[onewhippedpuppy]

This should be fun. Inspired by the bad beer thread, tell your best stupid drunk story. Here's mine:

About six years ago, a buddy of mine that went to KU somehow got two tickets to a Widespread Panic concert in St. Louis, and invited me to go. So, with a case of beer between us, we set off on the six hour drive. The trip there was uneventful, and we successfully met up with his girlfriend and her three hot friends at the Hilton, where they were staying. We were supposed to stay there too, same room, hot girls, intoxication, you get the idea. This will come into play later.

So, after partaking in some slightly less legal activities, we set off for the show, only a few blocks away. Now I had heard very little Widespread Panic, and quickly found that taking a nap was more to my liking. So I got my friend's car keys, and headed out to my bed with wheels. Unfortunately, he caught me about halfway to the car, and that's when it begins to go south. For some unknown reason, he asked me if I wanted to go back. To Lawrence. Six hours away. The strangeness of this didn't hit me until later, because I wasn't of stable mind. He wanted to leave a free night in a fancy hotel, with hot girls and large quantities of intoxicants. So, needless to say, I said sure.

Inevitably, we got lost in downtown St. Louis, and when we stopped at a gas station at midnight to ask directions, I learned what it felt like to be a minority. Luckily someone took pity on us, and instead of being directed to certain death, we set off towards the highway, stopping only at a liquor store with bars on the window to relieve our thirst. The last thing I remember hearing was, "If you just stay awake, I'll be fine".

So I woke up and we were on the side of the highway, with the flashing of police lights behind us. Before I could say anything, a cop came to my friend's window and told him to get out of the car. Drunk, half asleep, I looked around, then down, to see the partially drank 12 pack between my legs. I had just enough time to cram the cans under the seat before I was invited out of the car as well. In the comfort of the back seat of a Crown Victoria, I was given two options. Go to the station, or be dropped off at a truck stop a short way down the road. Like any underage drunk, I elected the truck stop.

For some funny reason, nobody from my hometown of Manhattan would drive five hours at 3am to pick me up, so I took matters into my own hands. After talking to countless truckers, I finally found one who took mercy on me, and I was on my way back to Lawrence. Finally, at 10 am my mother was nice enough to pick me up from the front lawn of the Lawrence Holiday Inn, and my trek was over.

So, all the elements for a good story are here: alcohol, drugs, illegal activities, sex, with a liberal dosage of stupidity. Who's next?