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Man I've been pissing in people's hallways, once on a bookshelf, and they were all "what the fuck are you doing" and I was all "get out of here, I'm in the bathroom, can't I get a little privacy?" That was a long time ago, I miss that life.

The best drunk piss though was like this, a total piss war...

I hiked to Echo Lake with two of my best bros. We took a handle of whiskey and a few beers. We drank the whole half allon of booze and slept around the campfire. Nothing eventful happened that night that I could recall the next day, except I remember Tom kicking my ass.
A couple of days later I'm at Doug's place (the other dude who went to Echo Lake). I was pretty drunk and tired, and I went to pass out on the foot of his bed. As I'm fading out I hear him say "payback's a bitch." What does that mean, I wondered??? Five minutes later I hear and feel a splashing on my pants. It's Doug, pissing on me full force. I got up in a bear-like rage and threw him 6 feet across he room. Our friends break it up, and he tells me the story: apparently when we were camping, I blacked out and pissed on his face while he was asleep!
Several months later Doug and I are at some girl's graduation party. Big backyard with a babbling brook. I get wasted on Cuervo and pass the fuck out. I wake up later, soaking wet and half in the campfire. I asked Andy from the Stalkers why I'm wet and he tells me Doug pissed on me. Oh oh oh, I'm going to get that motherfucker. There he is, snoozing like a baby in his sleeping bag, mouth ajar. I unzip and urinate all over his face. Needless to say he woke up angry as hell, and I find out Andy was lying - he never pissed on me! I had taken a nap in the creek. To his credit Doug never got revenge on me, but I never went to sleep very easily after that.

I Puked in my backpack on the train.

I also passed out on a bench on the Wilson Redline stop and woke up at 11:00 the next day.

Once I shit in the bathtub but do not remember why.

And a whole shit-load of other stuff that I don't remember when I lived in Austin.

For some reason...I can just drink...and drink...and drink...and beyond sharing some sexual story that I wouldn't've shared otherwise, I tend to remain under control...which kinda shocks even me seeing as I'm like an average sized guy (someday I'm sure I will eat my words).

Sometimes I'll get really shit-faced around a band I respect or something, but beyond that, not so bad.

I do have a fucking fascinating story though for the lot of you...it kinda felt scary and degrading the day afterwards...

So I'm in Madison...it's last year...probably November or something. I had been excited to go to some party (not actually excited...just excited to go out and drink or something...I think college is fucking boring, my Chicago friends are way more fun).

At Madison parties, I generally just kind of stand in place, I don't really belong and I don't really have fun (even though I try to)...the hipster kids are frightened of me because I am "outspoken" in my views in terms of music and the ethics that (should) come with that passion (this does not play well in Wisconsin)...I'd like to expand on that thought, but I'm getting off track...because this wasn't a hipster party...this was more of an "some idiot girls are throwing a party, and they want me to attend" party.

Anyway, so I'm drinking at my house before I was supposed to go out...and I had also bought some Jack for a roommate...I was invited to take a few pulls. In addition to the beer I had been drinking, this proved to be a bad idea.

The next day, I woke up...still in my clothes from the night before. I passed out before I had the chance to even go to Lisa's!! "Fucking idiot," I thought. I was mad because I had really pissed away yet another weekend of my pointless Madison life...I'm only happy there when I get to go see the bands I admire.

I could hear a strange clinking sound in my pockets as I lounged around in my bed in my clothes with a wicked hangover (which is rare for me). I reached into my pocket and pulled out a series of clear Mancala type stones (you remember Mancala: The African Game of Stones, right?). There proved to be like 20 of these stones in my pocket. This confused me greatly.

As that Sunday wore on, I continued to find strange tokens from the night before. First, I found a series of burrs lodged into my low-top Cons...there were a ton of those little bastards stuck in there. I later found a ton of burrs stuck into the inner lining my winter jacket.

I was now totally confused. I had no memories of the night before whatsoever. I asked my many roommates if they had noticed that I had gone out the night before. None of them had seen me go out.

Finally, 5 hours or so into my confusing attempt to piece together the previous night, I talked to one of my roommates who had thankfully decided to call my cell phone that night. He said, "Oh! You were at Lisa's last night! Some stupid girls took your phone away from you and kept talking to me until I had to hang up out of frustration." I was blown away by this. Here's why:

1) Lisa didn't live too far from me, but she lived in apartment complex that confused the shit out of me when I was sober. I would often get turned around, unable to find her apartment until I would call her and she would give me explicit directions. My internal compass is easily turned around...so I somehow managed to find her place totally blackout fucked-up??? There was no record in my phone that I had called her that night.

2) Again, Lisa did not live too far from me at all...there were no fields of burrs anywhere near her apartment or anywhere on the way to her apartment...the only place I have ever picked up burrs on campus in Madison...was way into the weird nature preserve that they have there (it actually belongs to the university...which is a one of a kind deal in America...it's beautiful out there...I go out there all the time by myself [though I go less and less with each passing school year]).

3) I called Lisa after I found out that my roommate had called me at her apartment. I asked her, "I don't remember anything from last night, did I do anything horrible that I have no recollection of??" She said, "No! You were totally wasted though. You bought a cup, had a few beers...stood around by yourself...and after half-an-hour, you just said 'I've gotta go.'" This sounded about right to me...I was relieved that I didn't you know...take a carpet piss or something like you guys...additionally, whiskey can turn me into a cruel little prick, so this in addition to the blackout worried me. I asked her, "Listen...do you remember the game Mancala?" She replied, "Yeah!" I asked, "Do you have anything resembling the stones from that game in your house...only all of these stones were clear?" She said, "No, we don't have anything like that." I went into more detail...trying to make sure there was nothing like that in her bathroom as a decoration or something...she continued to tell me that she didn't have any Mancala-esque stuff. Period.

I played with the stones on the floor for a while...trying to figure out what could have possibly happened...I thought about it for like two days...to this day I am still largely clueless as to what happened to me that night...I have no idea where I could have possibly gone...and I have no idea how I managed to wind up back in bed...none the wiser that I had left the house at all for a number of hours.

How drunk does one have to be to piss on their person, or, someplace that isn't a toilet? I have never once exhibited this type of behavior. This is not a judgment call, heaven knows I've got my share of pitiful and pixilated stories, but not one of them has culminated with me pissing on, or in someone, or something.

H-GM wrote:How drunk does one have to be to piss on their person, or, someplace that isn't a toilet? I have never once exhibited this type of behavior. This is not a judgment call, heaven knows I've got my share of pitiful and pixilated stories, but not one of them has culminated with me pissing on, or in someone, or something.

Yeah I know...I've seen this shit go down a number of times...once a member of a band I like (he was like 19?) started taking a piss on my carpet. I said "KEVIN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!" He said "I'm pissing! Fuck off!" I watched as he wandered around like a dog getting ready to piss...thinking, "is he about to do what I think he's about to do?" He proceeded to whip out the old cock and answered my question. But what a drummer!

I proceeded to clean up his urine...something I've had to do at every single job I've ever had until I got this one. Not cool.

Granted, I'll do some happy outdoor pissing if I get smashed.

H-GM wrote:How drunk does one have to be to piss on their person, or, someplace that isn't a toilet? I have never once exhibited this type of behavior. This is not a judgment call, heaven knows I've got my share of pitiful and pixilated stories, but not one of them has culminated with me pissing on, or in someone, or something.

really drunk. blackout bender drunk. or maybe it's some kind of mental tick? i unfortunately know alot of people who've done it.

Minotaur029 wrote:For some reason...I can just drink...and drink...and drink...and beyond sharing some sexual story that I wouldn't've shared otherwise, I tend to remain under control...which kinda shocks even me seeing as I'm like an average sized guy (someday I'm sure I will eat my words).

Sometimes I'll get really shit-faced around a band I respect or something, but beyond that, not so bad.

I do have a fucking fascinating story though for the lot of you...it kinda felt scary and degrading the day afterwards...

So I'm in Madison...it's last year...probably November or something. I had been excited to go to some party (not actually excited...just excited to go out and drink or something...I think college is fucking boring, my Chicago friends are way more fun).

At Madison parties, I generally just kind of stand in place, I don't really belong and I don't really have fun (even though I try to)...the hipster kids are frightened of me because I am "outspoken" in my views in terms of music and the ethics that (should) come with that passion (this does not play well in Wisconsin)...I'd like to expand on that thought, but I'm getting off track...because this wasn't a hipster party...this was more of an "some idiot girls are throwing a party, and they want me to attend" party.

Anyway, so I'm drinking at my house before I was supposed to go out...and I had also bought some Jack for a roommate...I was invited to take a few pulls. In addition to the beer I had been drinking, this proved to be a bad idea.

The next day, I woke up...still in my clothes from the night before. I passed out before I had the chance to even go to Lisa's!! "Fucking idiot," I thought. I was mad because I had really pissed away yet another weekend of my pointless Madison life...I'm only happy there when I get to go see the bands I admire.

I could hear a strange clinking sound in my pockets as I lounged around in my bed in my clothes with a wicked hangover (which is rare for me). I reached into my pocket and pulled out a series of clear Mancala type stones (you remember Mancala: The African Game of Stones, right?). There proved to be like 20 of these stones in my pocket. This confused me greatly.

As that Sunday wore on, I continued to find strange tokens from the night before. First, I found a series of burrs lodged into my low-top Cons...there were a ton of those little bastards stuck in there. I later found a ton of burrs stuck into the inner lining my winter jacket.

I was now totally confused. I had no memories of the night before whatsoever. I asked my many roommates if they had noticed that I had gone out the night before. None of them had seen me go out.

Finally, 5 hours or so into my confusing attempt to piece together the previous night, I talked to one of my roommates who had thankfully decided to call my cell phone that night. He said, "Oh! You were at Lisa's last night! Some stupid girls took your phone away from you and kept talking to me until I had to hang up out of frustration." I was blown away by this. Here's why:

1) Lisa didn't live too far from me, but she lived in apartment complex that confused the shit out of me when I was sober. I would often get turned around, unable to find her apartment until I would call her and she would give me explicit directions. My internal compass is easily turned around...so I somehow managed to find her place totally blackout fucked-up??? There was no record in my phone that I had called her that night.

2) Again, Lisa did not live too far from me at all...there were no fields of burrs anywhere near her apartment or anywhere on the way to her apartment...the only place I have ever picked up burrs on campus in Madison...was way into the weird nature preserve that they have there (it actually belongs to the university...which is a one of a kind deal in America...it's beautiful out there...I go out there all the time by myself [though I go less and less with each passing school year]).

3) I called Lisa after I found out that my roommate had called me at her apartment. I asked her, "I don't remember anything from last night, did I do anything horrible that I have no recollection of??" She said, "No! You were totally wasted though. You bought a cup, had a few beers...stood around by yourself...and after half-an-hour, you just said 'I've gotta go.'" This sounded about right to me...I was relieved that I didn't you know...take a carpet piss or something like you guys...additionally, whiskey can turn me into a cruel little prick, so this in addition to the blackout worried me. I asked her, "Listen...do you remember the game Mancala?" She replied, "Yeah!" I asked, "Do you have anything resembling the stones from that game in your house...only all of these stones were clear?" She said, "No, we don't have anything like that." I went into more detail...trying to make sure there was nothing like that in her bathroom as a decoration or something...she continued to tell me that she didn't have any Mancala-esque stuff. Period.

I played with the stones on the floor for a while...trying to figure out what could have possibly happened...I thought about it for like two days...to this day I am still largely clueless as to what happened to me that night...I have no idea where I could have possibly gone...and I have no idea how I managed to wind up back in bed...none the wiser that I had left the house at all for a number of hours.

hogrot wrote:

H-GM wrote:How drunk does one have to be to piss on their person, or, someplace that isn't a toilet? I have never once exhibited this type of behavior. This is not a judgment call, heaven knows I've got my share of pitiful and pixilated stories, but not one of them has culminated with me pissing on, or in someone, or something.

really drunk. blackout bender drunk. or maybe it's some kind of mental tick? i unfortunately know alot of people who've done it.

I should amend my original pee-post to show that there have been many, many, many, many, many, many times in the past I've been soused and peed on things, but I always knew what I was doing. I went through a pee phase when I was younger.

There used to be a venue that I can't recall the name of right now. It used to be right around Lincoln Ave. and George St. where Thurston's used to be. Shit. Double A Meat Market? Was that a bar? A straight bar? Regardless, I released a volume of pee one night at the foot of the stage after drinking a shitload of Ouzo with Mike Zelenko. The pool of urine had an undertow to it. So gross.

H-GM wrote:many times in the past I've been soused and peed on things, but I always knew what I was doing.

right, getting drunk and pissing on ridiculously expensive cars is one of my favorite things to do, but i'm talking about thinking-you're-in-the-bathroom-when-you're-actually-in-your-friend's-mom's-closet type faux pas.

hogrot wrote:i'm talking about thinking-you're-in-the-bathroom-when-you're-actually-in-your-friend's-mom's-closet type faux pas.

Exactly. In fact, I've never even pissed myself. And I've been pretty pissed, I'll tell you what.