A group of "loyal Scanner readers" have created a Post-Secret style blog for anonymous worst-date ever stories.
Some of them sound like good times to us... but, then again, the above photo appears to be an entertaining evening...
We're sure you guys can top these supposed "whoppers," which are more your typical lame date than horrible, tragic, Best-of-Craigslist-worthy tale:
I met a nice and attractive girl at a bar so I asked her out. She told me there was this restaurant she was dying to try so I made reservations for Friday night. The dinner was good, but very expensive. ...she suggested another fancy place. I obliged, but I was determined to go somewhere cheap if it continued beyond the second date. We had great conversation and I was definitely interested in dating her because she was smart, beautiful and well traveled. When I asked her out for date number three I suggested we go bowling. She... proceeded to pout throughout the date. I asked her what was wrong and she explained that dating was the only way she ever got to try these upscale restaurants since she was fired from her job six
months prior. She said she really missed her old lifestyle. I flat out asked her if she had any interest in me beyond my ability to take her to dinner and she shrugged her shoulders. I gave her ten bucks for a taxi and walked out.
He took me to a local sushi joint and I guess I became quiet because of Hooksexups or something. Frustrated, he picked up a conversation with the two women on my other side. I thought, 'I have got to loosen up here,' but instead proceeded to get drunk on sake. After dinner we went to his house and he asked me if I would like some Champagne and next thing I know I wake up on his couch around 4:00 am. "Hello?" I asked. He comes out of his room and tells me that I passed out so he left me on the couch. Embarrassed, I decide to make it up to him and bring him a bouquet of balloons later that day. I made it to his place, but heard about three or four of the balloons pop thanks to the cottage cheese ceiling in the hallway. He was not home so I wrapped the attached ribbons to the door handle with the card. Before I could tie them in a knot, I lost a few more.
I was obliterated. I stumbled into the bathroom at one point and tripped over an area rug. As my entire body pitched forward toward the sink, I caught a glimpse of my long hair suspended straight up in the air. My mouth, which was about to be a canal for projectile vomit, connected with the rim of the sink. Gonk. When I stood up, bleary-eyed, my two front teeth were broken in half. Like a West Virginia meth addict's. I panicked--but only slightly. Then I puked. I walked out and showed my boyfriend my jagged smile ("loooooook!"), already crying. He had been fixing something on his drum set. He started crying immediately, saying, "You're gonna hate me!" Then he bent over the skeleton of his drum set, bared his front teeth, and smashed his face into the metal. Gonk. Half his two front teeth were gone. Now that's love.
...before I knew it, the girl next to me was deep in conversation with my date, ignoring everyone else around. “Oh where do you live?... Where do you work? Oh wow, my shoulder hurts, doc! Maybe I could see you!” Pretty soon they were the only ones talking and then they exchanged numbers right in front of me! At some point during the crazy evening, he also informed me that he had on leopard print tighty whities with monkeys on them. Great times. I guess the moral of the story is, just because you’re a dreamy doctor, doesn’t mean you can’t also be a douche.
Maybe the moral of these stories is to avoid restaurants and booze. What do you think?
Via MyVeryWorstDate.
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