The biggest shitshow night of the year is upon us. Happy Blackout/Black/Wild Turkey Wednesday to all who celebrate. It’s the night when it all comes to a head. Reunions with old high school friends, late night rendezvouses with long lost college flames. Sneaking into mom and dad’s house at 4 a.m. and raiding the fridge before passing out in your childhood twin bed. It’s a special day.
Let’s celebrate with your worst (and best). The last story is absolutely brutal and I am issuing a trigger warning for all my heart-on-their-sleeve kings out there. Just warning you now.
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“I was 19 and since every bar in KC was pretty much impossible to get into with a fake ID, we went to our old faithful: Harling’s Upstairs in Midtown. The place was just wretched. The bartenders probably moonlit as human traffickers. Just a total shithole. Every person in the bar was 18-20 years old. There was not a single adult of legal drinking age to be found. They knew their clientele and served them the best they could, which is why Harling’s Upstairs no longer exists. Beers were like $1.50 and well drinks were $3. Everyone was back home from college and ready to prove how hard they could frat/binge drink/be a middle class, Midwestern, Irish-Catholic caricature. I got the bright idea in my head to drink jager and sprite, because big badass frat boys from Mizzou pounded jager like water, bro. You don’t even know. Kevin Richardson from the Backstreet Boys showed up out of nowhere. I drunkenly asked him for a pic, but he soon realized he was looking at a bloated 19-year-old child surrounded by other drunk children and noped the hell out of there. I still remember the horrified look on his face as he realized the PR nightmare he’d just walked into. I was blacked out, cabbed back home, where I proceeded to throw up and knock my brother’s Tom Ford off the back of the toilet, which I later found out was a $250 bottle of cologne when he woke me up at 8 a.m. the next day to scream at me about shattering his $250 bottle of cologne. The most expensive Blackout Wednesday in my life. Bathroom smelled incredible, though.”
-Brian McGannon
“I hooked up with my best friend’s sister in their basement and had to climb out of a basement window the next morning.”
–Anonymous
“I threw a Friendsgiving at my new house that I’d been saving nearly a decade for. It is the house of my dreams. A big ranch in Brookside with a great kitchen and deck. All I needed. This was going to be the first time we had everybody over. My wife and I spent the entire week cleaning and getting the house immaculate for the 20 friends we’d invited. Party starts, buddy asks if he can bring the girl he’s been seeing. I say yes without hesitation. More the merrier. This girl is nice enough, but obviously had been drinking when she showed up. She starts taking shots in the kitchen and it immediately goes south in less than 20 minutes. She disappears out of the kitchen. 10 minutes later, my buddy comes downstairs and asks me if we have paper towels and I immediately knew. I go upstairs and find this chick has completely covered my half bath in puke. It’s everywhere. She got approximately 10% of her puke into the toilet, and 90% of it all over the wall and sink. It had gotten into the floor vent. Bathroom smelled like puke for two weeks. Sometimes I’ll still get a phantom whiff to this day.”
-Kansas City, MO
“Two years after college. Back home in KC from the East Coast from Thanksgiving through New Year’s. Needed a short-term hookup option. Start firing texts to the old FWBs. Nothing. Threw out a couple tagged locations on IG to chum the waters. Nothing. Head to lunch with some friends. We run into my great white whale from high school. Gorgeous brunette. Gives me a big hug. Asks me where we’re headed on Blackout Wednesday. Gives me her number and tells me to text her later. Eight hours later, she’s on my lap at Kelly’s making out with me. Four years later, we’re married with a kid on the way and a dog. Never went back to the East Coast. Life, man.”
-Chicago, IL
“I lived in Houston in my late 20s and found a really solid group of friends who were also transplants. We got an Airbnb the week of Thanksgiving in Galveston to go booze down at the beach and have a big ol friendsgiving on Thursday. I had a huge crush on one of the girls in the group and was hoping this would be when I finally sealed the deal. We get down there on Wednesday morning with plans to go out that night. Pregame I was on fire. She was touching my leg, dancing up on me, pouring us shots, my mid-2000s movie references were on point. This was it. Hit the bars. More dancing. More shots. Closer. We get back to the house and she says she has to go to the bathroom. Never comes back. I go looking for her. Figured she passed out and we’ll give it another shot tomorrow. As I lay my head down to go to bed, I heard her and my best friend going at it on the other side of the wall. Absolutely crushed. I went home the next morning and spent Thanksgiving alone.”
-Dallas, TX
Pour one out for that guy. Good lord. If you’ve got some eye bleach or a worse story than any of the ones above, leave it in the comments.