Stories of Public Intoxication
- Thread starter Reign in Acai
- Start date
Krilons Resa
Jerry's married?!
oh ok karen. here are some pictures from that night:
the look on people's faces as we exited the facility
FIVE STAR material right there.
Krilons Resa
Jerry's married?!
Fucking Typhus, do your Dark Horizon orders come reeking of tobacco?!?
hahahahah
YES!!
Krilons Resa
Jerry's married?!
Mike, or about the time you jumped out of a 3rd floor window. 
Classic.
I have so many drunken, drugged up, fighting, and raising hell stories I wouldnt even know where to begin.
Classic.I have so many drunken, drugged up, fighting, and raising hell stories I wouldnt even know where to begin.
NAD
What A Horrible Night To Have A Curse
The Lethal video with the dummy-drop is probably the most metal thing I've ever witnessed.
Ever.
And that was just the reenactment!
Ever.
And that was just the reenactment!
Hell Mike
fuck melodic black metal
Mike, or about the time you jumped out of a 3rd floor window.
I have so many drunken, drugged up, fighting, and raising hell stories I wouldnt even know where to begin.
That one wasn't really public (but it was the fifth floor and in the newspaper the next day!) but yeah, that's my best/worst depending on how you look at things.
Only thing I can contribute is one St. Patty's Day I manged to drink myself oblivious, then somehow walked all the way home (good 3-4 miles) without stumbling, falling, or getting nabbed by the cops.
Dead_Lioness
Godless
which is why I said.... when the Swedes start telling their stories, it will put everyone to shame...
MajestikMøøse
Membrum virile
Hell Mike
fuck melodic black metal
MajestikMøøse;6996349 said:
By their own hands, too. My gramma is a finnish warchild as they are called, that's where I got my talents I think.
The day that I gave up on the regular heavy drinking was quite an evening as well! 'Twas back in my university days, a wednesday or thursday methinks in November, and there was some gig or other in town that me and some buddies were going to. I got off school a bit later than planned so I thought I'd warm up with vodka instead of beer so I'd get properly drunk before heading for the all ages no drinking gig, whatever band it may have been that was playing.
Said and done, I got me a bottle of vodka that I emptied while singing along to Manowar and watching simpsons with two pals in my cellar apartment, and all fine so far. Apparently the whole bottle emptied itself in the approximate hour we had before we had to leave. As we ascended to ground level, each step of the stairs made my vision blurrier and everything from here on is hearsay - pitch black 'til I woke up in my mind.
Anyways, I start by yelling and swearing at some neighbour who was probably getting home from work just as we left, and when they said something along the lines of "Why are you being a dick?" I looked at them like a brain dead retard and replied "Fuck off" (Yes, in English. They were probably impressed) and on we went. My pals kept me on the feet 'til we reached the venue, where I walked straight into the door (resulted in a black eye) and got instantly rejected at the door. I left, and my (also drunk but not as much) pals stood bickering with the people at the entrance for a while before leaving as well. They called me to see where I went, and apparently I said all was well and I would be home soon. From here on (I'm guessing this was around 9 or 10 in the evening) I have no idea what really went on (Probably nothing at all), but I awoke 3 am on grass maybe 200 metres from my home.
It was FREEZING and I thought I would die before I got home, and I was hung over for three days. Day one was straight from hell alcohol poison nightmares, day two was your regular bad hangover with vomits, headaches and a pissy mood, and day three was a mild headache and some nausea. I assure you, sleeping outdoors in Sweden as fall turns into winter is never a good idea. Not even in a heavy metal t-shirt and a leather jacket.
EricT
Don't you ever get...
I have a tendency to pass out in neighbors lawns when I'm walking home drunk. Usually wake up with little kids poking me and shit... run home, and go back to sleep for 12 hours.
THe worst of which was being 13 or 14, and with the help of a lot of alcohol and a few other substances I'll leave unnamed, waking up 3 hours from home in Central Park. Still have no how I made it from Philly to NY in the middle of the night, but it happened somehow.
A bit of panhandleing and some wired money managed to get me home that day, before anything worse happened.
Told my dad about this a few weeks ago, and all he said was "Man, if I had a dollar for every time I woke up in a city not where I started the night before.. fuck, one time I started in philly and somehow woke up in Golden Gate Park. Went to a dead show that night, good show."
THe worst of which was being 13 or 14, and with the help of a lot of alcohol and a few other substances I'll leave unnamed, waking up 3 hours from home in Central Park. Still have no how I made it from Philly to NY in the middle of the night, but it happened somehow.
A bit of panhandleing and some wired money managed to get me home that day, before anything worse happened.
Told my dad about this a few weeks ago, and all he said was "Man, if I had a dollar for every time I woke up in a city not where I started the night before.. fuck, one time I started in philly and somehow woke up in Golden Gate Park. Went to a dead show that night, good show."
cthulufhtagn
Went Out for Smokes 13 Years Ago
Demilich
Remember
Eric has a genetically embedded ability to travel hundreds of miles while utterly blacked out! I'm jealous.
Hell Mike
fuck melodic black metal
EricT
Don't you ever get...
Or the ability to buy a train ticket, one or the other. Philly to NYC is only an hour and a half train ride or so. Not sure how I got to central park though, I'm assuming bus.
His managing to get to SF was a 3 day binge on his bus from what I understand. His youth was spent following the dead around getting as fucked up on everything they could get their hands on as possible.
The stories he tells me never fail to amuse.
skeptik
Member
- Feb 7, 2003
- 24,413
- 71
- 48
Dazed and Brutal
Yall About to Witness
I just slapped an illegal for wearing a Job for A Cowboy shirt. He's working at the gas station next to me and I spotted him out my window and I'm drunk as hell. Is this wrong?
dill_the_devil
OneMetal.com Music Editor
Okay, so, picture the scene. It's Monday morning. The Download festival of 2003 finished the night before. Me and my group of friends awake, hungover and tired from three days of smoking copious amounts of weed, drinking a shitload of booze and rocking out. However, there is still an awful lot of beer left on our campsite. Deciding that we can't be bothered carrying it all back with us, we figure a better idea would be to simply drink the lot. Unfortunately, pretty much everyone but me pussied out of the task after a few cans, leaving me to attempt to get through the rest. I ended up drinking about six cans of Carling, two cans of Strongbow, half a bottle of vodka, a fair gulp of whiskey, some Absinthe and some Lambrini.
Obviously, I was hammered.
The problems began to arise when we had to disassemble and pack our tents up - I'm not the most experienced woodsman at the best of times, and taking apart a tent is a problematic task to me when I'm sober, let alone when I've just consumed a frankly dangerous amount of booze. Eventually, after I'd fallen over onto the tent a few times while trying to remove the poles, some of the more kind-hearted members of my group stopped laughing at me long enough to pretty much pack all my shit for me and load me up like the mule in a game of Buckaroo.
Second problem - balance. I'm standing (unsteadily) in the queue for the coaches to take us back to Derby. The combined effects of being utterly loaded and having half a ton of camping equipment on my back cause me to start tottering backwards. Unfortunately, behind me is a gradual decline. So, I end up staggering backwards with increasing velocity, pinwheeling my arms and going 'Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!' until gravity finally asserts itself and I go crashing to the floor, ended up bloodied and bruised, while the entire population of the queue starts laughing and singing 'You're not sober, you're not sober, you're not sober anymore!'
It goes blurry for a while here.
Next thing I remember, I'm on a train to Wolverhampton. One of the guys in our group, Woody, has been quoting Monty Python sketches verbatim for over an hour. By this time, my booze-anger has been unlocked, and I threaten to bottle him - before noticing that the bottle still has vodka in it. I decide to remedy this situation.
More blurriness.
Next thing I remember, I'm in Wolverhampton. Everyone else decides to go home to drop off their stuff, take a shower, get some sleep. I decide to go to the pub. Still carrying all my camping gear. Two or three pints of lager later, my mate Ginga Si finds me passed out on the floor of the men's toilets. When he wakes me up and offers to escort me to the bus station, I somehow manage to convince him to instead take me to the local music stores so I can buy a Line 6 Guitarport. I go to two different stores, slurring badly and staggering visibly the whole time, and get quoted two prices - £140 from the first shop, £160 from the second. Guess which one I bought the Guitarport from?
So, Guitarport purchased, I finally allow myself to be escorted to the bus station. I get on the 79, which goes from Wolverhampton, through Bilston, then on to Darlaston, where I live. Unfortunately, I fell asleep on the top deck of the bus. For about five hours. After Darlaston, the bus then goes to Wednesbury, then West Bromwich, then Birmingham, then goes back the same way. I wake up around 6 in the afternoon in West Bromwich bus station, still fairly pissed, and quite amazed that I still have all my shit with me. Made it home eventually, somehow.
Obviously, I was hammered.
The problems began to arise when we had to disassemble and pack our tents up - I'm not the most experienced woodsman at the best of times, and taking apart a tent is a problematic task to me when I'm sober, let alone when I've just consumed a frankly dangerous amount of booze. Eventually, after I'd fallen over onto the tent a few times while trying to remove the poles, some of the more kind-hearted members of my group stopped laughing at me long enough to pretty much pack all my shit for me and load me up like the mule in a game of Buckaroo.
Second problem - balance. I'm standing (unsteadily) in the queue for the coaches to take us back to Derby. The combined effects of being utterly loaded and having half a ton of camping equipment on my back cause me to start tottering backwards. Unfortunately, behind me is a gradual decline. So, I end up staggering backwards with increasing velocity, pinwheeling my arms and going 'Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!' until gravity finally asserts itself and I go crashing to the floor, ended up bloodied and bruised, while the entire population of the queue starts laughing and singing 'You're not sober, you're not sober, you're not sober anymore!'
It goes blurry for a while here.
Next thing I remember, I'm on a train to Wolverhampton. One of the guys in our group, Woody, has been quoting Monty Python sketches verbatim for over an hour. By this time, my booze-anger has been unlocked, and I threaten to bottle him - before noticing that the bottle still has vodka in it. I decide to remedy this situation.
More blurriness.
Next thing I remember, I'm in Wolverhampton. Everyone else decides to go home to drop off their stuff, take a shower, get some sleep. I decide to go to the pub. Still carrying all my camping gear. Two or three pints of lager later, my mate Ginga Si finds me passed out on the floor of the men's toilets. When he wakes me up and offers to escort me to the bus station, I somehow manage to convince him to instead take me to the local music stores so I can buy a Line 6 Guitarport. I go to two different stores, slurring badly and staggering visibly the whole time, and get quoted two prices - £140 from the first shop, £160 from the second. Guess which one I bought the Guitarport from?
So, Guitarport purchased, I finally allow myself to be escorted to the bus station. I get on the 79, which goes from Wolverhampton, through Bilston, then on to Darlaston, where I live. Unfortunately, I fell asleep on the top deck of the bus. For about five hours. After Darlaston, the bus then goes to Wednesbury, then West Bromwich, then Birmingham, then goes back the same way. I wake up around 6 in the afternoon in West Bromwich bus station, still fairly pissed, and quite amazed that I still have all my shit with me. Made it home eventually, somehow.
cthulufhtagn
Went Out for Smokes 13 Years Ago
A re-run of a post I made last year... Probably the best drunken story I have.
O.K I'm sober but feel like Oranthal J. Simpson at a celebrity golf tournament. Good God, did someone kick me in the lumbar last night?!?! It's throbbing like Hell Awaits Us All's Armenian biceps after a set of preacher curls. As for my head, it is pounding like Mrs. Bender after a Calloway Auto parts Convention on brake pads. Good Christ make the pain go away!!!
To sum up the incoherent mess that I posted above...
We left the venue after Katatonia's performance and traversed half a mile up the hill to the parking structure where earlier that night we were drinking in the name of everything that is unholy. Upon arrival to the multi level sub-ground structure we enter my ghetto fabulous jalopy, three sheets to the wind and four to the kindle. At that precise moment in time we heard a rustling in the bushes. "Hark, who goes thar?” we shouted in to the night. This fat bitch tipping the scales around 300 pounds approaches my vehicle with indignation, "Would you mind picking up that trash can you kicked over?" Apparently I pushed, kicked, or prodded a trash receptacle on to its side somewhere along our voyage. In all honesty, I do not have any recollection towards this specific transgression, as our reign of terror was half a mile in length and 10 yards across.
We didn’t know who this bitch was,. we figured she was just a nosy citizen who contributed monthly donations to Green Peace. Well to cut to the chase, Mike picks up the trash and I begin driving off in to the Moon set. That is until we reached the attendant's booth and see this same corpulent cunt glaring us in the face. We pay the God damn parking fee, and the Bitch will still not let us out of the structure. I know for certain that there are laws against this (though I'm in no condition to look up the specifics at the moment). This living breathing bag of Fritos has the audacity to say that L.A Sheriff’s Department is on their way to take care of the situation. We pleaded for several seconds, stating that we complied with everything that she had asked from us. But the bucket wielding seal sternly stood her ground and refused to let us pass. It was at this moment where I called the bitch a cunt.
“What should we do, what should we do?!?!” I do not need a DUI, we do not need citations for public intoxication, and we sure do not need to be fighting negars for cot space in L.A County jail. So we decided to reverse the vehicle and drive down 2 levels to collect our thoughts. I attempted to persuade Mike and Luann to leave the scene of the crime, as no arrests could be made if we walked the streets for a bit to get our wits about ourselves. The objective all along from what I recall, was to sit in the vehicle until I was sober enough to drive. That plan went S.N.A.F.U the moment said whore encroached upon our freedoms of public detoxification.
I ran up to the alley the moment that L.A.S.D arrived on scene, but noticed Luann and Mike were stuck in their cross hairs. I attempted to return, but the God damn door to the lot was sealed shut. So I banged furiously on the entrance, as any respecting metal head would not leave friends during such a debacle. This cunt Sheriffs deputy eventually lets me in and they throw Mike and me in the back of two perpendicularly parked squad vehicles. I’m thinking, “O.K great, we just finished conducting multiple Arghoslent chants in between Katatonia songs and now we’re going to be thrown to the nigrescent wolves to do battle in honor of our ancestors.” I pleaded with the cunt deputy, and posed the question of whether or not it is a crime to imbibe furiously and then return to your vehicle to recover? To this she had no firm reply.
To make a long story short, the Sheriffs gave the keys to Mrs. Hill who was blitzed like an N.F.L quarterback with an incompetent offensive line and we then drove off in to the night. But not before Mike smiled and waved in mockery at the attendant who stood there with bread crumbs spouting from a blow hole which marked the oxygen pathway that enables buoyancy in times of torrential sweat.
