A Special Feature

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Badly Injured Man Not Done Partying Yet

Naked on a Cold Winter's Night

After college and trying a real job for a year I decided to quit and move to Breckenridge, CO for a drunken, hazy season of skiing. I moved out not knowing anyone and arranged to share a house with 5 other people from craigslist. On one of our first nights out on the town (and the first time I had ever met 2 of the roommates) things got a little crazy.

After many drinks and shots at one of the bars in town we decided head back home. At some time on the walk to the cars it came up in conversation that I sometimes like to take my clothes off when I get drunk (evidenced by a previous ss4p streaking story at NU). My new roommates quickly began challenging me and calling me out to prove it. When we got to the cars I stripped down, left my clothes in the car, and started running through Breck.

Apparently, I had not noticed that literally 50 feet away at a stop sign was a cop car sitting and watching. It didn't take but a few seconds before they flashed their lights and I really began running. When leaving the parking lot I had started running down a relatively steep hill towards the street. I'm not sure whether it was due to snow/ice or simply that I was very drunk but once the hill leveled out to the street I took a complete nose dive into the middle of the road cutting up my feet and hands. Knowing that the cops were on my tail I jumped up without hesitation and darted into a condo/apartment complex. I quickly jumped a fence and began hiding out on a side patio to one of the units. I waited a few minutes hiding out and watching the parking lot for some reason thinking that maybe the cops would leave. Instead, two more squad cars arrived and I soon realized that I didn't really have any other way out, so I began walking back to the parking lot where my roommates + friends and cops were waiting.

I was given some boxers and began the long process of trying to convince the cops not to arrest me. I was still really drunk and apparently not doing very well so some of the roommates' friends began trying to help. After maybe 30 minutes of talking to the cops (in my boxers the whole time during a cold Colorado mountain night) the friends convinced the cops to let me go because I was simply a drunken tourist that would be leaving town soon. I still have scars on my feet from the fall and pictures to memorialize the experience. Not sorry for living up to my plans of having a drunken hazy season in the Rockies.

- Gaper
Breckenridge, CO

Me in my boxers and a few of the roommates' friends pleading for mercy from the police:

Belligerence & Burst Bubbles

**EDITOR'S NOTE: In celebration of my own birthday, I'm reposting this story of my best birthday party ever. Happy birthday to me!**

On my 21st birthday, my mom sent me a huge bouquet of super sized balloons. My friend Erin* brought them out to the bar to surprise me and I proudly toted them around all night, wacking people in the head and squeezing people out at the bar with my overwhelming, static-y, helium filled mess.

At the end of the night, we were too turned around to find our way back to the El, so we jumped in a cab and asked for the closest stop. Our grand total? $3.80. Unfortunately, $3.80 was a little bit outside our budget at that point in the night. We stood there, forced out of the cab by the balloons, digging through our purses for change.

Perhaps there was a bit of a language barrier, but our cabbie decided that we were deadbeats and the next thing we knew, he was on the phone describing us to the police. Panic Struck. Erin and I frantically looked at each other. To this day, we don't know who said it. "RUN!"

So there we are 3:30 a.m. on a Sunday night, running through the streets of downtown Chicago, toting 21 giant balloons.

Needless to say, they found us. The angriest cop in the universe pulled out his swiss army knife and popped each balloon with a look of smug satisfaction on his face and then carted us off to jail.

I'm only sorry about the balloons.


- B of A&B
Grand Stop, Downtown Chicago

Editor's Note: Erin* Saw this posting and submitted her interpretation of the night's events. We are told she was not partying at the time this drawing was executed.

Pirates And Open Bar Do Not Mix

It was my freshmen year of college at Northwestern, and my sorority was about to have the first crush party of spring quarter. It was a Thursday night and me and my friend J weren't really feeling it. We were both exhausted from the first week back, and decided we would get in the mood by pregaming. Hard. We both start out by taking shots of something that is fruity and 99 proof. About four deep, we realize we are about to be late, so we each fill up a soda bottle half with soda and half with the rest of the 99 proof crap.

We make it to the buses with seconds to spare, find a nice empty seat, and begin our descent into blackout hell. We both easily finish our bottles just in time for the bus to pull up to the bar.

By this point, including the shots we took earlier, we've killed a fifth and a half between us. So many poor decisions were about to come about it was amazing.

The last thing I remember is getting kicked out of a convenience store around the corner from the bar we were supposed to be going to, since I desperately had to pee after our bus ride into Chicago, so I decided in my drunken stupor it would be a good idea to use the bathroom with a huge EMPLOYEE'S ONLY sign. J convinces me that we should probably wait in line to actually get into the bar, so I stumble over and cut in front of everyone as the bouncer gives me the once over. J gets in as 21 without a hitch, but my new best friend just takes my ID, laughs, hands it back, and tells me that he'll let me in as 18 and that I'm stupid. Great.

I have no recollection of the bar what-so-ever. J tells me later that she continued to buy us both drinks (at this point, she's blacked out as well), and we go and secretly drink them in the bathroom since we're apparently so desperate for more alcohol. I'm incredibly pissed off that the bouncer would call me out for having an amazingly shitty fake, so we decide to leave and go outside to try and get a cab.

Since there weren't any cabs right in front of the bar and J didn't trust me to walk more than about 5 feet, she told me to stay there while she went to grab one around the block. I obey, but do so lying down in the fetal position on the grimy and wet sidewalk in my nice dress.

No less than 5 minutes later, J comes back victorious, only to find me making out with some guy in full pirate regalia. Fake mustache and peg leg included. As she hops out of the cab and tries to pull me away, I turn to her and mumble "uhh wait just a minute." I manage to scrawl my number on his hand since by this point I've lost my cell, and hop in the cab with J.

I give the cabbie our address and we're on our merry way, until I decide that I know the city of Chicago better than he does (I'm from Baltimore), and begin screaming at him the "correct" directions. When he doesn't listen to me and tells me to shut up, J starts bawling and I just start screaming "WHY AREN'T YOU GOING TO 2315 SHERIDAN?! WE NEED TO GO TO 2315 SHEIRDAN!!!" Little do I know, I'm sharing a cab with one of my other sorority sisters, who had the heart to leave me a voicemail of myself and J's crying/screaming rampage.

Sorry for almost having to walk home. Sorry for making out with a pirate. Not sorry for partying.

- Anonymous
Evanston, IL