my mum was so angry my dad used to spend all his evenings in the pub
that one night she drove us there and she, my brother, and myself let all his tyres down to teach him a lesson.

by the time he came out of the pub he was so pissed he drove all the way home and didn't even notice. this was of course back in the days when drinking and driving was still illegal.

mind you this was the man that got so pissed he threw a glass ashtray at the wall and forgot to let go. sliced through two tendons in his hand and had to have an operation to restore the movement in his fingers. he also threw the house keys through the window. they smashed the window on their way out and were never seen again.
(Nobody Likes Mortal Wombat, Mon 28 Feb 2011, 2:55, 14 replies)

My parents never drank alcohol
Sometimes I wished they did, it would have explained a lot.
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Mon 28 Feb 2011, 2:48, Reply)

My dear mother
Got drunk at her work Christmas party 2009, slipped and broke her arm.

This year, her work Christmas party got delayed until February due to bad weather.

She slipped.

She fell.

She broke her arm.

Her answer is to stop wearing high heels.
(allthatglittersisglitter, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 23:13, 3 replies)

My dad
My dad did not drink often but whenever he did, he always played the piano very loudly and badly but with lots of feeling.
(whiskas loved by 8 out of 10 cats, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 23:02, 3 replies)

Barely on topic
But I need to ramble at some strangers on t'interwebs. Please skip over if you're looking for funnies.

I am 22 years old and this week I found out that the reason I have been ill for most of this month is most likely to be ulcerative colitis, trip to hopsital for camera-up-bum-oscopy and appointments with consultant and therefore definite diagnosis pending. Until then I am not allowed any alcohol at all. It's my 23rd birthday in 2 and a half weeks. So this week's QOTW has got me thinking - the doc has said that if it is colitis once it's under control I may be allowed the occasional glass of wine without mishap but large amounts or beer is likely to cause problems. The ultimate conclusion being, if I ever have children, they may never see me drunk, because I may never get drunk again. Tenuous link explained :P

Oddly, I'm actually kind of relieved. Everyone I know keeps looking at me and talking in hushed sensitive tones about it if it comes up but to be quite honest it'll be nice to have a reason for the symptoms I've been suffering from some time now. Yes, it's lifelong and I'll be ill with flare-ups occasionally but as long as I behave and take my medicine those should be few and far between. It could be worse, after all, diabetes is lifelong and that involves very careful management and learning to inject yourself and when mismanaged can be life threatening. At least colitis just means taking a few pills every day for the rest of my life and the worst it should ever be is the odd day or two chained to the toilet, which let's face it, most of us end up with over our lives anyway.

But still... I'm not really sad, and I certainly don't feel sorry for myself, mainly because I think it would be selfish of me to. At the same time it's a little daunting though and I am scared. I've heard horrible things about colonoscopies and the idea of having to take tablets to give me diarrhoea so soon after I've *finally* managed to stop having diarrhoea isn't pleasant, even if it is only for a day. I also don't like the idea of being dependent on medication and presumably semi-regular appointments with various doctors, especially at nearly 23 - that's anything up to 60 or 70 years of dependency - 3 times as long as I've been alive already. Unless I get hit by a bus sooner, of course.

Anyway that's all my thoughts on the situation, I just needed to get them out to people who don't know me. Thanks to anyone who's read this far - you must be bored!

EDIT: Thanks to the supportive messages and people standing up for me/generally yelling at the trolls. Yes, I knew this would get flamed and be troll food, but still, I've had some good insights from some people who *don't know me* and therefore can't get emotionally involved so it was worth it.
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 19:42, 28 replies)

The family BBQ
Every year in or around June, my dad's side of the family get together to celebrate my Grandfather's birthday. Even though both him and my Grandma have now sadly died, we still celebrate it as a chance to get the family together.

These days it's the usual assortment of chargrilled animals followed by a liberal supply of alcohol, endieng in me and my dad seeing who can provoke the most amount of disappointment from, in his case, my mother (who is teetotal - if you knew my mum's side of the family, you would understand why), and in my case my mother and mrs ssmtb (I invariably win). Anyway, back in the day, it used to be my dad and my uncle.

Wavy lines (I'm using an Estonia computer which doesn't seem to have the symbol)...

One year my dad, uncle and aunt tried to drink their own body weight in Southern Comfort (my dad still can't drink it to this day). None of them remember the night. I have heard it reported from my mum and my now late grandfather.

My mum found my aunt in the garden passed out in a deckchair still clutching a bottle of SoCo. She found my dad in the neighboring field. Apparently, he had gone for a walk and had become trapped between a barbed wire fence and an electric one, and in his drunken haze, decided that the best course of action after being shredded and shocked, was to cut his losses and sleep where he was.

My uncle's story was reported by my grandfather. He had got up in the night to pee, and when approaching the toilet, saw, and i quote, "The moonlight glinting off the very pale and naked behind of my eldest as he attempted to cover the shame of a night of excessive consumption". Turns out he was scooping puke from the sink into the toilet.

Oh, and did I mention my Grandfather was a priest? (the C. of E. kind, not the the dubious catholic kind).
(satanstolemyteddybear Mu hõljuk on angerjaid täis, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 12:34, 4 replies)

Simple mathematics
I made this discovery over Christmas:

Absinthe + pineapple juice = good.
Absinthe + pineapple juice + my mother = good grief.

Lesson over, class dismissed.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 11:39, 16 replies)

my dad and I....
...once had a heart to heart about how we each drink too much and how it does us no good, I only found out a month or so after as we were both so arseholed neither of us could actually remember it.
(bondsnood twitter.com/bondsnood, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 9:49, 4 replies)

pizzled.....
My dear Papa once came home from a party so inebriated when it came time for that "mid-sleep loo break" he stumbled out of bed and over to the window to honk his guts up.

What he didn't realise (at the time) was the window he was heading for was merely a projection of the streetlight outside.

Cue dad going headfirst into the wall oposite the one with the window in and my mum being woken from her slumber by the sound of vom hitting the carpet...

There was another time he very nearly peed in her wardrobe but that's a whole different kettle of frogs...
(Spencer101, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 8:09, Reply)

I'm Drunk
and I'm a parent.
Expect outpourings of grief and amusing anecdotes from mini-me the next time this gets asked.
I am totally irresponsible and should be strung up, or feel compelled to pay for years of therapy at some point in the future.
I would feel remorse but he is keeping me awake with his guitar playing and stupidly loud drunken ramblings at fucking sodding half 3 in the morning.
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Sun 27 Feb 2011, 3:27, 9 replies)

unexpected horse
after a christmas party one year, my parents went upstairs to, presumably, go to bed.
ten minutes later, i could hear thumps and muffled giggling coming from the upstairs landing.
unsure what i was about to see, i went to investigate.
there, on the landing, were my parents, draped in a bedsheet and bumping into walls.
"what the fuck are you two doing?" i asked. after a bit more giggling, mum's voice came floating out from under the sheet. "we're being a horse!" she said.
i left them to it and went back downstairs.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 22:05, 15 replies)

no taxi home
My friend's dad, Bob, was a wonderful old gent; he and my father had been best men to each other and you could not imagine a more avuncular, pleasant, mild old boy.

However, like all old boys, he was once young, and, like most young men, used to like a drink or two after work. Based in the city, and commuting home to Winchester, from time to time he'd fall asleep on the train and wake up in Southampton, only to make the blearily and pleading call home to his wife to come and collect him.

After maybe the third or fourth time, his wife had had enough, and told him in no uncertain terms that 'next time, you're sleeping on a bench at the station'.

Sure enough, the next time rolled around and bob was on the phone pleading with a sternly resolute wife who refused, point blank, to come and pick him up.

Cold, penniless and starting to get the fear, Bob heard a voice... "Bob, Bob, what're you doing?" came the cry from the far platform. Bob Dimly recognises an old school mate, sees the faintest glimmer of hope and explains his plight.

"Winchester you say?" says the chap. "hmmm... Winchester shouldn't be a problem. Hop in".


And that is how a. Bob avoided sleeping on a station bench that night and b. found out that his old schoolfriend had achieved his ambition of becoming a train driver. Apparently, trains are very cool places to be from the front seat...
(pounana Slept well, and dreamed of large women, on, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 20:40, 4 replies)

Christmas
Christmas in the seventies. Before the arrival of sensible my parents would go out hard on Christmas eve. Well I say parents but mater was too smart to have a Christmas day hangover. Not so pater.

Christmas is at his sister's and the morning breaks to find him grey-green, clammy and shaky. On the credit side he did hold it together for the morning pleasantries and gift exchanges without throwing up. It all fell apart though, when he slumped insensible and face first into his Christmas dinner.

We never got invited back.
(unclestinky, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 20:16, Reply)

I'm so grateful they weren't my parents
Those that know me are aware I'm not great with 'organised religion'. I have absolutely nothing against it and in fact find it marvelous when someone finds faith. My big pet peeve is someone saying their religion is right and others (i.e yours) are wrong. I have a live and let live attitude and if I had to put a label to my faith it would be eclectic wicca (blessed be my 'homies')
I don't flaunt my faith (as by and large religion just seems to get people in trouble) but if asked I never hide it. Where do the drunk parents come in? Well I was at my brothers engagement party. Night is going swimmingly and the two families are mixing well. During the evening a small, middle-aged blonde woman approaches and strikes up a conversation. Somehow we get on the subject of religion and she enquires about my faith as she had never heard about this delightful 'wicca'. Like the ignorant fool I was I happily explained how people should basically be nice to each other, eat free range meat and so long as you're not hurting anyone and are happy, there is no wrong way to live your life (e.g I don't think there has ever been a gay army invading weaker, breeder nations). Woman seemed interested and wandered off.

Three pieces of information would have been useful;

1, This was the Step-Mother of the bride to be
2, She certainly liked a drink (often against her better judgment)
3, Was a holier-than-thou fundamentalist Christian (an example being you shouldn't let girls play football or they will grow up to be lesbians - direct quote)

Within five minutes I'd forgotten the conversation until she sways up to me with bright red cheeks and an empty glass in one hand. She delivered a line I was so staggered by I didn't know whether to slap her or burst out laughing. With a calm, steadying hand placed on mine she said;

'I just want you to know, no matter what 'phases' you might go through, Jesus will always love you.'

I watched her weave away thinking somehow her statement should either be on my gravestone or in the civil partnership vows.
(Gherkinlasagna is probably doing something stupid on, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 20:13, 12 replies)

My birthday...
...is 30th September.

It only recently occurred to me when I must have been conceived, and the probable inebriation involved.
(inflateable, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 19:59, 11 replies)

My parents
drank and behaved out of character for the evening HAHAHA I TELL EVERYONE
(Ludacrust alliterated your monstrously magnanimous mother, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 19:25, 9 replies)

For a bit of levity.
You'll have to excuse this one being about someone else's parent, though. The children* of my high school's band teacher also attended the school where he taught, and were initially rather shocked to hear of their father's reputation for being something of a crazy fellow who showed up to his job trashed every so often. Never for a class, but at the year end concerts.

One year, everyone crammed into the auditorium several hours after school to see the school jazz band play. Espo, as he was affectionately called by his students, was on the stage conducting the first song. He just jumped right in with no intro, flailing manically, the song only proceeding normally due to the best musicians being those in the rhythm section. Still, he was known for being odd, so nobody in the audience suspected anything at that point.

After the song had finished, he looked around for a mic to give a little speech. For whatever reason, it had been place on the floor below the stage, about 12 feet out. Undeterred, he calmly strolls over to the side of the stage, turns at the stairs, and then falls right over. He dropped down the stairs and landed in a crumpled heap. A couple moments later, he woke up, dusted off, and continued with his concert.

After that show, his kids stopped trying to refute the stories about their dad being like that.

*Kids may have been invented so that a mildly amusing story fit.
( Ithyphallophobia, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 18:34, Reply)

a fine roasting from the library of fatherly shite
Set the scene, I mum finally let my first girlfriend stay round and in the same bed as me. Great I hear you cry, mum works nights and Captaincuntybollocks is gonna get himself some good time teenage fumbling. My old man was out on the piss that night and I knew he would come back and cause a scene so I decided no to try and get my old boy wet until he had gone to sleep. Cue another three hours of entertaining my then gf waiting to bang the back teeth off her. The old man comes stumbling in at about 2am, the usual banter between him and himself goes on in the his cryptic northern Irish manner, which does make him sound like an Alsatian with laryngitis. but he finally fucks off to bed and ten minutes later it is followed by the obligatory thunderous Guinness and whiskey comedic fart.

Right, time to get to work. I put on my best wooing music, whispered sweet nothings in her ear, caressed her body with hands and tongue and then captain Birdseye slipped her the fish finger (such a teenage thing to do). After ten minutes of adolescent fumbling's in the dark I'm finally riding the camel toe wave and going at it like a mad possessed but always aware of doing it quietly.

Twenty minutes in and I'm on a winner but due to my intense concentration I was blissfully unaware of the impending incident. What happened next has probably mentally scared that girl forever. Due to my intense bedroom gymnastic workout I did not hear my drunken father awake from his sleepy hole. The fucker burst into my room, bollock naked, mumbling some bollocks about needing a fag and a piss and then proceeds to open my wardrobe, light up a fag and piss on all my clothes. he must have been drinking a lot that night because he was there for a while and lets not forget the usual semitone rise in another thunderous fart he let rip in my face. My GF was crying her eyes out and screaming while he was laughing like a drunken fool. He finished he pissed, muttered some more incoherent bollocks and left. GF wanted to leave and it took a while to calm her down and all time I was cleaning and comforting my gf all I could hear was his unbelievably loud snoring.

The fucker denied it the next day and my GF never stayed over again. from then on I put a lock on the inside of my room. But I have since learned that you are not a real man till you have pissed in your own cupboard while completely comatosed.
(CaptainCuntyBollocks the man who can with a frying pan full of lamb, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 18:24, 2 replies)

My old man was always fairly strict when it came to getting into trouble while on the sauce
particularly if the law was involved.

This is why it came as a surprise to me to learn that, at the age of 15, he was busted by the filth in a small town in Germany, drunk out of his head and urinating into a fountain while singing "let's piss again, like we did last summer"
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 18:05, 2 replies)

My father is a respected academic and a fairly scary man.
This well-deserved reputation was ruined for me the night I came home to find the Winchester College wine society had held a meeting in our house.

My dear father was ahead of me up the stairs. He bared his arse to me and broke into a loud and full-throated rendition of 'Moon River', exploding into fits of giggles at his own brilliant wit.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 17:30, 11 replies)

My dad is a drunken troll from the internet
Whenever he gets drunk, he likes to troll HYS. That is why I love b3ta so much.

Love you Dad.
( The_Commander_of_Skips wears his sunglasses at night, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 16:45, 6 replies)

Priest Vomit
My Dad's a priest.

In my early teens we moved to a new parish and for our first Boxing Day there we were invited to a neighbouring priest's house for a day time knees up he had every year to celebrate St Stephen's day (St Stephens being the name of the church he was in charge of). This other priest was a renowned piss head and subsequently the vino was flowing quick and easy from the moment we got in through the door.
My Dad and this other priest went to theological college together and Dad was quite keen to impress so duly kept up with all the offers of drink he was given, but due to a combination of a hectic Christmas schedule and the pressure of having to make a memorable first Christmas in his new parish he got drunk quite quickly and fell asleep in a chair.
My Dad's a heavy sleeper so when it was time to go home my Mum, brother and I woke him up by gently shaking him, then prodding him, then clapping loudly by his face until he got up. When he did get up it was clear to all he was beyond hammered. We helped him to the car where the other priest gave him a bucket and mum drove us all home.
When we got home we parked on the street, and Dad put the bucket on the floor of the car to start getting out. At this moment, who else should come from round the corner but Dad's new Mr & Mrs churchwarden team walking their dog on a gentle Boxing Day's stroll. Not noticing the their new priest in the front of the car they stopped and said hello to Mum as my brother and I got out of the back seats. I opened the door for my Dad, he stumbled out of his seat, leaned heavily on the wall, and (literally) shouted that he's "going to fall over". The churchwardens look up in a kind of shock just in time to see my Dad have a fight with the top button on his shirt, but he was way too drunk for buttons so he only managed to rip out his dog collar and throw it on the street in a rage of disappointment at his dexterity. My dad then mumbled a rather sad "Oh no" and a torrent of vomit flew past his lips, onto the dog collar, and down the pavement where the dog had to be held back from licking at it. There was a stunned silence from the rest of us. The churchwardens then said their goodbyes and left quite briskly.

Apparently, in the 11 years my parents were at that parish the churchwardens never mentioned the incident to either Mum or Dad. My brother and I, however, retell the story every Boxing Day to whoever will listen.
(rightupmyeye, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 14:56, Reply)

Oh good
An entire week of man & dog airing their alcoholic parent anecdotes. This isn't going to be at all morbid / depressing / self involved in any way.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 14:28, Reply)

By the future ghosts of Starsailor
No.

Partly because they were shit, and partly because my parents didn't drink.
(The Cunt of Monte Cristo, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 14:07, Reply)

This one time my parents got so drunk they ended up fucking and accidentally concieved me.

( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 13:33, 1 reply)

I like breasts.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 13:10, 9 replies)

My old man maintains a fairly steady daily intake with occasion blips
One time he staggered into the bog to puke, fell forward and smashed his nose on the rim of the toilette. I missed seeing that, but I did get to see him returning to the living room clutching his knackered nose mumbling

"owwwww my alleyway"

Christ knows what he thought he was saying.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Sat 26 Feb 2011, 12:41, Reply)

When me dad gets drunk he sometime asks me to pull his finger. then he farts
haha ha ha aha haha ha ha ha ahahaha ahahaha haha ha ha aha haha ha ha ha ahahaha ahahaha haha ha ha aha haha ha ha ha ahahaha ahahaha haha ha ha aha haha ha ha ha ahahaha ahahaha, oh bless
that one never gets old
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 12:17, 3 replies)

Please shut up
you boring lying fucks.
( WormuIus, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 11:59, 33 replies)