So, several years ago "Poison" came to town and my girlfriends and I squealed. We went to the club and I proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk and decided to take one of 'em home as a parting gift to myself. But since I was blinded by alcohol, it was hard to focus on just one of them, so I squinted my eyes and tryed to use the earth's magnetic fields to hone in on the appropriate mate. I picked the one with a big, bright white smile, and who I thought was funny. I then declared my decision to my girlfriends and they arose in protest! They jumped up and told me I had not made the right selection, and that I should be taking home the drummer, as he was clearly the hottest one. I said "really? Okay". He was definitely hot, as far as I could tell, but he looked a little delicate to me, and in my state of Irishness, and with my 5'10" frame, I did not want to accidentally break him or something. But, I figured that I had enough sense to listen to people that were not as shithoused as me, and so off we went. Unfortunately, or fortunately, we soon realized that he was as wasted as I was and there was no way that we were coherent enough to work this out. So we did the only obvious thing to do next, and passed out.
However... the next morning I woke up to find a sketch of a drum set (of course) that said "Eddie was here - Kelly you are awesome baby!", which I thought was pretty damn hilarious since we were both Too Drunk To Fuck, and I wondered if he couldn't remember anything, and thought we actually had.
And the moral of this story is... don't take home drummers unless they are in an actual real band (without quotation marks), and have roadies, because it takes them too long to pack up their shit.