Worst party you've ever been to?

What's the story behind the worst party/get together you've ever attended? Mine goes like so:

I was at a party this year (standard high school fare for me) in hopes of leaving with the girl I liked, or at least getting some time alone. As time went on things were going all right, we were talking a bit, but when I left for a few minutes and came back she was gone. Having some fun with someone else. OK, I thought, we can move on. I don't drink that much, so I started to socialize with the drunk kids (always hilarious). Suddenly the cops arrive, and knowing the legal danger I was in, I made the same mad dash everyone else did (but more effectively in my sober state). When leaving I saw the kid the girl I liked had been with....zippering his pants. High school drama, yes, but wholly depressing.

I've avoided that one my whole life.

Ronnie rented a hotel suite. There was a keg in the bathroom (real shitty place for the keg, no? Get it? Shitty place?) Tom, Ann, Steve, Ingrid, Ronnie, and I were doing tequila shots while playing such fun-for-the-whole-family games such as "Pass-Out" and "asshole." It was 5 pm.

The first time I vomited was at about ten. Boot and rally time. Back to the keg, and I was once again in party mode. Tom and I decided that it would be a good idea to play soccer with the lampshades. They didn't last terribly long, and when Tom scored the winning goal, I was so upset I broke one of the floor lamps over my knee.

Approaching midnight, ashtrays had lost all meaning. Butts were piled up in the corners of the living room, the curtains had caught fire at least twice. 4... 3... 2... 1... and the Korbel (good God) corks flew, one hit me in the jewels and I vomited again (this time on the sofa).

One-thirty. We were all in the bedroom, watching "Grease" on TV. It was the follow-the-bouncing-ball singalong version. The television in the living room no longer functioned, somebody had spilled beer in it. The keg was dry (there were ten of us).

Ronnie was playing pirate's poker on top of the TV. We were amazed at his catlike reflexes, deftly maneuvering the knife between his fingers with blurring speed. When he picked up his hand, blood ran like the Mad River into the Miami. I guess he wasn't so good after all.

Tom passed out in the bathroom, me in the kitchen. The morning sun bit down like carving knives into my temples, and I stumbled out for breakfast.

Ronnie did not get charged for any of the damage to the room.

On second thought, that was the BEST party ever. The worst was at 17, when I huffed airduster and tried to kiss the stripper.

Organization Day celebrates the day a unit was formed. They usually hold these during the summer months, so they can have a cookout and games. And they're usually a lot of fun.

I had been stationed in Korea in 1984, where we celebrated Org Day in the 524th MI by eating steaks and playing drinking games with the battalion commander and his staff until we were totally trashed, then attempting to play softball while drinking more. We finished the day by taking the colonel to the Heavy Metal Club in Itaewon so he could attempt to get the chaplain laid. (It didn't work.)

That was Korea. Fort Hood was different. No beer. No music. Wear your PT uniform, and at the time the PT uniform was this garish yellow thing. Bad food. Ugliest terrain in Texas. Boring games--no softball, no soccer, all kids' games like hopscotch. Twelve randomly-called formations for accountability, and if you missed one you got an Article 15. (Twenty soldiers lost a stripe over that day, including three sergeants.) The kitchen help didn't get a chance to have fun; they didn't even get a chance to eat until the end of the day. It was a Friday.

The next day we held Real Organization Day. This was something my platoon sergeant came up with on the spur of the moment--"Jim, run around and tell everyone we're having Real Org Day tomorrow." Everyone bought meat, chips and beer or soda, and brought them out. The Sergeant Major found out about Real Org Day and volunteered to cook. We wore anything we wanted. A bunch of people had softball gloves and bats in their rooms and got up a game, and we found some horseshoes and played that. The mess hall people kicked back and relaxed because the only one serving food was the sergeant major, who looked great in his barbecue apron. Real Org Day was lots of fun. And then the battalion commander showed up. O shit. We thought we were all dead, until the battalion commander saw the brigade commander over there having a burger and a brew with the maintenance platoon.

Oh man, what a boring place. They were literally talking to each other in non-stop coptalk.

"Haha- that's a 5-901 if you know what I'm talking about".

"Copy".

"Hey you're bein' 577 with a 99010 in progress".

"Haha! Good one partner!"

It was all these numbers and shit. Tight assed, tight assed party. And country music. I left.