I shit my pants. At work. And kept working. I'm not sure this requires much explanation, but just in case.... 8 or 9 years ago I was an analyst at an investment bank, and was accustomed to working completely insane hours (90-100 per week, on average). When you were busy, you just kind of kept your head down and worked until you were finished. Lots of all-nighters and "loop-de-loops", as we called them (double all-nighters). The one redeeming quality about the work environment is that it was pretty much all men, and human resource policies did not apply as far as we were concerned. When you're working 100 hours a week, you feel entitled to a few liberties that other workplaces might frown upon - that was just part of the gig. Farting, cursing, looking at porn, hiding fish sandwiches in your neighbor's office, masturbating in the office, you name it. Anyways, one evening, after eating a bunch of indian food, I was plugging away at a financial model, and the sudden urge to take a dump hit me like a ton of bricks. Rather than get up and walk 30 feet to the nearest bathroom like any normal human being would, I told myself that I would give it 10 minutes to find a good stopping point before hitting the toilets. Well, 10 minutes became 20 minutes and 20 minutes became an hour. To mitigate my rectal temptations, I slowly let off gas over the course of the hour - i.e., stationary crop dusting. The plan was working perfectly. Working perfectly, that is, until the crop duster started leaking oil. I could tell that something was wrong, but was too engrossed in the model to concern myself with the consequences of my failing sphincter. I could feel the wetness in my pants, but still carried on. At that point, I knew I had crossed the point of no return, so I stayed there and worked for another hour before finally heading to the bathroom to assess the damages. The aftermath was not pretty. Luckily, I was wearing boxer briefs, so the elastic around the legs kept the seepage to a minimum, but otherwise, it appeared as if I had done my laundry in a tub of soup. I still had another hour or two of work to do, so I took off my shitty underwear and stuffed them in one of the garbage cans. My ass and junk were covered in chicken tandoori, so I stood in front of the sink, buck-naked from the waste down, scrubbing my undercarriage and praying that nobody would walk in. Luckily, there were very few people in the office at that hour, so I walked away clean. Kind of. That was probably one of the lowest points of my life. And definitely my 'shittiest' memory.
After a long day of paintballing with a friend, we starting hanging around the friends home. His mother asks us to pick up his sister from the mall, and we oblige. Its past curfew, but that doesn't matter to us because we're both over 18, I having had my birthday a few days prior. At the mall, a security guard stops to to be ID'ed. I tell him to fuck off, because he has no right to know how old I am. He threatens to sic the cops on me for trespassing, so we quickly pick up the sister, and go. I'm pissed off at this guard. Later, I return to the mall with a box of laundry detergent, and dump it into their giant fountain. I get tackled, and the guard and I have a fight. I lose. In the city jail, some random guy stands up and shouts "I'll fight anybody!" I hop off the bunk and take him up on the offer. What follows is the swiftest, most efficient asskicking I have ever received in my life. Bruised, and bleeding, wearing dusty paint-covered day old clothes, I return to the bunk and think over the last few months of my life. I was an honor student with scholarship offers from NYU, and UCLA, but recently dropped out of high school, and lost my job. I had been in 2 fights in 12 hours, and was about to be transferred to county for felony vandalism. I began laughing like a maniac. You don't know how liberating a feeling it is to really hit rock bottom, because I knew from there, the rest of my life would be looking up. It has.
Spending 15 hours in county jail in Humphreys County, Mississippi facing charges 20+ charges of destruction of federal property counts as a pretty low point, right? Otherwise, it would be making my brother's ex-girlfriend call my mother to come pick me up from the bar because I was busy vomiting into the urinal. I was 22 at the time. My mom found me throwing up over the railing in front of the bar. Evidently, I remembered her "If you're ever too drunk to drive, call me and I'll come get you... I won't even be mad" speech from high school. I guess I just didn't think about the fact that it's slightly less acceptable once you're living on your own. Oh, and for the record- she was mad.
I was a virgin until the age of 25. While this automatically would end this thread already, it gets worse. A bit of backstory. I had asked out a coworker of mine out for some drinks on a Friday. I was a 25 year old virgin, so I knew I was going to be available. To say I was slightly shocked when she said yes would be an understatement. That night, I was in the zone. Filled to the brim with liquid courage, I was self-confident and hitting all of her buttons (thanks to the "Girls, help your boys" thread). We headed back to the apartment I was sharing with my brother. When I rolled up with a girl, an attractive one no less, he immediately put his bong away and swore off smoking pot for the rest of the weekend. The both of us basically ran to my bedroom. Now, this being any other person, you'd probably hear a story where I ended up losing my cherry while getting my nipples clamped with clothespins while pouring candle wax on her tits. But in my case, she decided she didn't want to start a potential relationship by fucking me. She settled for spooning. I responded by going to the bathroom and taking a cold shower. This went on for about a month. Then she broke up with me, citing feelings for another guy she hooked up with in the past. Cue me going into therapy and getting on antidepressants. This was after about three months of getting up, going to work and staring at a wall for 9 hours, then going home to sleep. I was pretty much forced into going or else I'd be fired. To sum up, a girl gave me blue balls for 30 days. Then breaks up with me. Being emotionally broken, I fell into a depression so bad that my bosses mandated I go into therapy. Let's not forget the overwhelming urge to flip my vehicle killing myself and as many people I could take with me. Do I win any fabulous prizes?
First semester in University dorms. Been doing laundry for a few months now, so I ran out of loonies and quarters (yeah I'm Canadian, so fuck you too) and couldn't dry my clothes in the dryer. It was about 1 am, and I needed those clothes... I hit the computer looking for advice, something I do too often, and after an hour found a way to cheat, or "hack" the specific drying machine on my dorm floor. By taking a penny and putting it in the return slot of the dryer, then flicking it up with one hand while holding in the return coin button with the other, the machine will register it as 25c. Takes a few tries. But I never paid to dry my clothes again. Thinking back now, that low point was actually pretty awesome. Many would argue the low point was probably dropping out of University after the first semester. I still think it was wise, because university was useless to me.
My story took place a few years ago at a local bar with some friends. Seeing as it was £1 for a vodka, I proceeded to down many, many double vodkas. Pretty soon I was shithoused and needed to get rid of the free coke that was diluting my alcohol. Inexplicably there was a line to use the gents, but I decided my need to piss was that great that using the sink was a good alternative (whatever; those toilets were disgusting). Sadly the bouncer who I had not noticed in my drunk rush did not share my view. He calmly waited till I had finished and promptly removed me from the premises. As my friends were still in there drinking I decided to walk round the front of the bar light a cigarette while decided what to do. While doing so and kinda wandering down the street I saw the bouncer who had just thrown me out run past. It didn't become clear why until I staggered into the next bar down the street to carry on my drinking. I was informed that they couldn't serve someone like me due to what the bouncer from bar 1 had just told them. Thrown out of 2 bars for the one crime in less than 10 minutes, and I still had to wait in the rain for my oblivious friends.
Not as bad (or good?) as some, I was 21 unemployed, a highschool diploma for an education. I had been kicked out of my dad's house for beating the shit out of her son,(he was 18 and he did start it), I was living with my grandfather. I woke up one morning broke and caught myself stealing quarters from my grandpa to buy cigarettes. I didn't know how many times I had done that. I was blaming my problems on a break up that happened in August, it was November. Anyway I went on a little trip to visit family for Thanksgiving with my mother, saw my cousin for the first time in 3 years, he was getting off the plane in his Navy uniform. On the way home Mom gave me my birthday present which was $100 and a trip to a casino, I won $200 playing Blackjack. Took my 300 home and the next Monday I was talking to an Army recruiter and within 2 months on a plane to basic training... As far as drunkest low point after reading IHTSBIH I had to make Tuckers Death punch. We also made a bottle of some rendition of Washington Apples (one bottle Crown, one bottle of Apple Pucker) , the Death punch was horrible and I could only get one other guy to actually do more than a swig with me. We made it at 6 and finished it by 7. The alcohol hadn't taken full effect, so I started drinking bud light and the other stuff. I wound up agreeing to roll with a guy and then punching him repeatedly in the back of the head before thankfully my friends broke us up before i got an ass kicking I deserved. I then passed out while puking around 9, got woken up at midnight and given a big can of redbull. We went to some club and I started Jager bombs and puked again and got kicked out. That is all i remember, I woke up the next afternoon next to a fat girl and 45 minutes away from post...
I was hanging out with my then girlfriend at my apartment. We were having sex, music blaring in the background .. smoking weed and drinking beer .. the usual stuff. I had a juice box on a nightstand next to my bed. It had delicious juice in it. It was some kind of multi-vitamin drink - she liked it. I had an identical box on my kitchen table. After a round of sex and a few hits from the bong .. she was thirsty - as expected. Instead of drinking the juice on the nightstand, she decided to grab the juice box on the kitchen table. Before I had the chance to stop her, she had taken a hearty gulp or two. In fact, I had pissed in that juice box before because I didn't feel like going to the bathroom at the time. She just thought it was the pot messing with her taste buds and she took another swig. I shit you not. She thought it was the same fucking juice she had been drinking before, but it was mostly piss, with maybe a little juice in the mix. And she thought the difference in taste was all in her head. On some level I knew that instead of telling her the truth I should've just affirmed her notions of ganja fucking with your taste buds. But I told her the truth anyway, and it was awkward. She was a bit prissy, even though she liked sex and weed (I mean she wouldn't even let me do her from behind, because she thought it was "dirty") .. she wasn't the fun type of girl that can laugh at funny shit .. she was like shocked to the max and she had some kind of panic attack. Apparently pissing in juice boxes and leaving them around the house is somehow "totally fucked up and creepy". We weren't seeing each other after that night. I felt a bit creepy and weird .. but it was all her fault for making such a big number out of it. But it was one of the lowest points in my life.
Got my chance to work at a three Michelin star restaurant. To do this I had to cook a 12 course tasting menu for the head chef and the owner of both the restaurant and the owner of the hotel. Blew it big time. Was in such a rush to finish my dishes that I never once tasted any of them (I was also confident that I nailed every dish, arrogance is a killer). In the end I was taking my salt from a sugar bowl and sugar from a salt bowl thereby destroying any chance I had at working at this establishment and getting a chance to work with one of the best chefs on Earth.
I was a few years out of college, but back on campus to visit some friends. I decided to get inordinately drunk at their house. Beer pong, rum, anything I could get my hands on really. After hours of this, I was blacked out. I came to, outside, mid toss of a half full beer. I watched it in flight, as it buzzed past some broad's head. She did not approve. I did not know why I had thrown the beer. She charges at me and punches me right in the chest. I wasn't even mad she hit me. I was to busy trying to figure out what in the name of Captain Morgan was going on. I tried for some damage control, so I went back inside, to find a whole mass of people I had pissed off. Apparently, I was questioning people's sexuality and their morals, along with other verbal artillery. I had no recollection of any of these shenanigans. I cut back after that episode. To this day, I do not know why I was so mad, or even why I chucked a beer at some floozy's head. Oh well, she probably deserved it.
The one time I have ever been "That Guy" at a party. It happened about this time last year. My study abroad program took us out on this weekend excursion thing, to an "adventure centre" where you spent the day doing outdoorsy things. The shitty thing was that it was hurricane force weather the entire day, but we still had to go out and do these activities. It made me cranky. That night they threw us a "Costume/Dance/Karaoke Party." I didn't bother to pack a costume, because I just didn't care enough. When I arrived, it reminded me of a junior high dance. People were just sitting around awkwardly, while the DJ was trying to get the crowd pumped up. There was one major difference from a junior high dance: a bar. I took one look at this sorry scene at walked straight to it. I can't remember how much booze I had in about an hour, I think it was 8 pints of beer and some whiskey. After I ran out of money, I finally noticed that the party was actually getting pretty good, people were up and dancing and such. I proceeded to walked to a friend of mine and calmly state: I am really fucking drunk. He naturally did what any good friend does and threw me onto the dance floor. I vaguely remember grinding with some girl dressed as a geisha, which was nice. The next thing I remember is being in the middle of the dance floor with people chanting: do the worm Cope, the worm!. I did, or I should say try. I jumped as high as I could into the air and proceeded to land face first onto the ground. I chipped my tooth a bit. The next thing I remember is puking my guts out in the bathroom, and logically taking my shirt off so I didn't vomit on it. Then I passed out in the bathroom. I am sure plenty of you have passed out in the bathroom before, but this one had a few peculiarities. First, it was the bathroom of a cheap hostel. And second, but more importantly, there were no "showers" in this hostel. The bathroom had a showerhead, and a curtain that went only down to your thighs, and nothing to separate it from the actual bathroom. I passed out and spent the night face first on the shower drain in a bathroom/shower of a cheap, dirty hostel.
When I was younger I had a rockin' time with anorexia. I don't think I really realized what was going on until one night in particular. I believed that if I kept food around I would eat it, so my fridge and pantry resembled that of a bachelor's. Looking back, I have to at least admire my self-control and discipline. I was committed! All I kept was yellow mustard, Flintstones chewable vitamins and gum. There was no way I could get into trouble. One night I was so hungry from a day of dancing and not eating that I started flipping out. I'm starving, but I can't eat! Surely a chewable vitamin would tide me over until bedtime, right? Wrong. One vitamin turned into 4 and a few spoonfuls of mustard. Not satisfied, I chewed every piece of gum in an almost new package until the flavor was gone. Noticing my neon pee and TMJ-like feeling in my jaw I thought about how fucked up the night was. Definitely a low point. Unfortunately, it wasn't the lowest.
Wow. This thread was waaaaay more depressing than I thought. I should have been more specific with my focus.
Don't quite remember this and therefore not sure if I believe it, but my friends tell me that while blacked out I spent over an hour on the toilet, shitting and puking like it had gone out of style. Apparently there were some pictures taken, but my only real proof is that I couldn't eat until 10 that night and my stomach was sore for two days. Reason for drinking so much: I wanted to catch up to my friend who had started puking at 9:30, guess I didn't want him to be the drunkest one there.
My first (and only) DUI was a year and a half ago. I was at a friend's birthday party that was, literally, across the street from her house. Shitty dive bar that we loved. The owner was a hot Thai chick who had come over as a Navy wife, gotten citizenship, and ditched the dork. She made good by creating an almost perfect whirlwind of crappy atmosphere, one nice pool table with plenty of room, really hot down-on-their-luck waitresses with amazing fake tits and great bodies, cheap booze, Karaoke hosted by an awesome dyke, and occasionally, home made spicy Thai food. So we drank there a lot, because, as I said, we had a friend that lived across the street, and two more of our crew lived within 3 miles (by back roads, where the cops are not likely to see you). Anyway. I got shitfaced on double vodka redbulls (12 or so, I believe, plus some beers. Not trying to brag. I was in the Navy, I drank professionally). I told people I was going out to smoke, which I did. But since no one was out there with me, it was 1:30, and I have an intense craving to sleep in my own domicile at any given point, I decided to drive home. Problem was, I was almost out of gas. So I head to the nearest station. When I pull in, I switch off my lights (or so I thought). Credit card pumps are an amazing blessing to the slightly inebriated. You don't even have to interact with anyone. I get back in my car. When I turn it on, the dash lights are operative, so I don't think twice about it, I get back on the street and head to the highway. Let me clarify before I get crucified. I was doing the speed limit, I was driving straight, I truly don't believe I was a danger to anyone that didn't swerve in front of me or run across the road in a similar manner. Having lived in the middle east while I was in the Navy, I was exceptionally conversant with drunk driving, and very very fucking good at it. Anyway. I get the flashing lights behind me. Stomach sinks. As it turns out, my dash lights were on, but not my headlights. I had turned my light setting to dash/warning lights only. Even that would have been ok, if I hadn't been on an extremely well lit stretch of street. That shit would have been ok, as well, except that the cop who didn't notice my lights being out was giving a ride to a Criminal Justice major doing a ride-along. She was hot and heavy for some action and pegged me from blocks away (these are things they told me on the ride to county). I believe I would have made the drive home safely, not hurting anyone. I was pretty good at that. But getting hit for it woke me up. Every time I did that kind of shit, I was putting not only my life, but everyone else on the road's life in danger. Everyone has been behind that guy where you're like, "Look at this asshole. He's fucking drunk". I was not that guy. I was the guy that you wouldn't have noticed until that guy cut me off, and I was too inebriated to respond fast enough, causing you to get in an accident. I haven't driven drunk more than a block since then. My friends all know, if we're going out drinking, they can count me out as the ride home. Taking a cab the next day to get your car is way cheaper than the shit I had to go through, both in money and time. Hey kids. Stop driving drunk. You will get caught, and it's gonna SUCK. Edit: by the way, I blew a .25. Couldn't remember what came after P in the alphabet, couldn't stand up on one leg, and I'm sure I fucking reeked of booze. 80 hours of community service (and if they know you're there for DUI, they don't give you the easy shit), roughly $3500 in fines, probation for five years, suspended license for four months, and 9 months of DUI classes (which I have yet to complete, took a year hiatus when I moved to Baltimore, going back to San D this halloween to get them moved here so I can be done with this shit).
To try and lighten up this thread, I'll post what I just remembered as one of my lowest nights. It was the night of my main high school graduation party, and also the last night I did E. It's not a coincidence though, this night is the reason I stopped doing E. I showed up with a 2-6 of Tequila, expecting to get through half or 3/4 of it if I was lucky, and a bag of limes to my friends house, which was on a farm. They had a stage set up for bands to play on later in the night, jello shots, squirt guns filled with booze, all the fun high school drinking stuff. Well after about a 1/4 of the bottle, my friend who I had given 2 tabs a while back decided to pay me back that night. Fuck me. Once I got through half the bottle, I decided to pop one, and split the second with another friend. Then everything goes black. My next memory, there's maybe 30 people left, my bottle of tequila is empty and one of my friends is dragging me to his brothers car for a ride home. There were probably about 400 at the peak. Some of the things I don't remember: 2 of the 3 bands playing Cops showing up Grabbing two of my friends' tits Making out with a fat asian nerd, and a fat indian chick (brown, not red), both in the middle of everyone at the party. The friend who's brother drove me home also saw me wander off into the field with a 20-something year old fat chick too, but he's the only one who saw, so I'm not sure if that actually happened or not. A week later, at another grad party, I went to introduce myself to two girls I didn't recognize. Unfortunately they recognized me. Me: Hey, I'm [Creelmania], how's it - Girl 1: Ya we know your name Girl 2: You kept trying to talk to us, and make out with one of our friends at that huge farm party last week Me: ... Sorry about that, that's the reason I've decided not to do drugs anymore Girl 1: Good idea.
After my fraternity's annual Country & Western party, typically one of my 3 or 4 drunkest nights of the year, I hook up with some random sorostitute wearing chaps. While wearing the most hideous Wal-Mart cowboy outfit I could find, I still managed to convince her to allow me walk her back to her place, merely a mile and a half away across campus. Now, I was severely intoxicated. After nearly 20 tequila shots, I wasn't keeping up with her, physically or mentally, and I was getting worse. She eventually grew tired of me stumbling along behind her, trying to smoke the wrong end of a cigarette, and slurring obscenities. About a mile in, she tells me that maybe this isn't such a good idea. I suggest that maybe we could just bang against the nearby Volkswagen and get it over with. She declines and of course I go off on a drunken rampage. She takes her cue and leaves. Now, this is where it gets hazy. I remember trying to find my way home and getting lost, wandering aimlessly for who knows how long. I remember wanting to cross a big ass ditch. I remember cursing the ditch for having water in it that was deeper than it looked. I remember... Fade to black... I wake up sometime the next morning. The sun is just peaking over the horizon. I am face down in the mud on the bank of a drainage ditch. From the hips down, I am submerged in whatever pungent fluid fills the ditch. I drag myself out of the muck and try to get my bearings. Fortunately, this was small town Missouri, so I had an idea where I was. Unfortunately, this was small town Missouri, where everyone knows you, and I had to go through campus to get home. It was early enough that I got off fairly lucky and wasn't seen by many. However, there were a few people starting to make their way to class as I’m staggering through campus, covered in mud; wearing skin tight, wet wranglers; the ugliest western-style shirt that Wal-Mart has ever sold; an huge belt buckle, boots and a gigantic hat. Now that I think about it, it wasn't that unusual to see a sight such as that in small town Missouri.
My Lowest Point in Public - When I got too happy fisting free wine that I passed out during my friends wedding reception. Or the time I started crying at a bar because my 'first love" broke up with me. I use that term loosely because it was clearly infatuation. Anyways the latter takes the prize because the wedding was held by a Vermont friend of mine who loves to drink. So I clearly celebrated his special occassion to the fullest. So the drunken break up was definitely more pathetic. Mainly because the SB Events photographer had a huge hard on for my ex that he took pictures of me bawling and begging her to stay with me. Then he posted them online. Then I got in a huge depressive funk ... but no one wants to hear about that. So I'll just end this therapy session by stating she is a whore and I still hate her.
My low point was when I was 19 and in college. I was a binge drinker like no other. One night, I drank myself to the point of blackout. I can't remember anything past a certain point - no flashes, nothing. I was taking vodka shots at my apartment with my roommate and a few other friends, and we were all getting hammered. We were having a good time until the point when I blacked out and threated to kill myself. I actually got a knife out and was threatening to stab anyone that came near me. They ended up having to take all the knives or anything sharp out of my apartment, because they couldn't control me. I woke up the next morning to my apartment torn apart and I went into my roommate's room and was just like, "Oh my God I have a hangover, what happened last night?" And she couldn't believe that I had no idea what was going on. I never believed anyone when they said they blacked out and couldn't remember until that happened to me. I cut back on drinking after that.
I was at Laguna Seca for the motorcyle races drinking way too much. I wandered away from the campsite in search of a toilet. On the way back to the campsite I managed to fall in to a storm ditch, then decided it was easier to just pass out in the ditch rather than find my way back to camp. Since I did not have a chance to rehydrate before sleeping the hangover the next morning was legendary. You would think that would have cured me from wandering off at Laguna, but it took a drunk in public night in the Salinas drunk tank about six years later to really get that message across. But that is another story.