What was the widest night you ever had?

+rep power to maxpower

hey freeringo if you want to hear more details of mine just pm me or whatever. it could make you laugh, or cry.

thx eejit you made my night. It looks like another night of midgets and panda bears for me!

Why Dingo shouldn't drink (pt. 1):

Back when I worked in television, I was part of a PBS-type documentary shoot in Vermont where we videotaped this bizarre Polish-Irish/Brazilian-German wedding. I shot hand-held all day, was spent by nightfall, and despite an invitation to hangout at the producer's party, I retired to my hotel room to watch the Gretzky game on TV. We'd been warned beforehand about the producer's teenage godson who had some nervous disorder that prevented him from feeling pain, but when he knocked on the door my idiot sound-man/roommate known as Shag Boss opened the door. He asked the kid (who was slightly mentally retarded) if he was lost or something. The kid attacked Shag Boss with claw hands and kicking with both feet. When I started to get off the floor to try to stop it, the kid did a cannonball on me and bit me. This is a quandry: do you really want to beat up the producer's teenage godson? Shag Boss and I finally got the kid on the floor pummeling him from both sides, but with the kid's nervous disorder it felt like we were tickling him, and he giggled maniacally the whole time. We were finally able to bum-rush him out the door, which scared the crap out of a little old man in the hallway, and Shag Boss and I were left to examine the marks on us as we just got our *** kicked by a fourteen-year-old.

The producer's alcoholic son showed up with two Polish cousins who were hiding from their grandmother because they had skipped out on the wedding at one point to go to a Joey Chitwood car show. I was noticeably exhausted and beat up, and the producer's son promised to bring me back something from the party. I fell asleep watching the hockey game, and woke up hours later to find the Polish cousins and Shag Boss passed out on the floor like speedbumps. However, the producer's son had left me a fifth of Canadian Hunter on the nightstand. I was sore as hell from the shoot and the attack, and figured the Canadian Hunter could help kill the pain. I sat on the floor and drank and drank but wasn't catching any buzz at all.

About 3/4 of the way through the bottle in less than two hours, the alcohol finally broke through the pain barrier and went off like a bomb. I couldn't even sit against a wall with wobbling. I throw up in the sink the first time, and being young and stupid I figured the damage was already done, so I keep drinking. After almost finishing the bottle, I feel really sick, crawl to the toilet, and throw up maybe 4-5 times. Since it was a fancy resort hotel, the toilet had one of those discreet tricky semi-hidden flushers. The last thing I remember is trying to find the flusher and calling the toilet a cheating *****.

I wake up a few hours later with my face puke-dried to the tile floor with broken porcelan all over the room. I apparently took the lid off the toilet tank the beat the hell out of the toilet with it. Shag Boss finds me and calls the maid, who takes one look at me, flees, and come back covered in plastic as if I'm radioactive. The producer shows up--by this time I had crawled into the bathtub with the beer and ice and had the shower running--and laughs his *** off. He never once later mentioned the damge bill he had to have been hit with, but then he paid the bar-tab for all 400 people in the resort that night whether they were associated with the wedding or not to the tune of $18,000.

Sign that kid up on the UFC lol

Why Dingo shouldn't drink part 2:

The first semester I ever taught (at a junior college), most of my students were in their early-mid 20s. I challenged the class that if so many of them got A's I'd let them get me sloppy drunk, despite the fact I hadn't really drank since the fore-posted Vermont hotel incident. Of course they worked their asses off and I had to endure a bar-run of everyone's favorite drink. At one point, I slipped out to jog off the alcohol in the parking lot, only to be tackled by one of my students who had been an all-state high school football player. I later threatened to spear someone with a poolstick, claiming to be a Mohican. On the way home, I got into an argument at a Taco Bell drive-thru and tried to beat up the menu. While I was driven home, I yelled at all the passing farmhouses claiming their inhabitants were inbreds.

Some people are happy drunks. Not me.