But we wanted to hear from you, our readers: What’s YOUR wildest Nashville story?
Well, you delivered.
Here are some of the best (edited only for formatting):
“Visited Nashville for my cousins bachelor party a few weeks ago. First night we were there we immediately hopped on one of the party buses to take a tour around. Got pretty drunk on the bus and hit the bars.
Felt the need as best man to buy a round of shots for the party. My drunkass decided double shots of whiskey was the way to go. Probably half the party didn’t want their shots so I felt the need to take a few too many. Completely blacked out and was told that I passed out in the Uber home. Uber was pissed off and called the cops whenever they finally drug me out of the car.
Cops show up and tried to give my friend every chance to get me inside, but I was dead weight. Woke up around 3am in the ER with my jersey cut in half. When they finally let me leave I couldn’t get my phone to work so I had to walk about 2 miles back to the AirBnB at 4am.”
Oh man, there’s a lot going on in this one.
First of all: Double shots of whiskey? I mean, respect. At least you’re not trying to get your boys to throw back lemon drops or some shit. But man, when you’re already drunk and then throw multiple double shots of whiskey on top of it? That’s just asking for a trouble.
I guess if there’s a silver lining in all of this, at least he didn’t throw up in the Uber or get taken to jail. But man, you hate to see what that ER bill’s gonna cost. And then on top of everything, having to do a 2 mile walk of shame back home from the hospital at 4 AM? Talk about kicking a man while he’s down.
Well my dude, I’m glad you’re ok, and I hope you’re cousin’s wedding goes better than the bachelor party. Maybe stick to single shots of whiskey at the reception.
Next up, we got this short and sweet submission that has me begging for some more details:
“Making out with a cop in uniform on the rooftop of Kid Rock’s bar.”
I mean, of course it happened at Kid Rock’s. But I’m gonna need some backstory here. Was the cop on duty? Was he drinking? Did you match with him on Tinder and he met you at Kid Rock’s after his shift?
Lots of unanswered questions with this one.
Then we have a story about a New Year’s Eve gone wrong (but don’t they usually end up going wrong?)
“I went to Nashville with my friend for New Year’s Eve. It was a last-minute trip so we ended up staying at a Super 8. Classy, I know.
We get there on December 30 and immediately head to Broadway. From there, most of my memories consist of pounding double Jack and Cokes and drunkenly getting my picture taken with a statue of Elvis.
I start to feel sick on the Uber ride home, and as soon as we pull into the parking lot of the Super 8 I throw open the door of the Uber and projectile vomit all over the parking lot. Luckily it’s a Super 8, so I’m sure that’s not the first time that’s happened and it’s probably not even the worst thing in the parking lot.
I wake up the next morning feeling close to death. Actually I’m feeling like death may be the better alternative. But my friend tries to rehabilitate me by bringing me Little Caesars pizza and Gatorade so that I’m able to go out for New Year’s.
It’s not going well, but I’m not one to turn down a party, so I struggle through getting ready and we get back in an Uber to go downtown for the New Year’s Eve concert.
Our Uber driver drops us off a block or two from Broadway, where the concert has already started and the crowd is already packed in, and once again as soon as I open the door to the Uber I proceed to projectile vomit on the sidewalk, which is not quite as acceptable as the parking lot of the Super 8.
So there I am, hungover as fuck and blowing chunks while I hear Lady Antebellum playing “Downtown” in the background, and I tell my friend that I’m sorry but I’m not going to make it. I call another Uber and head BACK to the Super 8, where I spend my New Year’s Eve laying in bed questioning every life decision I’ve ever made.
My friend gets back to the room sometime after midnight when I was already asleep, and not long after he gets back somebody knocks on our door. Apparently he had made friends with a former American Idol contestant while he was out by himself, and the guy wanted my friend to come smoke weed with him on the balcony of the Super 8.
So yeah, it was a terrible way to ring in the new year, but it’s still somehow not even the worst New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had.”
Once again, double whiskey drinks getting people in trouble.
Now, I can see how this person was bummed out about having to spend New Year’s Eve alone in a motel room, but honestly now that I’m in my 30’s, that sounds way better than going to a crowded concert on Broadway. Minus the hangover of course.
Ok, how about a story with a happy ending this time?
“Ditched my mom for an entire day at CMA Fest to hang out with a boy I liked. Am now married to said boy.”
See, Nashville’s not all bad. I just hope mom has forgiven this boy for stealing her daughter during CMA Fest.
And for our last story, here’s one that’s not quite as bad as the colostomy bag story we mentioned earlier, but it’s pretty close:
“Met some girls at Tootsie’s one year on the Fourth of July. They seemed pretty cool so we were hanging out with them on the rooftop deck, until one of them said she had to pee and dropped her pants right there in the middle of the crowd and started pissing through the cracks in the boards.
I don’t know who or what got pissed on one floor down, but we didn’t stick around to find out.”