Return of THE FEAR!

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

Was the strangest experience ever, could have sworn I was back in the pub, the fear I had the next day was unreal lol

[warhead]

another quick one that i just remembered.

i came home from the pub absolutely polluted  and went to bed, at some point in the night i got up in the to go for a piss and i was full on hallucinating that i was in the pub toilets.  so i pissed all over the the radiator in my room thinking it was the urinal lol

I had something simmilar happening when I was 16 and took a bit of  a piss on my room floor. Wasn't hallucinating anything, but was simply passed out drunk. Used to keep my stereo system on the floor and was peeing on it and a bunch of tapes I had lying around it. Will never forget that moment, the darkness in front of my eyes started lifting up and I realized what was going on in the middle of the wizz. I went:"fuuuuck man, what are you doing" and was luckily able to contain myself from pissing further.

[son of the Morrigan]

Arrived home fucking bombed late one night when I was a young ladeen of 15 or 16 and found that no matter how I tried I couldn't get my key into the keyhole of the front door.
Eventually I gave up and for reasons known only to myself at the time I pulled a wheelbarrow up to the front door, lied into it on my back with my legs up on the handles, and promptly fell asleep.
The auld lad woke me up in the morning, some hours later, and me shaking from the cold and the drink like Michael J fox at the Hungry Hungry Hippos world cup finals.
I got a savage bollocking off the auld pair and spent the rest of the morning getting sick and shivering.
To add insult to injury when I emptied out my pockets I found that it was the back door key I had bought out with me.
Fucking dum-dum!

[Ollkiller]

Not fear induced but a funny drink related one. The brother had his first drink at 14 (I'm two years older) up the road with a few mates. He had a naggin of vodka at 3 on a Sunday afternoon. Myself and the ould lad were out the back of the house and I saw the brother coming in the front gate fucking buckled around 5pm. I said to ould lad look at the state of this. It was so hilarious he couldn't be mad. We had a gas canister outside the house for the gas cooker. The ould said "Are ya alright". Brother "I'm grand not a bother". Stumbled round the corner of the gaff, slipped and fell head first into the gas canister knocking himself out cold. Needless to say myself and the ould lad broke our bollocks laughing.

[Giggles]

This story begins in a similar fashion to a lot of "fear" stories, with our subject (yours truly) waking up fully clothed on the sitting room couch. I was woken up by the laughter of my housemate standing in the doorway:

"Ya must have been fairly pished last night so"

I fucking must have been, right enough!! Because for some reason my wallet is in my right pocket. Like a previous poster has already mentioned on this thread: I'm not a neat freak, but I believe that everything has its place. A wallet in my right pocket feels wrong, and if I was too rat arsed to cop a screaming flaw like this, then what the fuck else could have happened last night that I'm not aware of?

An unwelcome unrest takes hold as I reach for my phone and message the previous night's parter in crime, Rachel.

"What the fuck happened last night? Zero memory of getting home"

Instant response: "I don't remember going home either, I don't remember anything after buckfast"

"BUCKFAST!?"  I remember the night starting at my mates, drank a few beers and went to the pub. I don't remember leaving the pub, certainly no memories of BUCKFAST

"Yeah we bought 5 bottles when the pub closed and then we went to one of the hostels"

"We were drinking in a hostel!?" 

"We were drinking in TWO hostels"

The feeling of unrest growing within, I sign off with "I'm so afraid" (a subconscious warning that passed by unheeded) and put my phone away. The act of standing up has made me realise that I'm actually still drunk as fuck, and I am very very hungry.

Staggering my way out the front door, the fresh air is welcome enough, but where the fuck is my bike? I must have left it chained to the pole outside the pub. Was I really that drunk last night that I came home without my bike? A wave of shivering willies surges beneath my skin, I zip my jacket up to my chin, keep my head down and proceed to zig-zag my way along the path towards the pub.

10 mins walk and a few accidental wall bumps along the way, I'm staring at the spot where my bike used to be and I'm fuming at myself for leaving it chained to a pole on the main street, in a town where bike theft is common. The anger and self pity/hatred will have to wait in line though, because right now the hunger is about to gnaw a hole through my stomach from the inside out.

I sit down in a nearby cafe and order a club sandwich, trying awkwardly to blend into the tablecloth, as I'm convinced that the surrounding customers know that I'm a bike losing, memory forgetting, irresponsible piece of shit that's wearing the same clothes that he slept in.

The club sandwich arrives, and I swear it must have been stolen from God's dinnerplate: a picture of structural perfection. 5 minutes later, the world seems a little less shitty, and I decide that there is a high possibility that I actually did take my bike from the pub last night, and probably left it at one of the hostels... duh! I stand up and salute the waitress, beam a smile at the friendly customers and stride down the street, a stream of positivity shining out from my arsecheeks.

I come to an abrupt halt about 50 meters from the hostel. Just off the side of the road, the morning sun is shining on something..... what's that tangled heap lying on a patch of grass overlooking the ocean - my fucking bike! The bike looks as confused as I was, but it was still biking well enough.
My phone rings and it's my buddy Ray. Ray did not party hard last night and he wants to smoke joints and go surfing.
Well this day is fairly turning around on itself! I feel like I've completely cheated a hangover and I got away with not getting my bike robbed due to carelessness.

"Yeah Ray, Sounds like a plan man", the smiley head on me.

"Nice one I'll pick you up at yours in half an hour. We'll go for a wee surf and then drop a tab of acid after, yeah?"

"....hah?"

"Remember last night you were trying to organise a bunch of us to eat some acid today after a surf?"

"....no???"   A cold darkness has crept into my soul. I thought I'd gotten away with it.

"Oh right... well you did. Sure we'll go for the surf anyway. I heard ye went hard at it last night.... we'll see what happens sure. See ya in half an hour"

"Right... yeah see ya...."


Half an hour turned into over an hour. A lot can change in 30 mins. The morning sun can fade into a wet, windy december grey. The optimism of cheating a heavy drinking sesh (we bought 5 bottles of bucky? really???) can be thrashed with the realisation that I'm actually only starting to sober up, and I've unwillingly boarded a flight to destination hangover.

Ray picks me up and we go to the beach. I'm not as chatty as I was before, and a few tokes of a joint knocks the breeze out of my flaccid sails. The surf is shit so we go back to his shack - Ray lives in a mobile home in my mates garden. My hangover is officially starting to kick in, and I'm beginning to think about how I probably should have just went to sleep after I rescued my bike.

Ray puts a tab of acid into his mouth.

"Do you want one?"  He hands me a tab and I stare it down. I know I shouldn't do it.

"Yes... but I also feel like I really, really need to get some rest before I do any psychedelics". But I also don't want Ray to do it on his own, I feel like I would be letting him down. Especially since I was the one who instigated the scenario.

"Well I guess you just have to listen to yourself so, If you don't want it, don't do it"


My brain: "Don't do it"

My body: "Don't do it"

Me in the face of danger and in the face of perfectly sound warnings: "What's the worst that could happen? If I have a bad trip I have nobody to blame but myself, right?

I put the little square piece of paper under my tongue.

To be continued......

[Kurt Cocaine]

  I'm giggling, bring it on... 

[StoutAndAle]

Yes biy! Cracking start. Roll on part two.

[livingabortion]

I just saw this thread recently, some great laughs on it. StoutAndAle, great opener 


I was trying trying to think of some and I remembered this;

Back before my friend moved to the US, this would have 2003 we went over to Manchester for the weekend visiting a guy we new from years ago my mate played in a band with, and the guy in Manchester took us to see his friend's band who were playing locally with a couple of others, dull forgettable crap. Anyhow, around the end of the second bands set I was fairly well on and needing a piss, so I went into the jack and this pair of feet stick out under one of the doors of the toilets with a pair of women's shoes on them and thought, "Oh shit I must have gone into the wrong toilets" and she must have been getting sick. Then I heard this lads voice groaning from inside the cubicle. So I went over to the urinal to have my piss and there was a mirror on the wall and I hadn't noticed that cubicle door had opened and when I looked up your man was looking out and I caught his eye in the mirror as the woman was on her knees hoovering his baldy lad. I just though, "Oh shit" and got out of there as quick as I could.

That wasn't all of it. After the gig we went to a nightclub for extra booze, and even in my well oiled state I could tell there was a lot of lads fortified with "Vitamin E" and probably on loads of other stuff. We were offered stuff five or six times when we were in there and we only in there an hour before we decided to get out of there.
On the was out we saw two of the lads who earlier offered us drugs and one was shaking say "It's me first time". It turned out that one of them was a dealer and the other one was an under cover Cop in trying to catch lads dealing and also people buying from them.


We were only told by the guy we went over to see the next day that's it's a notorious kip for drugs that's constantly getting raided.

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

was re reading this tread in work yesterday and decided to have another go at keeping it alive.


a quick one first,
i came back from a 10 day bender in czech from brutal assault. was in an ungodly state after the festival and another few days boozing in prague didnt help things. so on the last night after nursing a few cans during the day i decided to take a quick hour or so nap in me hotel then head back out to a bar. while trying to have this nap i had the most intense and horrific fever dream i have ever experienced. due to overhearing in my semi conscious state, the Chinese couple  having a domestic in the next room over, i had imagined that i was in a north Korean prison camp being tortured for information. needless to say i woke up screaming and covered in terror sweat. the night passed uneventfully and the next day feeling like hammered shite i boarded my plane home.  spewed me guts up 3 times on the flight and eventually shaking and well within the fears grip i made it home. i crawled into bed, got nice and comfy and then sneezed. the force of the sneeze completely overwhelmed my shattered body and i shit myself. seriously considered throwing meself out the window after that one.

FIN.

[Emphyrio]

😂 excellent.

[StoutAndAle]

was re reading this tread in work yesterday and decided to have another go at keeping it alive.


a quick one first,
i came back from a 10 day bender in czech from brutal assault. was in an ungodly state after the festival and another few days boozing in prague didnt help things. so on the last night after nursing a few cans during the day i decided to take a quick hour or so nap in me hotel then head back out to a bar. while trying to have this nap i had the most intense and horrific fever dream i have ever experienced. due to overhearing in my semi conscious state, the Chinese couple  having a domestic in the next room over, i had imagined that i was in a north Korean prison camp being tortured for information. needless to say i woke up screaming and covered in terror sweat. the night passed uneventfully and the next day feeling like hammered shite i boarded my plane home.  spewed me guts up 3 times on the flight and eventually shaking and well within the fears grip i made it home. i crawled into bed, got nice and comfy and then sneezed. the force of the sneeze completely overwhelmed my shattered body and i shit myself. seriously considered throwing meself out the window after that one.

FIN.

Fuck me!


I checked this thread yesterday for the second half of Giggles' story in case I missed it but it's not there.

I have some more stories from 'Nam (i.e. my 20s) also but I thought I'd let a few share in the despair first.

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

another quick one while im on break


back in 2014 when me and me mates where on a constant 3 month bender over the summer, we had a sesh spot in a park we always drank at. one day i couldnt contact anyone for some unknown reason. after deciding that staying sober that day was a fate worse than death i decided to hit the offo and just head down the sesh spot by meself. crossing the field i see my mate who also couldnt contact anyone and decided on the same course of action as meself. after 3 more people in the same situation turned up who came to the conclusion that all drunks share a hive mind.

[StoutAndAle]

Once more unto the breach...

I went to Dublin to see Orange Goblin a decade or so ago. I was meeting a friend of mine who lived in Blackrock - he was taking a halfer from work and we were going to sit having the craic in Mulligan's/Grogan's/The International until it was time to go over to The Pint on Eden Quay where the gig was on.

Got an early Aircoach up so I could do a bit of record/book shopping before checking in to the hotel. In hindsight, the bus I got was too early. I was in Dublin around 1000hrs, had my record buying done at 1045hrs at which point it started to rain so I called up the Camden Court hotel and asked if my room would be ready. I stay there a fair bit for work and gigs, so often in fact that they all knew me. Apart from the person who answered the phone...

"Check-in is not until 1500hrs"

"I know, I just got to Dublin earlier than expected and it's raining so I was hoping that you'd be able to help me out. You've done it in the past"

"Might I suggest a visit to one of the local tourist attractions  - the Waxwork Museum or Kilmainham Gaol - while we ready your room for arrival? Our American guests..."

"Eh, I'm from Cork"

"Uh hmm. OK so we'll look forward to seeing you at 1500hrs. Bye-b..."

"Wait. Is Róisín there? Or Adam?"

"We don't have anyone working here by those names, sir"

"You did last Wednesday and Thursday. I had a pint with Adam in Whelan's"

"..................."

"Hello?"

"One moment please."

~~~ Several moments of muffled conversation and rustling later ~~~

"Sir, I have managed to find you a find but it will not be ready until about midday - is that alright?"

"Yep great see you then. Thanks."

An hour to kill. There's a coffee shop on .... hang on the Dame Tavern is around the corner from here. Sure an oul pint at 1100hrs in the rain of a Friday on a day off before a gig will do no one any harm. Even the lord Jesus himself wouldn't deny it. This internal monologue has gotten me all the way down Dame St. and into the Dame Tavern - I am only shaken from it when I hear my external voice say...

"Pint of Guinness please" and take my seat at the bar. Phone rings. It's my buddy.

"Just climbed onto a high stool to get out of the rain. Where will I meet you?"

"I can't take a half day. Shit has hit the fan here. I'll meet you in Mulligan's about five, OK? I have to go home first so it will be around then."

"Yeah alright. I got an early room so I'll go check in."

The pint arrived down. Have many of ye been in The Dame Tavern? The whole thing is like a fucking ad. The pint is perfect and the barman hands me the newspaper with it. "There yis are now."

My Jesus, the pint is like cream. I leave out an involuntary "Auuuuuahhhh" - hard to put this sound into words but you know what I mean. I look at the glass - I've downed about two-thirds of it in one slug. "Another Guinness there, please"

"Another satisfied customer, wha'?" says the barman to the lads who are watching the horse racing on TV. None of them look away from the TV. "Talkin' to me bleedin' self sometimes in this jaysis place!" And goes about getting my pint while I involuntarily look up at the TV. It's one the reasons  I hate televisions in a pub, no matter what's on it, I get drawn in for no reason.

"Now. There y'are" says the barman. "Into the oul geegees are you?"

"Hmmm? Oh thanks... No, not at all."

"Oh righ'. We have a tip for the next race is all. Worth a punt if you fancy it."

"I'm not much of a gambler"

"Ah yeah, no problems." and then to the other lads "I'm headin' to the bookies in a minute. Risin' Tide yeah?"

There was a track on the album that Orange Goblin were touring at the time called "Red Tide Rising". Close enough for an omen, I thought.

"Em. Could I put a bet on that horse?"

"Course yeh can, pal" and he hands me a Boyle Sports docket.

"What do I write down?"

He looks at me like I'm some sort of simpleton. "How much do you want to bet and I'll put it down?"

"Em... A tenner?"

"A fuckin' tenner?!"

"Eh... yeah, is that not enough?"

"Loads" says the barman taking a tenner out of my change on the counter "These lads here might go as far as a fiver." And off he goes to Boyle Sports across the alleyway.

Rising Tide romps home and I mean romps. I can see how gambling could be addictive. The 6 of us in a bar at 1130hrs roaring and cheering at a horse bursting it's bollocks.

17 - 1 lads. 17 - 1. I am handed a big ball of money. I ask the barman which of the lads gave him the tip. He nods at one of them. They're all in cahoots though so I buy a round for them, one for the barman and one for myself by which time I am at least 4 pints in and working off two pieces of toast and a banana that I ate around 0600hrs. I look at my watch. Just gone midday. Lovely. One more pint and straight up George's St. to the hotel.

Sink the fifth as fast as the first. Say good luck to the martyrs still watching the races and head outside still over €130 to the good. It had stopped raining. I stand outside the Dame Tavern looking down Dame Lane towards Trinity St, squinting in the bright midday sun which is bouncing off of silvery puddles formed by the rain. I realise then that I hadn't gone book shopping because I didn't fancy the walk to Hodges Figgis in the damp.

"Sure, you'll need something to read until later this evening." I say to myself, I point my five pints full feet in the direction of Dawson Street and away I go. It's lovely walking around Dublin in the sunshine with a buzz on. People are outside having lunch... lunch I must eat at some point too... I pass a McDonald's at the end of Grafton St. so I pop in for a Big Mac which I hungrily devour and head on my way. Into Hodges Figgis which, for those of you haven't been, is a fairly caverous bookshop with multiple levels and tomes stacked floor to ceiling.

"Schussse meee, hic!" says I to a young person working there "how-sh arrsh you? Where-sssh your hissssh-tree sess-seccc-shun?" only realising then that I haven't spoken to anyone besides drunks and barman all day.

"History?" she asks.

Deep breath. "Yes.... please" exhale I  - tasting the Big Mac again.

She points me in the direction of the books and fucks off out it. I waddle over to where she pointed and - success - they have the books that I wanted. One of them is knee height so I drop to my haunches to get it. The sudden drop in cabin pressure makes me unstable and I feel myself teetering backwards and have to jut out a stiff arm to stop myself going over. The next problem is trying to get myself back upright. I must've looked like a patient in Broadmoor playing Twister in the prison library. With an almighty shove I get myself back right and steady myself with my other hand on the bookshelf.

Reaching out for the book with my free hand I grab it but also lose counter-balance and with a very loud "OH SHIT!" start falling backwards. Self preservation kicks in and I flail at the shelf looking for a grip. Unfortunately my 6 foot odd, 18 stone frame is no match for the delicate shelving of a city centre bookshop so I land on my back while the likes of Anthony Beevor, Max Hastings and Stephen Ambrose rain down upon me.

A security guard helps me to my feet as he asks am I OK. The shop that was fairly empty suddenly has the busiest history section in the world. People are staring. I just nod silently. He asks am I sure. I am bursting for a piss. I murmur "Is there a toilet". He hands the books that I have in my hands off to a shop assistant. "Sarah will have your eh..." looks down "books about Hitler at the till."

I try to say that they're an in-depth two-part biography by renowned historian Ian Kershaw but what comes out of my mouth sounds more like me singing "The Riddle" by Nick fucking Kershaw.

"OK, in there" he points. Grateful for the jacks - I let rip and feel a bit better. Washing my hands I look into the mirror to berate myself only to be confronted by my bearded face covered in sesame seeds, lettuce and Big Mac sauce. The morto sweat is beading, lads. Face washed - back out - he's waiting to lead me to the till. I pay all the while trying, very slowly and without slurring explain, that I lost my balance. To be fair they were very nice about it. I left there with my shoulders low, got to my hotel and crawled under the covers.

[Caomhaoin]

😂😂😂 ah here that's superb😂😂😂

The ease with which the best laid plans can come unstuck by way of an innocent scoopín before early mass is all too familiar to most lads. Fair play for calling a halt after 5 and a mildish incident, lesser men would have had the tape reel fast forwarded to an almighty dose of the despair at throwing out time the following morning

[Emphyrio]

Quality stuff again!