24 Faces Every Single Person That’s Been Drunk Will Recognize

via - BuzzFeed

How To Fail A Breathalyzer Test

Some Things Never Change

You ever have those moments where you knew you were the cause of your own fuck-up but never wanted to take the blame? That was me last Tuesday night. Here's my story...

It was another average Tuesday for your boy, J-Wunder. I had to drive into the city because I was taking my car in for maintenance to my buddy's auto shop. BTW - big ups to my boy at Auto Analysts. Y'all motherfuckers always do me right. Anyway, I drop my car off, head to work and my day goes on like any normal fucking day working the grind.

The auto shop calls and tells me that my car will be done tomorrow and of course I say, "No worries. See you tomorrow." I figure, I can take the train home and either cab it from the station or just walk my ass home. What's one fucking mile, right?

As the work day is ending, my buddy who is helping me out with an upcoming project hits me up on text and says, "I'm free today. Let's meet up to talk about some stuff so we're all on the same page. Drinks at Hops?" I tell him, "About fucking time. See you there around 5:30." 5:30 rolls around and like the prompt man I am, I'm at the bar, shooting the shit with the bartender, sipping on an Old Fashioned. About 5 minutes later, a buddy I haven't seen in awhile rolls in and tells me two of my other buddies are meeting him here for drinks. This isn't a good sign at all. The goal was to have a goddamn meeting, maybe sip on two drinks and go the fuck home. Yeah, that didn't pan out so well.

It's now 6pm and I'm about two Old Fashioned's in and it's me with my buddy I'm supposed to meet and my three other buddies who I haven't seen in some time. Long story short, we got fucking drunk. Like 6-8 Old Fashioned's and a couple shots of tequila to celebrate a non-planned reunion, drunk. Thinking that the night was about to end and our drunk asses were going to part ways, one of my buddies says, "Let's go eat. How bout the Irish Bank?" Now, just so you guys are aware, the Bank used to be my old stomping ground in San Francisco. I spent many days and nights getting fucked up and walking out of that place not remembering a goddamn thing. My last few visits there, I had a thousand dollar tab as my 5 year anniversary gift from my old job and spent that shit in 4 days. No bullshit. I single handedly drank a thousand dollars worth of booze at an Irish Pub. In four goddamn days. Pure liquid goodness. Mind you, this was not a swanky joint with $20 fucking drinks, but a pub with $5 beers and enough Jameson to kill a pack of wolves. But I digress...

We get to the Bank, order food, shots of Jameson and rounds of Guinness. Laughing, having a good ass time...then all I remember is that I wake up on BART wondering what the fuck just happened and did I just get sucked into a goddamn time warp. I look around and get off the train because I have no fucking clue how my drunk ass got there. The train leaves and I soon realize that the train I was actually on was the right motherfucking train home. FUCK. 20 minutes rolls by, I hop on the next one and head home.

I get to my stop, start to walk towards a cab then it hits me. My keys. Where the fuck are my goddamn keys?! Somebody tell me where the fuck are my motherfucking keys?!?!?!?!?!? Then it clicked...

I LEFT MY GODDAMN KEYS WITH MY MECHANIC. NOT JUST THE CAR KEY. BUT ALL MY MOTHERFUCKING KEYS.

The key to my gate. The key to my apartment. Even the key to the goddamn mailbox. Now, a lot of you are probably saying, "Well why don't you just call the on-site apartment manager." I actually would if that motherfucker actually worked the hours he said he works and answers his "emergency" cell phone which I think is on silent every fucking day. I think I've seen that motherfucker in the office four times. And I've lived at my spot for over a year now. But that's another story for another fucking day. Back to what I was saying...

I have no keys. I have no way to get into my apartment and to top it off, I'm fucking shitfaced and confused as to what I'm going to do now. I pull out my phone and the only person I could call is my old roommate who lives about a mile from my spot. I hit him up, he calls me back and I'm relieved that I have a spot to crash for the night. We get back to his pad and it's lights out on his pull-out couch. Then 2:30am rolls around...

I wake up, still wasted, and have to take a huge piss. Lost, confused and very much out of it, I stumble around, walk down his hallway, pull trow and let it fly. AAAAHHHH THE RELIEF. Then I start to feel something. Something I normally don't feel when taking a piss.

Pitter. Patter. Pitterrrrrrrrrrrr. Patterrrrrrrr.

It's getting faster. It's sounding closer. Why the fuck are my feet wet and what's that goddamn smell? WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?!

People, I open my eyes and to no avail, I am pissing in and on my homeboy's kitchen floor. Pissing on his cabinets. Pissing on the oven. A little golden shower on his kitchen towels his grandma probably gave him for Christmas. Hell, I even pissed on the dog. On the fucking dog people. Totally drunk pissed too. You know what drunk pissing is, right? Where you can't stand straight and you're zig-zagging all over the fucking place. Making a goddamn mess. The shitty part was I also took a leak on my motherfucking feet because my boner went down and I was just too goddamn lazy to hold my wang while draining the main vein. But the dog? Really?

I don't know how that happened or where that little motherfucker came from. All I know is that she wouldn't shut the fuck up and kept yapping. Probably because I decided to aim right for her like I was trying to put out a fire. I finally stop, hold myself from slipping all over the goddamn place, turn on the flashlight to my iPhone and survey the scene.

Man, there was piss EVERYWHERE in that goddamn kitchen. And the dog...that little shit looked miserable. All soaked in alcohol based urine. Not to mention, smelled like a homeless person. All that said, I did what anyone else would do. I found every piece of paper towel, napkin, toilet paper I could gather and cleaned the place up. Sort of.

Still drunk and clueless as to what I was actually cleaning, I did the "blind test" and just felt around the areas I knew were wet and were "dry enough". During this whole time, I realized I was butt ass naked and had no clue where the fuck I put my boxer briefs. There I was, cleaning up my own piss, with loads of paper products protecting my feet, sliding around like I was a goddamn ice skater at the Winter Olympics.

It came to a point that I had no fucks to give, chose not to dry off the mutt and went back to sleep. Later that morning I had to wake up before my buddy did to survey the fuckery I created so he wouldn't say shit and find out. Low and behold, there was still piss all over the place. But, being the ninja that I am, I took my drawers and shirt from the night before and used that shit like a sponge to clean the mess up. BTW - they don't work like a sponge. Shit, a sponge doesn't even work like a fucking sponge. Anyway, I added a little Windex to the mix (because that was the only cleaning supply I could find) and it was like nothing ever happened. Dumped my clothes in a grocery bag, threw on my jeans, borrowed a shirt and off I went to work that day.

As we parted ways from our stop at BART, the only thing he said to me was, "Hey bro, did you do something to the dog last night? She looked all wet and smelled like piss." The only thing I could say was, "Can't say that I did, brochacho. Maybe she fell in the toilet after I went to the bathroom. You know dogs." He then responds with, "You pissed on her, didn't you, fucker?"

Some things never change. EVER.

It's Hard When You're Drunk

When You Know Someone Has Had Too Much To Drink

Taxi = Free Pass

A Tale of Two Titties

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Fuck that. It was just the worst of times.

Picture this: I am on my birthday vacation in San Francisco with the Crew, at a titty bar. One would think this would be the pinnacle of my trip. As if when we walked in the door, angels heralded and bitches in sparkly tassels and gossamer panties floated down to greet us and take our drink order. Then, San Francisco’s finest pieces of ass would come shake what their mommas gave them, all up in my face, whilst the Three 6 Mafia song, "Ass and Titties" was being played in the background by a midget harpist.

One would THINK that J-Wundercunt would be rolling out the titty bar red carpet for us. He KNOWS that Flo-Rich and I love titty bars like we love shoes and Gucci Fanny Packs. He also knows that we are strip club afficionados and that you can’t take us to the Steak and Shake of strip clubs, when we are used to going to the Morton’s of strip clubs. But he did. Oh, that mother fucker did just that.

Let me backtrack and say this - I have been going to strip clubs since I was a teenager. How, you ask? Well that was simple, I made friends with a few strippers and they would always get us into the clubs when we were underage. I have done some of my best work in a strip club bathroom. Ba-LEE-dat.

However, the strippers I used to hang with take PRIDE in their art. They are creative geniuses, who not only danced, but put on a show. Case in point, my good friend who we will call Naomi. My favorite show of Naomi’s was when she would dress up as Dorothy from The Wizard of OZ, complete with 7 inch, red, plastic shoes. Let me tell you, when that hoe took the stage, I wanted to follow her yellow brick road back to KansASS. All day, erry day.

I am from South Florida, where there are more titty bars than elementary schools, per capita. One of my favorites is a classy little joint in West Palm Beach called, T’s Lounge. Why T’s, you ask? Simple: Because of a fun little game we like to call ‘Cooter Ball.’ Who wouldn’t love a strip club where the strippers shoot ping pong balls out of their coochies and is also across the street from the local jail?

Now, I have been to some shit holes in my day, too. Stripper with a visible (possibly new) c-section scar? Check. One-armed chick who could still swing from a pole? Check. A bitch that could make her booty clap so hard it actually made a clapping noise? Check baby, check baby, one, two, three, four!

None of my past experiences could have prepared me for what happened at the Condor. Thankfully, I had physically prepared myself for what was about to go down by getting white girl wasted. I am not talking your run of the mill, mild intoxication. I am talking borderline "Weekend at Bernie’s" drunk... you know, the kind of drunk where you normally need two people to prop you up, drunk.

So, here I am, playing human bumper cars with the people in line, waiting to get into what is supposed to one of the premier titty bars in San Fran. I vaguely remembered from my bus tour the previous day, that this was the first topless bar in San Fran. I think some of the original bitches are still working there.

I wish I would have had what alcoholics call, "a moment of clarity,"and realized that this place was NOT going to be the shit when it said, "topless." See, in the sunshine state our bitches get butt-ass-nekkid when they strip. We get the same view their gyno gets. Meat curtains and all.

We walked in, and I swear to all things holy, I sobered up real quick. Especially when Anonymous looked around and said "I want my $15 back..." I mean, that guy fucks with Cat Lady, so this is actually an improvement in his choices of poon.

We took our seats in a row against the back and start ordering drinks. I started pounding drinks, because I am hoping that if I get drunk enough the Faces of Meth I see before me might start looking a little less like Lindsey Lohan of today and little more like Lindsey Lohan of the past. With each passing dancer (and I use the term loosely) the "talent" gets worse and worse. Then, I see and hear something I have never seen before in a strip club.

WHACK!

The bitch on stage clacked her stripper shoes together, and I swear I thought Satan himself was going to come up from the stage and confirm that this was, in fact, hell. Next, I thought it was my good friend Naomi, clicking her heels together to come and take me back to the land of real strip clubs and nekkid bitches. But alas, it was just another moment of fuckery in a night filled with them.

To the left of me, Flo-Rich is cursing in Korean and playing Angry Birds with such intensity I was becoming a little worried. So I kept drinking. To the right of me, WunderCunt, RoMo and The Boss were trying in vain to order more drinks, because I was stealing them and drinking them in one gulp. Sobriety was not my friend, I had to come to realize, and I am waiting for the sweet cloud of a blackout to envelope me, so I can forget the crimes against humanity being perpetuated on the stage.

In my haze, I decide to get a private dance, because the bitches ON stage are so busted, I can’t even imagine what the ones who are giving the private dancers are like. But, I am determined to find out.
I find the least horrendous bitch (oh, how I wish I could go back to the days of one-armed-bitches-with-c-section-scar-strippers) and she took some seedy back room. She sat me down and purred in voice that was more like a head on collision with two freight trains and about as seductive as the idea of anal electrocution, and asked me if I am ready for a good time. I wanted to be like "Bitch, define good?" Instead, I just smiled drunkenly and let the shit-show begin.

She started doing this shimmy-shake thing that looked like a retarded giraffe, learning to walk for the first time. Normally, when a Rob Zombie song comes on, a bitch shakes her money maker. And shakes that shit to the point you get a head rush. Red face and all. I think this bitch was on tilt. Or lopsided. Or something. Being the humanitarian and proud supporter of the arts that I am, I let her finish.

Song two came on, and I thought she was going to give the next dance the old college try, because even if you are a paraplegic with epilepsy, you can still shake something to Usher’s "Yeah." But not this bitch. I think she had full body botox, because she seemed frozen.

By the time song two ends, I am pissed, drunk and just sad for this chick, so I do what anyone in my non-plastic-heeled shoes would do. I get my roll of nickels out of my purse, crack them shits open and thrown them in the air, like confetti. I make it mother fucking hail in the private room. Clink, clank, ting-ting, bitches. Side note: strippers do not like getting pelted with nickels, especially in the head/face.

Two men approached me, told me I needed to pay the young lady (what young lady? This bitch had to be at least 40) and leave. Immediately.

I told them that I am not paying  $20 for some chick that dances like a, "One-legged, three-titted, T-Rex." I then told them that I would give them $5, because "The Price is Wrong, Bitch." When they kept telling me that I had to pay the $20 dollars I screamed, "Don’t fuck with me, I negotiate shit for a living." It was at this point that I was "escorted" off the premises. I kind of waved bye to K-Piddy as he was getting fleeced by the smartest bitch in the hoe-game. Oh, and fuck you, K-Piddy, for even suggesting this shit hole so that you could go see your "girlfriend." I can’t wait to see you on Maury, with 11 other dudes waiting to find out if you are not the father. Ass fuck.

There I was, outside, in the cold of San Fran, waiting for my motley crew to assemble. They all kind of stumbled out, minus Anonymous. I looked J-Wunder dead in the face and said, "If you were a man, I would punch you right in the mouth." Then I threw up and got into the cab only to wander off somewhere to drink more and later find Mr. Wunder passed the fuck out inside a bulldozer. Pussy.

Fuck you for taking me to this degenerate excuse for a strip club, J- Wunder. When you come and visit me in Florida, I am taking you to the strip clubs where bitches get paid in Meth and dusting your clothes with Meth before we walk in. Real Talk.

Texting For The Person Who Is Too Drunk To Text

What It Looks Like When You Drunk Text Every Ex-Girlfriend

Now That's What You Call WASTED!!!

The MILF Who Wanted Me To Call Her "MOM"

Another Thursday night I thought. Then again, whenever I go out with my "drinking buddies", just "another Thursday night" goes straight to fucking hell. See, going out with friends, things can be contained to a certain point. But with "drinking buddies"? All bets are off! Here's my story...

I meet up with my boy in North Beach thinking for some goddamn reason it was going to be a mellow, but fun night. As soon as I walk in the bar all I hear is, "JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ...drinks on me tonight you sad sack of shit! Now who wants a shot pussy?!" I love my buddy. Known him since I moved back to the Bay Area in 2007. But honestly, this guy has not left the college mindset. I guess what I'm telling you folks is that he's a douche. But a very rich douche who always looks out for me because he knows when it's time to bring the thunder, the Ghetto Genius is gonna bring the fucking thunder. Knowing I was going to get shitfaced, I knew the last train to the East Bay was going to leave a little after midnight. My buddy didn't care, nor did the girl who was sitting next to us at the bar.

Girl: "Hi, my name is Rachel. What's yours?"

Me: "I'm J, and this is my buddy...'

Buddy: "Mr. Lover-Lover baby."

See, I told you he was a fucking douche.

It was at that moment I knew I was gonna miss the goddamn train. By the way Rachel looked at me and how my buddy started acting a fool, there was no way in hell I was gonna get out of here alive. Knowing that, I said, "Fuck it...let's get smashed." Hopefully not too smashed because I had a crazy feeling I was gonna get laid by this stranger who had long brown hair and a rack that screamed "motorboat me big boy."

Drink after drink, we laid shit down. Shots of Fireball, tequila, some orange/blue weird looking shit, the night was turning for the worse, but in a good way. I kept tabs on how much I was drinking but more importantly, how much Rachel was because by the next hour, I'm making out with this broad and squeezing her ass like I was trying to wring out a Sham-Wow while washing my car.

By hour number two, I was drunk. 10 shots and 5 Grey Goose/sodas in, I told my buddy that Rachel and I were gonna head back to her place. Only because if I drank for another hour, not only would all of us be annihilated, but my dick probably wouldn't function and I can't go down as the guy that had pussy on a platter but had a dick that looked like a month old red rope licorice...all limp and paralyzed. Fuck that and fuck no. Rachel and I hop in a cab and cruise to her place in the Tenderloin. Now, for you folks who don't know where the Tenderloin is in San Francisco, let me just say it's a bum and crackheads home base. If you can imagine that, then there is nothing else left to be said.

We finally get to her studio after dodging every crackhead trying to sell us crack rocks and threesomes for 75 cents. As soon as we open the door, we got down to business...

I'm naked, she's naked and things begin to get all ricockulous with biting and baby oil flying all over the place. Just by the way she was talking, I knew she was a freak who was looking for a good night of fucking. But just as the sexcapades started off on the right foot, I took a moment to look around...just to make sure I knew where the fuck I was because I was hammered as shit. Then I noticed a few things:

- Two big ass cribs by the kitchen.
- A diaper genie by the bathroom.
- A stroller by the door.
- Pics of her and her family on the walls.
- A mural of Jesus just chillin' above the tv.
- Baby clothes next to the bed which was really a queen sized futon.

I stood above this hot ass brunette, with a huge boner mind you, and thought to myself, "I'm either fucking a really hot mom or we're in some ghetto ass daycare that she teaches at." It wasn't a daycare and she was no nanny. She was a mom. A MILF. A woman who more than likely was not single since there were pics of a dude with her and her two kids in every goddamn picture I saw in a frame. It's every man's dream to fuck a MILF and I already accomplished that years ago. But a MILF who was taken? Not my style. Before I could say anything she said, "Don't worry, I'm not with him anymore and my kids are with him this week." Drunk, confused and about to throw the fuck up from the diapers that haven't been thrown away I said, "Ok, so you still wanna bone I take it?" She said nothing, pulled out a box of jimmy caps from under her Sleep Train purchased futon and smiled. It was goooooo time...

I tapped that ass like it was the last piece of pussy on earth. From missionary to doggy to froggy to the reverse cowgirl, we were fucking like two pornstars having another day at the office. It was good shit to say the least. That was until she stopped screaming and moaning then starting talking...

Rachel: "Yeah, you like that baby?! Call me mom. Call me mom you bad boy."

It was then, and right then I thought to myself, "Did this broad just tell me to call her mom? Maybe she said mommy? WTF?!"

Rachel: "Call me mom you dirty little boy. CALL ME MOM RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!!"

"This bitch is really asking me to call her mom. Like I'm her fucking child. Uhhhhh..."

Me: "Yeah mommy, take that shit you bad girl."

Rachel: "I said mom, fucker. It feels so fucking good to call me mom, not mommy. Call me mom."

Now, I'm into some freaky shit. Been there, done that. You name it, I've done it and probably said it too. But mom?! If that didn't get my head twisting and turning what came next made me feel like I was in a really fucked up dream but still gave me a hard-on that could break pure steel.

She was taking her titties and squeezing them so hard that breast milk was shooting EVERYWHERE. And when I say everywhere I mean, ALL OVER ME.

My face, chest, face, neck, chest, head...it was like I was that little Asian girl in the porn with 10 big ass dicks going bukaki all over me. I couldn't react in a negative way so I just went for it.

Me: "You liked being fucked mom. You like that shit?"

Rachel: "OMG...yes, yes, yes, YESSSSS!!!!"

As I reached for her titties and squeezed them, I ended up shooting myself dead in the mouth mid-sentence with a line drive of breasts milk that felt like it knocked out my tonsils. WTF is going on right now? This is not happening. That's when I couldn't take it and did what I never thought I would ever do in front of a woman...

I puked. Right on her tits. If that didn't make matters worse, I told her, "Who gets off asking some dude to call her mom? This ain't right. I can't fuck you anymore because calling you mom is like I'm fucking my own mom!!! And my mom ain't even hot." Then it became dead silent. Rachel lying there, titties covered in tequila, Fireball, and orange/blue shit puke while I sat above her covered in drool and mad titty milk. If I could actually see myself, it probably looked more like 10 gallons of semen.

Rachel: "I thought you liked freaky?!"

Me: "I do. But by freaky I wasn't thinking you asking me to call you "mom" and using your tits as super soakers."

Again, it became silent and oddly enough, I was still jabbing her vagina with my pecker thinking we could forget all this ever happened and continue this sexcapade in the shower. Well, that didn't happen. I got up, she still laid there covered in my puke and I bounced out...clothes in hand with a condom still wrapped around my wang.

I got dressed in the hall of her apartment complex, called a cab and stayed at my buddy's house. When I got there I come to find the drunk bastard passed out, butt ass naked, holding a Hot Pocket watching a porno I gave him 4 years ago. This mother fucker will never learn. But who the fuck am I to talk, right?

So here I am at work...hung the fuck over and wearing the same clothes from last night but with breasts milk stains on my shirt that look like a bunch of dudes from the gay bar had a good 'ol gang bang of a time on me. Awkward much?

FUCK MY LIFE. I'M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN.

That's a complete lie. I'm still gonna drink but NEVER with my "drinking buddies" EVER again. Ok, that's also a lie.

Gonna Take It Easy...

24 Hours In Vegas

I've never done a 24 hour trip in Vegas for fun. I guess there's a first time for everything, right? 24 hours. 3 guys. 1 mission. Make this shit memorable. And memorable it was.

8:30am - Land in Vegas.

8:35am - Find bar at airport. Do a Mexican stand-off (shot of tequila with a tomato back, pound a beer). Let the games begin.

9am - Approached by girls who asked if I was Tony Parker from the San Antonio Spurs. My response, "Bitch, do I look French? What are you ladies doing later?" That didn't go over so well.

9:45am - Hit up Margaritaville. Do another Mexican stand-off with a Ghetto Genius Special (Jager bomb, Car Bomb, shot of Jameson...all in a row).

10am - Feeling good. My buddy pukes on the sidewalk. Not even an hour and a half into the trip and the fucking guy pukes. Apparently, he "drank too fast". Pussy. He rally's though. All is well.

10:07am - Hit up Casino Royale (the best place to get drinks fast, gamble on the cheap) for a little Black Jack Switch and Craps.

10:08am-11:30am - We're all up a few hundred dollars at the Black Jack table. Buddy #2 just got the 55 year old cocktail waitresses number because he wants to fuck this chick at her trailer park because he's never fucked a chick at a trailer park. He actually leaves with this broad after her shift to her trailer park. Buddy #1 is smoking two cigarettes at once calling the dealer Rick Ross. The dealer is white and looks like Eminem. He's shitfaced and I'm worried. So I steal his chips and tell him it would be awesome to smoke three cigs at once. He does. The pit boss kicks him out. I stay.

11:45am-12:30pm - I'm losing a few hundred at BJ and decide to play craps. I roll for a good 20 minutes. I forget to place any bets. Who the fuck does that? I know I'm drinking too much, too fast. I could have gained back the few hundred I lost, instead, I end up with no money with 4 Crown and Diets consumed. I leave to find Buddy #1.

12:35pm - Buddy #1 is talking to a group of chicks and grabs a few numbers to try and get us laid. First thing he says, "I got the blonde, you got the grenade." I say, "There were like 5 chicks though." He says, "Yeah, two of them were single, the other three had boyfriends." Looks like I'm having sex with someones face tonight.

1pm - Buddy #2 sends me a text: "Bro, I'm a legend. I not only nailed the 55 year old coug at her trailer park but she wanted me to give her the Dirty Sanchez. If you don't believe me, I'm gonna let you smell my finger. I have stains to prove this. Meet me at the MGM Grand pool. We need a place to bathe before tonight, so the pool is our best option. The chlorine will kill our funk and the shit on my finger. LOL!" Why do I hang out with mother fuckers like this?  Please note: We have no swim gear. Head over to the store to get some shorts and head over to MGM Grand pool.

1:43pm - At the pool and grab a cabana. Shots of Jameson, Cazadores to hit the spot. I'm feeling buzzed. This isn't good. I have a whole fucking night to survive so we order food. We eat, drink then it happens. Buddy #1 throws up...AGAIN. This mother fucker is killing me. I knew I shouldn't have brought him along. Too bad this trip was his idea. I tell him, "I don't care if you throw up 100 times today. Don't fuck this up for the rest of us. Sack up, grab a drink and stop acting like you're allergic to alcohol you pussy." He gathers himself, re-rally's and heads out to the pool to bring some broads back to our cabana.

2:05pm - Buddy #2 gives me the play-by-play with him and Cougs Magee. The mother fucker really did give her a Dirty Sanchez. The only reason I know this is because his undershirt was covered in shit, jizz and what looked like Nacho Cheese Doritos. I even got the whiff of the finger. I almost puked but I had to see the evidence in order to believe this guy. BTW - that bitch is a sick fuck and I will never look at her the same way ever again. Hey coug, if you're reading this, call me.

2:34pm - Buddy #1 brings back 4 chicks to the cabana. All ugly. They drink our booze and probably take 47 duckface pics in a matter of 7 minutes. The only thing I can say out loud is, "If you're gonna do that, can you at least show your titties for the people who might want to punch you in the face?" I'm in complete dick mode. First I get assigned a possible grenade for tonight now I have 4 bitches drinking our $300 bottle of vodka, eating our nachos and duckfacing like a mother fucker.

3pm - I'm making out with one of the duckface bitches. At this point, I just needed something to warm-up my cock for the shit show that will commence tonight. She wants to hang out. I tell her I have a girlfriend. She's confused. I'm not. She wants to fuck back at her hotel. I tell her I have herpes. She leaves disgusted and tells all her friends. I started scratching my cock but realize I should only scratch it if I have krabs. Fuck it, I scratch it anyway and blow her a kiss goodbye.

3:30pm - More shots of Jameson, Cazadores and finish off with a Ghetto Genius Special. Take a dip in the pool to clean off and jam out of the MGM Grand Pool to go gamble some more.

4:08pm - Hit up New York, New York for a little roulette. I throw down $400 on 2nd 12. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Up a thousand. Fuck...after the cabana, bottle service, food, shots and beers...up $200. Fuck it. Still winning bitches.

4:19pm - Buddy #1 gets a text from the blonde at Casino Royale - they want to meet up tonight AND the chicks with the boyfriends are down to hook up if that's cool? Does shit float? Of course it's cool. I decide to put on a condom so I'm prepared in case I forget. Not really, just needed you fuckers to laugh.

5pm - More drinks at the Palms. 2 Long Islands, some mystery shot, and a little lunch. We're drunk. Buddy #1 passes out at the bar while myself and Buddy #2 make friends with two sisters from Colorado. 10 minutes later, we're making out with them. It's starting to smell funny. Buddy #2 is wearing his Dirty Sanchez undershirt still. The sister he's making out with mentions it smells like shit. She looks at him all funny. I start laughing. The sister I'm making out with asks me what's so funny. I tell her. She looks disgusted. She tells her sister. That sister almost pukes on my buddy. They leave. He takes off his undershirt and throws it at her. He goes back to pick it up because it's "memorabilia".

5:30pm - Buddy #1 is still passed out at the bar. We pay for the bill with his credit card and take his cash. We leave him.

5:52pm-6:12pm -  Find a seat at the BJ table at the Palms. Our dealers name is Dong from Vietnam. I can't stop laughing. Neither can the other 3 people who sit down with us. Dong was pissed so I had to ease the mood. I tell everyone that Buddy #2 and I are professional janitors from Bakersfield, CA. We have a 20 minute conversation on the life a professional janitor and if it's a cool job. Playing the role, the best perk we said being a professional janitor at a big ass office building, "We get to bone the secretaries. They are dirty little whores." 

6:15pm - Buddy #1 finds us and frantically tells us he's been robbed of all his cash. Dong yells at him and tells him to stop crowding the table. Buddy #1 tells Dong to go fuck himself and throws his cig at him. Security comes running but the pit boss stops them from beating the shit out of him. Dong says he was assaulted. I tell Dong that I'm two seconds away from putting my dong in his goddamn mouth if he doesn't shut the fuck up. The 3 other people at the table are shitfaced and laughing hysterically. We get kicked out again. Not before I get a BJ and cash out $300 in winnings. Buddy #1 still doesn't realize we took his cash.

6:17pm - Buddy #1 throws up on the casino floor at the Palms. We will never be allowed back there again. Casino #2 we are kicked out of.

6:50pm - More drinks. More shots. At this point, I don't even know how many drinks we've had. I'm fucking wa-wa-waaaaaasssssssted!!!!  Myself, Dirty Sanchez and Buddy #1 know with 12 hours left, we gotta go B-I-G!

7:15pm - We're walking on the strip and see a cop. I'm up $500 and figure, since we're in Vegas, lets gamble with the cops. I walk up to the officer and with a straight face I say, "'Cuse me sir. Will you taser me for 100 bucks? I just want to see what it feels like drunk and my two buddies over there want to see if it makes you piss or shit your pants. So can you?" Officer looks at me and says, "You are gonna offer me 100 dollars if I taser you? Son, stand up against that wall and put your hands up." That's right, this mother fucker is about to arrest me. Dirty Sanchez sees this and says to the cop, "Nice officer, arrest that drunk bastard. Who would offer a cop 100 bucks to get tasered? I would at least offered 200." Cops looks at DS and asks him to stand against the wall with his hands up too. This is not good. AT ALL.

7:22pm - We talk the cop out of arresting us but get a warning for being drunk in public. As this is happening, there is a guy pissing to the right of us 20 feet away. We point this out to Officer Dick Fuck, and say, "If we did that, would you taser us? We just want to get tasered." He left, we didn't get tasered. Buddy #1 pukes for like the 10th time by the guy taking a piss.

8pm - We do dinner at some steak joint inside Mandalay Bay. We're all hammered beyond control and Dirty Sanchez is no longer wearing his button up. Dude is shirtless, drinking a martini and grubbin' on a rib eye. Waiter looks at him and asks if there's a problem? DS says, "I'm just living the fucking dream Pierre." Waiter says, "My name isn't Pierre." DS replies, "Ask me how many fucks I give, Pierre?" Manager comes to escort us out. Like the asshole he is, Dirty Sanchez wraps his steak in the fancy fucking napkin and walks out...still with no shirt on. Highlight from dinner - it was FREE.

8:15pm - 10:45pm - I black out. I don't remember shit. Well, a few pieces but nothing major. But according to Buddy #1, on our way out of Mandalay Bay a few things happened:

1 - I tried to negotiate with a prostitute. First it was a hand job for 2 dollars. Then it was anal for 50 bucks. She upped the ante for both to $550. I told her I'm in if she did it on the escalator in front of everyone. She called me a douche. I grabbed her vagina. She charged me 50 bucks. I gave her $35.

2 - Buddy #1 threw up, yet AGAIN. This time, on Dirty Sanchez's shoes. As punishment, DS made Buddy #1 smell his undershirt. Guess what? Dude threw up, yet AGAIN. Who the fuck throws up that much and doesn't have the flu? Seriously.

3 - We played Pai Gow at the Hard Rock. None of us know how to play Pai Gow. We lost money. Roughly $300 each because we thought we were at a Black Jack table.

4 - We finally find a Black Jack table and we're finally starting to gain some momentum with a few wins. Then shit hits the fan and we lose 5 hands in a row. I'm now down like $1,200. No clue how, but I guess I thought I can win it back. Apparently, I had 2 Aces to split but no more money. So I guess I put one shoe, my cell phone and 67 cents in change on the table and tell the dealer, "These items should cover my split. Hit me, fucker." The pit boss walks up and asks me to remove my items off the table and either place a bet with more chips for the split or hit it straight up. I threw my change at him. We get kicked out of casino #3.

5 - Dirty Sanchez made out with a midget. Like a real one.

11'ish pm - We hit up Marquee and are out of fucking control. Dirty Sanchez still has his fucking shirt off. Unfuckingreal. Buddy #1 is still hoping that whore blonde fucks him later and I'm completely shitfaced but am well enough to hold it together. The line for this fucking club is long as fuck but I have an idea. I'm going to tell the bouncer I'm related to Pitbull. I walk up to the biggest fucking black guy I have ever seen and just say, "Hey mang, can me and my compadres cruise on in? I'm related to Pitbull mang. Calle ocho, playa. Calle ocho. Calle ocho. Ocho calle. 1, 2, 3, 4...uno, dos, tres, quatro." I have no clue what the fuck "Calle ocho" means, I just know mother fucking Pitbull says that shit about a thousand times in one of his songs. I was obviously shitfaced drunk beyond belief. The bouncer looks at me, D. Sanchez, Buddy #1 and laughs. "C'mon man, you really gonna come at me and say that shit? You can come in for $200 each." Nothing more I could say than, "$200 each? You gonna give me a blow job too Big Daddy Kane? I know this place is tight but fuck that shit. How bout I shit on your clipboard and you let us in, you broke ass Herschel Walker?" He wasn't happy, neither were we. I was 2.5 seconds away from getting power bombed by this dude. Goodbye casino #4. Kicked out yet again for being "too intoxicated". More like "too awesome".

11:55pm - We hop in a cab and decide to hit up Spearmint Rhino. We're drunk, almost on the verge of broke and need to mix it up a little bit. Cab driver hooks us up with passes then proceeds to asks us if we want any ecstasy. Sanchez is all about it so he buys two pills from the cabbie who pretty much looks like he's homeless with AIDS who just stole the car about 10 minutes ago. DS pops them in his mouth and I just look at him like he's fucking crazy. "Bro, you realize you just bought ecstasy from a man who looks like he has AIDS, right?" "J, stop trippin' bro, this is Vegas...I'm fucking drunk so what does it matter? Let's go see some fucking titties." We arrive at the Rhino minutes later.

12:10am - Never in my life have I seen a Vegas strip club so packed, so early. Not sure if it was Asian businessman night, but it sure as fucked seemed like it here. Never seen so many Asian cats in business suits making it rain 20 dollar bills and shit. We grab a seat and wait.

12:20am - We all order a beer and a Ghetto Genius special. This is not good. Especially for Buddy #1 who looks like he might murder a bitch with throw up yet AGAIN for the 1,849th time. Doesn't matter, we drink that shit like champs anyway.

12:25am - I'm on the verge of baby drunk. You know, can't see shit and anything that comes out of my mouth makes no fucking sense?

12:27am - Dirty Sanchez is bitching because the "X" hasn't set in.

12:30am - Dirty Sanchez is asking me to give him a massage. Dude is wasted and the "X" has set in but he has no fucking idea because he's too shitfaced.

12:32am - The first slutty stripper comes our way. Buddy #1 calls dibs. We let him play. "Pour Some Sugar On Me" starts playing. Dude loves Def Leopard and the stripper takes notice. About a minute into the song, she does a handstand 69 and Buddy #1's face is now in her vagina with a 5 dollar bill hanging from his mouth. He looks happy.

12:34am - Not sure what the fuck happened but that look of happiness turns into a fucking nightmare. Buddy #1 throws up on the strippers vagina. Real talk. Chaos ensues.

12:36am - Me and DS run to the bathroom. No fucking way are we getting kicked out of this place because dumb fuck keeps throwing up. We watch the madness progress. Buddy #1 looks clueless and completely shitfaced, the stripper is disgusted and we watch her take all his cash, a 6'2" bouncer grabs Buddy #1 by the collar and calmly escorts him out the club while accidentally ramming his head into a few walls along the way. I was laughing uncontrollably. How could I be pissed. Dude has now thrown up 2 million times in a matter of 18 hours or so. The best part...he yacked on a strippers fucking vagina with a 5 spot in his mouth. Me and DS head back to the floor.

12:45am - I'm approached by a stripper named Kandy (go figure, right). I can barely see anything, completely shitty but am proud I still remember what is going on. I tell Kandy I want a dance and a handy. She tells me it's gonna be 300 bucks. I tell her to go fuck off...I got bills and shit to pay. That's outside my means.

12:50am - I'm puking in the bathroom. I want to die.

12:52am - Dirty Sanchez is in the stall next to me puking. We need to leave.

1am - Buddy #1 is calling up me and DS. We don't answer. He's a rookie. We don't like rookies. We head back out to the strip club and regroup and rally.

1:15am - We find two strippers and get dances. Drunk as fuck, we order more drinks. Just beers this time. 3 songs. 100 dollars later. We're happy and I think DS just came in his pants. We both forgot he was drunk AND on ecstasy.

1:35am - I go to the ATM and withdraw 500 dollars from my bank account. At this point, I have no idea how much I've spent. All I know is that I'm getting a bunch of ones and I'm about to make it rain like a mother fucker.

1:40am - I'M MAKING IT RAIN 1 DOLLAR BILLS!

2:10am - On my 4th stripper of the night. I've spent roughly 400 dollars in a matter of 35 minutes. I don't care. Dirty Sanchez has been getting the same lap dance from the same stripper the whole time I started to make it rain. She's getting paid while he's high.

2:15am - I am now on my second trip to the ATM. 500 more dollars I withdraw. I think I'm down $3K in less than 24 hours.

2:30am - Two strippers. 4 tits in my face. I'm covered in the scent of cocoa butter and glitter. I have the worst case of blue balls but I can't get hard for the life of me. I'm so drunk but having the best time of my fucking life. I get a secret quick handy from both strippers. They walk about 200 dollars richer. Each. What the fuck am I doing? I just spent 400 bucks for 10 minutes and I didn't even bust a nut. I'm pissed.

2:35am - I tell DS we need to fucking leave. I've spent over $1K at a strip club and I'm too fucking drunk to comprehend anything, let alone English. He hands me over a credit card. It's Buddy #1's. We stay for another hour.

2:40am - 3:40am - 4 more lap dances and shit ton more drinks. I was able to negotiate 2 free lap dances because I've been so kind in supporting 10 strippers with their college education for the last 3 hours. I ask "Sexy Lexy" to make out with me for 20 bucks. She makes out with me for free. Wish I would have told her I threw up earlier. WINNING.

3:45am - We leave with smiles on our faces and about $3K poorer. DS is half naked, AGAIN, and is still fucked up off the "X". We head back to the strip.

4:05am - We find Buddy #1 passed out on a bench in front of Bally's. Covered in puke. People are taking pictures of him. We wake him up and decide to play one last hand inside one of the casino's. We head to Excalibur because that's where I first went when I was 21. You always gotta go where you popped your cherry.

4:25am - We get to the first roulette table we see and pull out all the money we had left on 2nd 12. It was roughly 250 bucks. Dealer spins the ball and we watch it roll in slo-mo.

4:27am - Buddy #1 pukes A-G-A-I-N. Right before we watch the ball hit 18...a fucking winner. They stop the game, yell some shit at the top of their fucking lungs and what do you know...kick us out. Peace out Casino #5. At this point, I just want to punch Buddy #1 in the face. But how could I when DS and I just maxed out his credit card at the Rhino. Oops.

4:45am - Broke, battered, drunk and haggard we head to the airport.

5:25am - Buddy #1 checks his phone to see that the blonde from Casino Royale wants to meet up. He looks at this text, looks at us, rolls down the taxi cab window and throws his phone. Silence and not a single fuck was given.

5:45am - We hit our gate at the airport and look like we've been through hell and back. We're still wasted, we smell God fucking awful and what we've experienced in the last 22 hours is nothing I could even digest, let alone...I don't even know. I have no fucking words.

6:30am - Board our flight and don't say shit to each other. As I go to look for my seat in the foggy haze, the flight attendant takes one look at me and says, "Looks like someone had an interesting night. Hahahaha.", as I stand there scented with cocoa butter and glitter all over my fucking face. Shirts a fucking wreck. Sin all over my body but a smile that only says, "I did Vegas right." That we fucking did.

It was the quietest flight I have ever been on. When we landed, I told Dirty Sanchez and Buddy #1 we shouldn't talk to each other for at least 4-6 months. They agreed.

24 hours in the books and day that will never be forgotten. The only sad part...I didn't get laid. Fuck it. Shit happens. Until we meet again Vegas.

You don't say

Drunk Text Expectations vs. Drunk Text Realities

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Person in my bed...

Fruit Ninja

Drunk, Lost, Shoeless and a Night in Jail - Part 2

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Drunk, Lost, Shoeless and a Night in Jail - Part 1

1 beer. 4 Irish Coffee's. 5 Old Fashioned. My night was over. So I thought...

I ain't gonna lie, I was shitfaced. To the point that I passed out on the train ride home. Common occurrence? Fuck yeah...the day in the life of J-Wunder, right? It was, until I ended up in West Dublin with no fucking shoes on...holding my fucking backpack.

I woke up, startled. Drunk. Confused. I took one fucking look down, and POOF...my mother fucking Adidas running shoes that had goose shit on them...GONE. What's the first thing I do? Facebook what the fuck just happened. Yeah, I was that fucking guy. I then looked up, and noticed a body fly out the door. With the drunken fucking quickness, I popped up and  began to follow this mother fucker. Then, a goddamn bum approached me...

Bum: "Yo man. I mean sir, I will let you fuck me if I can borrow your phone for 10 minutes."

JW: "Are you fucking fucking me?"

Bum: "No, but I'll let YOU fuck ME or I'll suck your cock if I can just use your phone for 10 minutes. I need to make a call to Tucson, AZ. Please, I'm desperate."

JW: "But you're a dude." *At this point, I'm just thinking in my head I shouldn't have drank that beer*

Bum: "But I'm desperate. I'll give you a handjob if you don't want the sex."

JW: *blank ass stare for 30 seconds...walks away*

15% battery life is all I had left on my phone. I'm in the wrong fucking city. I'm hammered. Goddamn shoeless. It's raining. The kicker...I'm being offered sex, a blowjob AND handjob from a bum who desperately needs to call someone in Tucson. FUCK MY LIFE. Standing there with a confused ass look on my face, I glance to my left and I see them. My shoes. It's go time...

The dude who stole them was standing right fucking there...his back turned to me. I strapped on my backpack extra tight because there was no fucking chance I was gonna set that shit down and have Bum "I'll suck your dick for a 10 minute call to Zona" Magee walk away with it. Fuck no. So I reached deep, into my inner thug, and ran at that sack of shit like a fat kid chasing down the neighborhood ice cream man. I didn't say anything...I just ran (more like drunk sprinted)...and like Ray Lewis coming full force on an all-out fucking blitz to the quarterback, I nailed this mother fucker with as much drunken force as I could...right in the back...with my backpack still on. Chaos ensues...

What was probably a 10 minute scuffle, felt like a 12 round boxing match...without the fucking boxing. Once I blindsided this fuckmouth, we were on the ground, and on at least two occasions, I tried to put him in a rear naked choke...you know, because I think I'm a goddamn MMA fighter (see what happens when you're fucking shit canned...you think you can be anything). First attempt - FAIL. Second attempt - The mother fucker was choking me. It got to the point that we looked like we were rolling around trying to play "just the tip". And instead of looking like two guys fighting, it was more like two guys fucking. After he got me good right in the fucking kidney, "The Hulk" came out of me. I'm talking some Bruce fucking Banner shit. I was able to mount this guy and go to town on his face.

Blow after blow, after fucking blow, I was throwing everything at this guy. To his face, head and chest. You name it, I was pretty much hitting it. And this whole time...my backpack was still fucking on me (big shout out to Swiss Army for making such an awesome fucking backpack, btw). I'm gassed, still wasted and this dude looks like he just wants to give up on life as a whole...so I decided to go for it. I turn around and attempted to rip my shoes from off his feet. While this is going on, we're basically doing a goddamn 69 and this mother fucker out of the blue, tries to bite my fucking dong and ball sack. Like literally trying to eat my cock and balls, as if he was at a sit down dinner at Wienerschnitzel. Meanwhile 10 feet down...that bum that offered me sex for the 10 minute phone call is standing there watching this whole thing. Just smiling as if he was watching a fucking movie. Eating bon-bons and shit. I finally get my shoes off this dudes feet. Here's where the shit went into a tale of WTF.

I was angry. Angry because a night of drinking and taking the normal drunk train ride home, turned into waking up in another city, with my fucking shoes stolen off my feet, while passed the fuck out. I did nothing. I minded my own business. Then some asshole had to go ruin my night by thinking he was Robin Hood, and stealing my shit. My backpack (which is still on me this whole time) is one thing, but my shoes? Really mother fucker?! My fucking shoes?! Knowing that was the case with shoes in hand, I didn't think...I mounted this dude, put my shoes on my fists like boxing gloves, and started to punch this sonofabitch in the fucking face. No joke. Real talk. That shit actually fucking happened.

I couldn't stop. The fact that I actually put shoes on my fists and was leaving footprints on this guys face was not only incredible, random and awesome...but just straight up fucking WINNING. Then all that shit came to a fucking halt when the cops came...

To be continued...

Good to Go!