, came out of the bathroom. The cocksucker teacher who was in front of the bus made an announcement over the speaker that I had finally made it out of the bathroom and after that I received an incredibly embarrasing round of applause

Dood, thats a pretty crazy story oucheh, I am dying to see Lightning Bolt. Hopefully that experience didnt ruin the memory of the show for you

This thread has made me laugh more than any other on this board ever...I told my wife tonight about the eye-patch incident, and we were both in tears....a great story it has to be said.

Anyhoo, here's mine...

When I was 8 years old, I had to go and get a bit of my upper gum removed from between my two front teeth because the teeth were getting pushed forward. This kind of orthodontic procedure is called a fenectomy.

A week after the operation, I had to go for a check up to make sure everything healed up alright. In the room was the orthodontist and a youngish intern, both female.

The orthodontist sat me in the big chair and asked me, "So, remind me, what did we do to you last week?" Now, at 8 years old, words ending with "-ectomy" kinda just blend into each other.

I was brimming with confidence as I answered because I thought I remembered the word perfectly, and I told them that they had given me a vasectomy.

The intern lost her shit entirely, and had to run outside to where my mother was waiting and laughed hysterically. Next thing I know, I can hear her telling my mother what I said and now she is laughing too. I didn't know what the hell was going on until a couple of years later when I found out what a vasectomy was.

flyinghouses wrote:Dood, thats a pretty crazy story oucheh, I am dying to see Lightning Bolt. Hopefully that experience didnt ruin the memory of the show for you

no, it only made me focus more on how fucking awesome the show was.

-jeremy