What’s Your Worst Drunken Disaster?


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We’ve all had one or two or eight too many drinks at some time or another.

ALLY: http://www.twitter.com/lilbeardsley
GRANT: http://www.twitter.com/grantob
KATIE: http://www.twitter.com/katiemarovitch
TRAPP: http://www.twitter.com/mikewtrapp
RAPH: http://www.twitter.com/chestangraphael
REKHA: http://www.twitter.com/rekhalshankar
BRENNAN: https://twitter.com/brennanlm
SAM: http://www.twitter.com/samreich

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Katie Marovitch
Paul Robalino
Jane Cripe
Brennan Lee Mulligan

Director – Jessie Hixenbaugh
Producer – Bridgett Greenberg
Production Coordinator – Olivia Aguilar
Director of Photography – Carter Ross
Make Up Artist – Denise R. Valentine
Sound Mixer – Chris Bennett of BoTown Sound
Animator – Hunter Hancock
Editor – Ryan Bender



  1. Brennan I already loved you after you DMed on Fantasy High. I literally bought a DropOut Subscription for that show because I couldn't wait for the slow trickle from CH on youtube. And now I found out you're a totally awesome bro and you go to LARP camp on drugs?! You need to stop being so GODDAMN AWESOME! Now I'mma go follow you on twitter just to make sure you stop. I mean it now. Stop.

  2. Brennan is an absolute angel, and his story reminded me of one of my friends that LARPs and at one particular meet there was a guy with honey mead and my friend had never had it and absolutely loved it and drank a shit ton…now the mention of it makes him green lol

  3. Brennan is the only one that actually has a good disaster story. Fucking lemme tell ya about GTMO with running from the Base MP’s , a pig, a lamb, “borrowed” tub of McDonald’s foods from the back room, barracks room slip and slide, a stolen quad “borrooooowed”, Lol and a giant ass tire to roll in and the Chaplain’s daughter… Duck yeah lol

  4. Boy howdy, do I have all of you beat.

    So, some years back I was living with my sister and her then husband. It was cheap rent and I was fresh out of high school in my first job. A year or so into this arrangement, my sister packed up my nephew and took him up north to visit our father. I and my brother-in-law stayed behind. It was going to be a long visit, and we had jobs and needed the money. This worked out just fine. My BIL and I barely spoke 5 words to one another for the first week, and that suited us just fine.

    And then my Brother-in-law had some friends over for drinks.

    This is not uncommon for him. Once or twice a month get togethers were normal at this point. He was also, in retrospect, in the first stages of crippling alcoholism, and it shows in how those nights often devolved into trashing the house, and eventually getting into fist fights. Friendly, incredibly bloody fist fights that everyone seemed cool with the next day…. I never understood it, but I digress.

    Now unknown to me, my BIL had a new coworker. My BIL worked as a cook at the local titty bar, and the new coworker, in everyone's opinion "talked a lot of shit" to try and get the girl's attention. And my BIL called him out on it, goading him into drinking several bottles of very strong alcohol in a very short period of time.

    This is what I woke up to.

    Now I have VERY terrible eyesight, but I more or less had the house memorized, so I didn't bother with my glasses, as it was bright enough in the morning to make out walls vs open space, to make a quick morning pee before I finished my sleep.

    I pause. The door to the bathroom is directly next to my own, and on the carpet in front of said bathroom is a shockingly dark puddle. I don't have my glasses on though, but it is rather dark. I assume, as they are prone to doing, that my BIL had had his cousin over for drinks, and the puddle is probably blood from a busted nose. I enter the bathroom, unwilling to deal with this bullshit this early. Besides, I still really have to pee.

    There are still more, very dark odd puddles all. over. the bathroom.

    In the tub, spattered on the floor, in the sink and waste bin. A very large one on the little carpet dealy you have outside your shower.

    The toilet is pristine though.

    Then the smell hits me.

    Now our shower is directly across from the toilet, so for just a moment I thought maybe one of the drunks had vomited in the tub and made a mess trying to clean it while on the john.

    And then the smell REALLY hits me, and I PRAY it's vomit.

    I quickly pee, because damn it it woke me up and I need to go. Weaving around the stains, I go back to my room and grab my glasses. I can't NOT make sure it's what I think it is.

    Indeed, the dark puddle I had seen outside the bathroom is shit.

    not a puddle, or not entirely a puddle, but a veritable pile of shit.

    That might have been easy to clean, if it was solid, but the half congealed mess, several inches deep, of defecation in my hallway only qualified as solid in that it could stack upon itself to make a true pile. The texture was very like that of a dog with an upset stomach, or what you might find in a baby's diaper.

    This was a PILE of diarrhea, several inches thick and twice the size of my hand.

    In my hallway.

    The dark patches in the bathroom were not smears either no.

    No attempts had been made to clean. Only in retrospection did I learn that the pile came from the culprit steadily fouling himself outside the bathroom door as he tried to open it, only for him to get inside and attempt to use literally every receptacle he could find, to drunk to find the toilet.

    There was a pile the tub. smears in the sink from his hands. more in the trash. dribbles of it between each pile, as if he'd lost all ability of hold his sphincter close and a never ending wash of diarrhea behind it.

    I follow the trail, for there is a trail, splatters the size of quarters in a steady dribble, as if the guy had moved at a zombie's pace, unworried by his shitting, through the hallways and into the living room.

    The culprit slept on our couch.

    As if sensing my presence, he jerked awake, only to flop back down on the couch just as suddenly.

    He glances around, confused and hungover, until he spots me and tries to sit up again, only to be tugged back down.

    He immediately tries to sit up again, with much more force, and as he gradually peels himself off of our pleather couch, we both come to the same horrified realization.

    Not only had he not cleaned himself up in his drunken shit storm. All through the night, like the gradual drip of ice melt, he had continued shitting himself in a gradual flow that had left him literally stewing in his own filth.

    He comes to this realization a bit latter than I do, so he has to turn around to look at the human shaped brown stain on our white pleather couch to realize what he's done.

    I, on the other hand, get a full view of his back. His legs had sat up on the arms of the chair, so his calves and feet were spared. From the back of his thighs to his shoulders, he is soaked and dried. His shirt is entirely brown. His skin is entirely opaque with dried shit. it's in his hair.

    I have never seen that look on a human being before or since. That is a man who knew true fear.

    All of this, in the space of seconds.

    He looks at me, horrified, and to my surprise, as I have been unable to form so much as a coherent thought since this discovery, let alone words, he lets out a quite "I'm so sorry", and races out the front door faster than I'm able to comprehend.

    I'm not sure where he thought he was going. It was 8 am on a weekday, we are two streets from the main road in a city, and he's got approximately two to 4 square feet worth of skin coated in raw sewage. But run he did.

    Numb and disturbed, I go back to my room, and grab my phone. I take a moment to catalog the carnage, and send the whole packet of pictures to my sister with only the caption "look at this fucking shit I had to wake up to this morning", and then went back to bed.

    NOT my fucking problem.

  5. Damn, that last story makes me jealous. My mom slept with one eye open when I was out. I swear she could just sense me getting close to the house and ~boom~ she was up and opening her bedroom door.

    In hindsight, I think she just loved messing with my idiotic teenage mind. If I was drunk or high she would suddenly become one of the most interested parents ever. "Sooooo, how was your date?" "Did you have a fun time with your friends?" "Where'd you go? What'd you do?" I would be incredibly nervous and internally screaming for her to just leave me alone. 😆 She would always have a sly little smile as she turned to go back to bed.


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