Awesome
I'll keep this short - blah drinking, blah mate pukes up.

And I saw a whole pasta shell emerge from his nose and unravel as it popped out like a butterfly stretching its wings for the first time.

'Twas a thing of beauty.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:24, 7 replies)

I recall some aquaintances of mine
whilst at the speedway one night some years ago. Having polished off a box of crap wine and two pizzas, one of them hurled on the grass next to the blanket we were seated on. Feeling suitably refreshed after jettisoning his stomach contents, he and his friend began pick through the chunks, brush the grass and dirt off, and eat the "good" bits, being selective at first, then as long as they could recognise it, it was eaten.
(M61A1 CUPID- STUNTS, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:22, 1 reply)

Huey!
Ruuuuuuuuuth!
(Beelzebub's Ball Bag is pleasuring your wife on, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:17, 2 replies)

Qualifies as worst puke and best puke:
I was on holdiday, I forget where, but somewhere you shouldn't eat the salad.

I ate salad and drank booze one night, and feeling simultaneously queasy and 'loose' I sat on the loo and waited to see what would happen. What happened was dramatic; the world fell out of my poop chute, and the wall of yellow-brown smell that hit me caused me the hurl up the contents of my stomach, which I managed to aim between my legs without a drop touching my inner thigh. Despite contracting painfully at both ends I managed a proud little grin.
( rollthetroll el presidente, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:12, 2 replies)

Prawns
This make take some time so get comfy and if you have a weak stomach you may want to skip the last few sentences........

When I was between wives I developed a bit of a habit of getting pissed more regularly than at any time in my life, before or since.

During this time I also developed a strategy to beat the hangovers (that still serves me to this day) in that I would always eat well and take some pain killers before I passed out and again immediately on waking up.

On the night in question I was well hammed and staggered home with a curried king prawn which I duly scoffed before what was more or less the obligatory passing out bit.

Part two of my routine at that time as I have said normally involved dropping something like a couple of Annadin Extra or similar but on this occasion I didn't have any and was left with soluble Solpahdol.

Now if you have ever tried these you will know that they are about and inch or so in diameter and need to dissolved in water prior to consumption.

Being pissed/lazy/pissed I tried to skip the add water bit and simply swallowed two of them straight down and almost instantly developed the worst case of frothing at the mouth type rabies you can imagine.

Not only that but the fuckers were jammed in my throat and I couldn't simply gob them back up again.

At first I tried retching them back up before moving onto hitting myself on the back (not easy at the best of times but harder still when your hammered), and finally as I started really struggling for breath I tried throwing myself backwards of a wall several times, all with no success.

The light were staring to dim to the extent I was seeing flashes in front of me when the curried prawns rode to the rescue in the form of the most welcome barf I have ever had in my life clearing my airway and allowing much needed O2 back into my lungs.

As I had thrown up into the sink (stuff knows how/why I made it to the sink but I had).... I turned on the tap to sluice the mess away whilst I went and washed my face down in the bathroom.

When I got back the plug hole in the sink had clearly become blocked by prawns/onions/rice etc as the water was lapping happily around the overflow.

So rather than dip my hand in to clear the mess I got a fork from the drainer and started to stir the waters around in an effort to have it all go down the plug hole.

As the water finally drained I was left with a fork which had clearly speared a pretty well intact prawn.

For those of a sensitive nature look away now.........

So what did I do with the prawn you may ask, well I did what any pissed male who has just survived a near death experience would do.

I ate it.

At least I knew pretty well knew where it had been and at that point it had been washed clean........ again..........
(Dark Matter All The Wonders In The World & We Invent Boredom, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:08, 1 reply)

Fondue + wine + spliffs + supersonic taxi = vomit
After a pleasant evening at a Swiss friend's house enjoying a fondue made to their old family recipe, along with far too much wine and a lot of spliffs, the mrs and I hailed a taxi to speed us to our home.

Speed was unfortunately the operative word here. I can only assume that the taxi driver decided that this was the perfect opportunity to get a new cross-town personal best. I'll give the guy credit, he drove a fine racing line, but when you've got two passengers stuffed full of molten cheese and stoned as hell it's not a good idea.

I could tell that the journey was not having a good effect on Mrs V, and thought it wise to ask the cabbie to take it a bit easier. This he did, but lamentably it was too late. Vomit was already erupting from my mrs as if from a lactose-intolerant volcano. She managed to catch it all, as far as we could tell, in the sleeve of a woollen cardigan and when we arrived at our flat she made a mad dash for it.

I translated the cab driver's "Is she alright?" as "Is there any vomit in my taxi?" and reassured him that was not the case. A brief battle of conscience ensued. My mrs had just vomited in his taxi, but he could be held responsible. Do I tell him to keep the change as gesture of good will, or do I withhold a tip as he was driving like a fucking loon...

What would you have done?
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:07, Reply)

When mushrooms go bad...
December 2001, Amsterdam.

I was impressed with how he polished off an entire punnet of mushrooms and that he managed it in the time it took me to roll up and take the first couple of puffs.

What impressed me less was the pale, sickly colour his face suddenly turned. Even less the way his cheeks suddenly bulged as his eyes filled with fear from across the table.

His hand leapt to his face and I braced for a tsunami of sick to wash over me before he opened his mouth wide and let rip with the most almighty belch I've ever witnessed.

Never before or since have I been grateful to someone for burping in my face.
( Moey, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 12:02, 1 reply)

A little warning is a good thing...
I awoke with the hangover monster dancing an angry, angry dance about my brain. This wasn't unusual; I was a student and quite familiar with his stampy, head bouncing dance. What I didn't expect was his brother to take up sudden residence in my guts. He kicked twice and a filthy cocktail of second hand beer and fresh, bilious stomach juices coated my bed, my curtains and my walls.

The angry dancing still didn't stop and I vowed once again never to touch another drink in all my life.
( Moey, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:51, Reply)

Car redecoration
This may or may not be a repost. I'm sure I have recounted this one before but I'm not about to trawl through six years of posts to find out. Apologies if you recognise it.

Many years ago. I drove with my Dad up to Nottingham from London to visit a cousin for a few days. We had a lovely time, chatting with the family and having a look around the area. Before we left we visited some Robin Hood thing at Sherwood Forest. It was a hot day, and stupidly, I wasn't wearing a hat.

Because of that, I got a bit of sun-stroke which didn't make itself felt until we were halfway home. I began to feel a bit rough so I let my Dad take over the driving.

Part of the way down the A14, I realised I needed to be sick.

"Dad, can you pull over? I need to be sick," I said.

"In a minute," said my Dad.

"No, I need to be sick now," I replied.

"In a minute."

Knowing my stomach better than he did, I had no other course of action than to open the window and throw up. There I encountered the laws of aerodynamics.

Sick leaving a vehicle moving at 70 mph doesn't actually leave the vehicle very easily and, in fact, returns. My clothes and face were covered in my own vomit so was the ceiling of my car and part of the back seat.

Some even splashed my Dad on the driver's seat, causing him to say, "steady on" like I had done it deliberately.

I had to sit for another hour covered in sick until we got home. I had to be sick again out the window in the meantime but this time he listened and slowed down enough for me to open the door safely.

I think the worst bit was that I was too ill after that to clean the sick out of the car for a few days. My dad, probably quite rightly but I didn't think so at the time, didn't want to touch it and so the sick was left for a few days to fester in the heat. I was aware of it but could do nothing.

Luckily, when I was able to clean the car interior, it had all dried up so it wasn't such a hard job as I thought. A bit of work with the hoover and some upholstery shampoo and you'd never have known.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:50, 3 replies)

Tennis + 3Litre bottles of Omega Cider won't go
As a stupid 17 yr old (Rather than the stupid 32 yr old that I now am), my friends and I would often convene during the summer holidays to play tennis at Rodders' tennis court equipped house.

Of course just playing tennis wasn't enough, so we invented* DrunkyBall. This, as the name might suggest, involved drinking copious amounts of the cheapest strongest cider from the local Spar and then seeing how we got on with our co-ordination for striking a tennis ball. Surprisingly well it has to be said...

However, the inevitable happened one summer's day when we'd each consumed about 4 orchards each of the loopy juice. Stumbling back to the house for liquid refreshment of the water variety we all looked a bit apple green around the gills. I was fighting to keep a pot noodle down, Ed was similarly struggling with the leftover pizza he'd consumed. Rodders had wisely skipped breakfast.

None of us wanted to puke, as that meant game, set, and wretch for Drunkyball and at 1 set all, we had a long way to go. We sank the water and settled in for a brief 'change of ends' playing sensi-soc.

I was really wrestling now, not just with the joystick but with my gurgling guts. Ed stood suddenly and pronounced he 'had to piss' and so exited the games room. "Oh no you don't" I said - and promptly sent Jamie to accompany him to make sure he doesn't 'cheat' and puke in the bathroom, therefore handing Jamie and I victory.

Not long after they'd left the room I turned to celebrate a goal and midway through the oaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllll section, hurled all over the room. Rodders just watched open mouthed as I destroyed his mother's beloved indian rug.

His next words - "YESSSSSSS, we won". His celebrations were cut short however when Jamie and Eddie returned, staring at the vomit all over the floor and a celebrating Rodders, Jamie simply declared. "No you didn't, Ed just hurled on your stairs."

"Yessssss!" I shouted.

It was declared a draw, and the only time I can ever remember celebrating someone vomitting.

*May not have been our invention.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:47, Reply)

I was fifteen...

...and a group of us all went to a country pub to celebrate my mate's '18th' birthday. He was wearing badges and everything, and we were all keeping a low profile in the corner while he and another mate who was actually old enough were buying the beers.
The Guinness kept flowing for a good few hours before Daz's parents came to pick him and me up at closing time. They had one of those people-carrier jobbys. I still swear to this day it wasn't the booze that made me feel ill; rather the stuffy heat of the car and all those winding country roads. anyway, I was starting to feel a bit queasy, and before I had chance to ask them to pull over, I puked in my mouth. My cheeks were full like a hampster.
I was running through the options in my head of what to do - swallow it, open the window, mime to Daz etc. but a couple of seconds later I puked again. From sitting in the middle back seat I litterally sprayed the front window and Daz's parents with dark brown frothy Guinness chunder. He said it took all of them 2 hours to clean the car the next morning, and I'm still introduced 10 years later as 'the guy that puked on my parents'.

I don't think I'll ever live it down.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:46, Reply)

Just some days ago...
I don't know if it was down to excessive face stuffing over the days of Christmas, where excessive face stuffing is somewhat de rigueur, but my face had well and truly been stuffed, to excess. Boxing Day had passed and the swell of my stomach was slowly passing when I was treated to a very heavy, stodgy meal of fish and chips; just the tonic for a heavily distended belly, you might not think.

As I rolled into bed that evening I sensed something was amiss about my middle, but not one to let anything disturb my precious snoozes I pressed on with the important matter of getting some shut-eye, completely unaware of the foul, ruinous mess I would soon make toilet wise.

I slept a torrid and broken sleep, rocking on my rotund middle and sensing the disturbance that was building deep inside my insides. Then morning came, I opened my eyes and knew in an instant that I'd soon have to shout for Ralph down the porcelain phone.

And so it soon proved to be. Two days of chundering, followed by another two without taking on solids weren't pleasant for a man who loves to eat as I do, but I did start the new year with none of the chubbiness that Christmas usually provides me, so I can't complain, not really.
( Moey, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:23, Reply)

I once vomed up an entire meatball

It popped out like some sort of oral, scatological, thai ping-pong strip show.

Except my mate didn't try and catch this projectile in his mouth...
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:23, Reply)

Facial
Casual sex is akin to having a nice kebab with extra garlic sauce. It’s nice at the time, but hardly memorable, you usually only get it when you’re blind drunk, and they both leave you with a funny taste in your mouth and weird gelatinous crusty juices round your gob with accompanying funky smelling fingers.

One time I picked up this girl at the Coliseum in Coventry. Don’t know what her name was, but I recall she was a porky redhead with a bit of a limp and the sort of BO that would kill a horse at twelve paces. We went back to her shitty little flat and got jiggy under the duvet. She didn’t even offer me a cup of tea first.

I’m lying there, head spinning on account of all the Becks and Grand Marnier chasers – the fat redhead clambers on top, shuffles down my pissed-up body with the grace and beauty of a horny cross dressing warthog, and starts fumbling with my jeans buttons.

“ Here’s something to get you going,” she says, and sits up, rips off her top and reveals a humungous pair of terrifying fried egg tits with nipples so large and dark it was like staring into the face of a particularly sinister googly-eyed clown of Satan.

She then whips out my flaccid little cock and starts sucking away with such ferocity I thought she was going to detach the damn thing from my body, it was as if she thought I’d been bitten on the bell end by a viper and she was determined to suck out all the poison before necrosis set in. Head still spinning, I stared down, grabbing the bed sheets through sheer fucking panic. It hurt. Was she using her fucking teeth??? But then I reasoned: a blowjobs a blowjob, even if it’s being given to you by someone with the oral sex skills of Freddie Kruger in a particularly nasty mood.

She stops sucking, looks up at me and says with utter conviction: “Don’t cum in my mouth.” Then she returns to the job in hand. SLUUURRRPP – SLUUUURRRRPPPP – SLUUURRRRPPPP. Stops. Looks up again: “I mean it... Let me know when you’re gonna cum.”

I felt like saying: “At this rate, sweetheart, I might shoot my load sometime in the next fucking century.” But I didn’t. Golden Rule Number 1: Never piss off a woman who happens to have your cock in her hand (especially if she’s got a set of razor-sharp false nails superglued on her stubby little mitts). Instead I nodded, closed my eyes, and imagined she was somebody else more attractive and less smelly.

After about TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES of inept blowjobbyness, I felt the familiar feeling in my cock and balls. My dick started twitching and I could feel myself reaching the point of no return. I was actually quite enjoying it, now. On a rating of ten, it was a definite two, but – being the trooper that I am – I was still about to shoot my baby cannon in a nice warm orifice. Shit! No! Not allowed! She said I couldn’t spurt in her gob. Bollocks!

Ahhh, fuck it – what’s the worst that can happen? I reasoned, curled my toes, made my cumming sex noise (something like a startled gorilla mating with a dolphin on PCP), and let loose a peel of hot, sticky jizz into the furthest reaches of this redheads throat.
She made a strange spluttering sound, sat bolt upright, then she spewed into her mouth and kept it trapped in her cheeks like an overfed, pissed, horny hamster. I watched, horrified, as she managed to swallow the puke back down. Then, in the space of a millisecond, she lurched forward and –

BBBLLLLUUUUUURRRRRRGGGHHHHHH !!! YYYYAAAACCCKKKK !!!
SPLLLUUURRRRRGGGGGGG !!! BBBBLLLLLUUUURRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH – HHHHHHHH – HHHHHHH – HHHHHH !!!

All... Over... My... Fucking... Chest...

...&...

...FACE...

I swear I was picking half digested babysham, rum and coke, mushed up McDonalds French fries and curdled sprog sorbet out of my hair for fucking weeks.

And she didn’t let me put my purple-headed meat mamba up her afterwards, even though I asked politely and offered to clean up the mess...

Turns out she really, really, REALLY didn't like taking a shot in the mouth - caused havoc with her gag reflex...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:21, 4 replies)

I once went to a party
where most of the night I drank absynth.....(it was good against the cold of camping outside), well I polished off a nice bottle felt great passed out in a tent with my other half. Come morning I was throwing up everywhere, (outside so was all good), but I swear it could have lit up the place it was glowing green!!

sorry for lack of real funnys.

*Edited*: polished might be the wrong word, finished some absynth that i had drank some of might be appropriate
(Just Me being probed by aliens since, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:20, 2 replies)

Chips and garlic mayo again!?

I was young and dumb. Me and my mates went out on the lash and many beers and ciders were consumed.

When we fell out of the club we got some food. I had chips & garlic mayo I wolfed them down. But while waiting for the taxi began to feel increasingly sick and soon enough I was sick everywhere. On one particularly violent heave I managed to regurgitate a whole chip. Not a little one either a whopping great big one swallowed whole.

I had to wait untill I was empty before I could get a cab
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 11:05, Reply)

Where's the Cat Sick??
My late (and much missed) cat was blessed or rather cursed with a weak stomach.

Cleaning cat puke off the floor was a regular task. Removing said cat puke from a computer keyboard and a flat bed scanner was an interesting and fiddly job!

If I heard the cat making the characteristic "Huc, huc, huc" sounds I would try and chase him into the bathroom as it is easier to remove vomit from a tiled floor than a carpet. It was even better if I could persuade the cat into the bath to be sick as it only needed a quick blast from the shower to swish the puke down the plughole!

Just after Mrs V moved in with me I heard the tell-tale "Huc, huc, huc" and tried to chase the cat down the corridor into the bathroom, he dodged and disapeared under the bed. When the cat emerged he was no longer making the"I am about to vomit" noise.

OK, so we searched under the bed - no puke, we searched all around the wardrobe - still no puke. The puke seemed to have vanished. Imagine my beloved's joy when she put on her shoes and found the missing vomit!
( Vambo, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:52, 2 replies)

I once consumed Ribena and Vodka.
The result was purple vomit which stained the roof for a while, as I'd hurled out of my attic window.
(mcnelson, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:49, 3 replies)

But the worst thing I ever done
I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: "hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa" and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience.
And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.
( Dervel OTBC, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:49, 6 replies)

How to Bark Welsh into your eyes
After my poor 15 year old body had, in 1 1/2 hours consumed:

1 x Bottle home made wine
1 x Bottle of Archers
1 x Can of Guiness
1 x King edward cigar (every little helps)

I was feeling a little unconcious,

However I managed to bark welsh into a bucket where my ultra trendy wedge/undercut hair cut scooped some up and managed to paint my eyeballs with a thick layer of Vom. ow.

.
(Tallyhosis Two heads are more than One, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:33, 1 reply)

Thank you. Thank you very much.
I'm not one usually to vom unless I need to. However, being surrounded by my kids who are both projectile at the moment, coupled with my cat who can make mousey vom cakes on demand, I've been tested many times this week.
Thanks to reading these stories with the smell of vom fresh in my mind, my stomach has responded in kind. I type this via a vomit encrusted (I say encrusted, it hasn't had time to cure yet) keyboard.
How do you get the bits out from between the keys? Will the acid affect the delicate electrics underneath? At least it didn't cover the screen. Hopefully my boss won't notice the smell.

I'll stop reading now.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:19, 8 replies)

My brother in law
is a fine upstanding accountant of a man, loved and respected by all that know him. 15 years ago though, he was an 18 year old junior at one of the big 4 and attending his first ever Christmas do. swanky hotel in London, black tie, silver service meal and lashings of lovely lovely wine. the speeches start onece the plates have been cleared and he begins to feel a little queasy in the guts area. sneaking off to the gents for a quick poo, he heads into a cubile, whacks his grundies down just in time to curl out the mother of all logs. and then he realised, too late, that the pipes were priming at the other end. a river of red wine, beef wellington and vegetables from his mouth straight into his pants. there can't be many more terrifying things in the world than being at the Christmas party for your first proper important job, with a sizeable amount of vom in your kecks, but he managed to get hold of himself, remove said undies and go commando in some thankfully fairly vomit free dress trousers. being a drunken idiot, rather than chucking the sick soaked boxers in the bin, he decided to wash them out in the sink.

that's when his boss walked in to see a sight that there was no talking his way out of. he left the job the week after. the shame of standing in the hotel reception waiting for his mum to pick him up with a bile smelling crotch and the entire company knowing what had happened was a bit too much to bear.

As he is my brother in law I will never let him forget this and make sure to mention it to everyone he knows.
(Alphabet Soap boshboshboshbosh, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:11, Reply)

I have just learnt that there is an actual phobia of vomit
But isn’t it normal to have a dislike of vomit? I hate being sick, it's a disgusting, painful thing to do. I haven’t been sick in years. The sight of vomit is also disgusting. I knew a guy at uni who every time we went out, he would drink too much, eat a kebab and then throw it up on the pavement. Every. Single. Time. I hated him for it.

I would be more concerned if I didn’t have a phobia of vomit.

What i'm trying to say is, if you have a fear of vomit, relax, you are anything but abnormal. In fact, you sound like just the sort of person I could spend time with. Fancy a pint?
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:09, 9 replies)

Emesis Nemesis
S was a geneticist of some sort with whom I shared a flat for a year. The nature of his work meant that at times he had to be in the lab over the weekends to tend an experiment. I vaguely heard him moving about that morning... and then...
"OH MY FUCKING GOD! WHICH ONE OF YOU BASTARDS DID THIS? FUCKING GET OUT HERE AND CLEAN IT UP NOW!"




What?

* * *

There is in Hull a club called Spiders. It is - or was - famed for its silly cocktails. To create their version of the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, you will need a pint glass. Into this, you throw a bit of ice. Then a shot each of vodka, Pernod, and Galliano. A dash of blackcurrant cordial, and a baby bottle of fresh orange juice. You top it up with dry cider, and charge £2.30 for the lot.

P, another flatmate that year, had also spent time living in Hull, and had also experienced and loved Spiders. So it seemed only right that we go to the pub on his birthday and recreate the experience for him. By the end of the evening, he was looking distinctly peaky. But we all managed to crawl home - we walked the two miles in an attempt to sober him up - and he collapsed into his bed.

* * *

I put my head around the door, amazed at the lack of a hangover. S was, by now, in the kitchen, making toast. R, a third flatmate, had also emerged wanting to know the reason for the noise.
"Was that you?" he demanded.
"What?"
"The toilet. I tell you, there's no way I'm using that until whoever did it cleans it up. And I fucking need a shit..."
Nice image. But I had only a minimal idea what he was talking about: nothing beyond an association of the toilet with filth.

S had by now deduced that the culprit of whatever the crime was must have been P, and was hammering on the door of his room. I, though, still lacked insight into the exact nature of this particular atrocity. I went to investigate. I opened the door.

The little room was caked in vomit. It wasn't that P had missed the bowl: he must have been standing up, and he must have done a full 360-degree rotation as the contents of his stomach had made their bid for freedom. It was as if someone had replaced his blood with sick, and then severed an artery. The guy had clearly turned into some sort of chunderfountain; a gushing spring of boke.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Remember that the PGGB had as in ingredient blackcurrant cordial? Running down the walls, splashed across the floor and - somehow - dripping from the ceiling, this surging tide of sick was bright, bright magenta.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 10:04, 11 replies)

On wednesdays after work, we would play 5-a-side football in the London hospital's (where we worked) sport centre. 5pm - 6pm and then straight to the hospital's sports and social bar to replenish lost fluids with pints and pints of water and maybe a packet of crisps.

Well, that was what we normally did. For some reason this particular week, we replenished those lost fluids with a few pints of lager each. Of course the first 2 or 3 pints went very quick as we were gasping. The next 5 or 6 were drunk at a more reasonable rate.

After deciding that it was probably better if we left to eat something we ended up visiting the Med School Bar (the hospital was a "teaching" hospital so had a subsidised bar for the med students) and ended up staying there till closing time drinking more pints of the cheap beer at a much more reasonable price. (I even remember mine-sweeping once or twice and finding a bitten-off finger nail at the bottom of one of the pint of stolen bitter - that'll learn me)

Anyway, the 4 of us who lasted the evening headed back to our hospital accommodation, picking up a much-needed Chinese on the way home. We all ended up in my flat drunkenly scoffing our chinese food and watching some godawful crap that the BBC used to offer in the early hours (think repeated program with a little "signing-for-the-deaf" woman in the corner waving her arms about)

I naturally fell asleep on my sofa and woke up to find my colleagues had sensibly departed to their own shit-holes leaving me and the little deaf-helper on the telly alone.

It was then that I felt the Chinese trying to make a reappearance. After a gurlge in the stomach and a funny feeling behind my adams apple, I realised what was about to hapen and rushed to the bathroom.

Now the corridor in this flat wasn't huge but I thought I would make it from the lounge to the bathroom. I was wrong.

Like so many other vomitters posting here, the hand over the mouth technique didn't do what was expected but instead squirted the "beer/rice" vomit ahead of me. As soon as I then stepped in the landed puke, I slipped. My foot went ahead of me at great speed causing me to fall essentially backwards. Gashing my elbow open badly on the radiator on the way down and hitting my head hard on the floor as I landed was bad enough, I really didnt want to carry on covering myself in sick. But I did.

I slept there for some time. No idea how long but when I got up (using the wall for assistance) my head was still throbbing from the fall and my elbow hadn;t really stopped bleeding. I eventually managed to find dustpan and used it to scoop up the liquid rice puke that was covering the corridor floor. I did a pretty good job in my state. The next day I took myself off to the A&E in the hospital (gave me a good excuse to be a few hours late for work) for them to check out my elbow, as it still hadnt healed up.

Fast forward a couple of months to when my Mum was back in the country (from the Middle East where she had been living for a year) and needed somewhere to stay. So she stayed with me for a few days. Whilst I was at work, she offered to clean the flat for me. Naturally I thought it was a great idea.

I got home that first day and over dinner at the local pub she asked me 2 questions that had been bothering her that day:
Why was there a what looked like blood stain on the wall next to the radiator and why was there some rice stuck to the wall?

I told her. She wasn't as impressed at the story as my work-mates.
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 9:52, Reply)

Tastes so good you can eat it twice
Two best tasting things to throw up: Gatorade or Cake.

On a ski trip, the altitude got the best of me, and I sicked up a bottle of red Gatorade. The poor girls sharing the condo with me panicked and hunted for my mother, despite my reassurance (between heaves) that everything is fine.

Cake was the only thing that (I thought) I could keep down after I'd decided that I'd had enough of life on earth and downed about 75 pills.... (I was a stupid teenager. Funny enough, my life is worse now that I could have imagined back then... yet the Earth is still turning and I'm actually pretty well adjusted. Funny that.) Nothing besides that fucking cake would even make it into my mouth without triggering the gag reflex. Guess that's why it's called your cake-hole.

Not so great: scotch and ramen noodles. The only time ever that I drank until puking was scotch and chicken ramen. Even the harshest chemical cleaners I've tried have failed to kill the neon yellow stain :(

Apologies... penis envy was the real reason I decided to off myself.
(TrillionGrams, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 9:35, Reply)

Amsterdam
The most shameful episode of my life.

I'd gone to Amsterdam on a stag do where the usual shenanigans were indulged in (although I passed on the banana bar - what exactly is the attraction in paying 50Euros to watch a ropey harlot pleasure herself with fruit?). Somehow I'd got separated from everyone else and I found myself, just as the mushrooms started kicking in and everything went sepia, somewhere near the Heineken museum.

Suddenly, I wasn't in Amsterdam anymore - I was in Schindler's list. There were crowds of people everywhere, and in the distance approaching me was a little girl, hand clasped in her mother's, her little red coat the only non-sepia object in my vision. I stopped, stared, mouth agape, and then promptly vomited on her as she passed.

And then I realised what I'd done and ran away. For shame.
( rofl harris, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 9:33, 1 reply)

top tip
most painful sick ever was passing a load of very hot curry and straight whisky out of my nose into my tiolet in Mumbai. Burned like a motherfucker. Don't combine these two if you intend to vomit. and if you do, don't let it eject from your nose.
(Alphabet Soap boshboshboshbosh, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 9:30, 1 reply)

tube vomit
i tend to feel a bit vommy when i overindulge on booze, but i generally can hold it long enough to get to the bathroom/behind a tree/out of the cab/off the train, but there is very little more terrifying than being on a packed carriage knowing you need to blow chunks, the warm face and cold sweat coupled with some deep breathing to keep the sloshy goodness on the inside. there will probably be many more stories about this from me this week, but I'll start off with one about someone else.

I was on the tube a few years ago, about 7pm on a Saturday. It wasn't particularly busy, everyone had a seat. a woman opposite me suddely leaned forward and deposited a large amount of pasta onto the floor of the train. just pasta, nothing else. it didn't look chewed and there was no liquid with it. being terribly British, the other passengers just stared with a mixture of horror and awe. a few seconds later, round two bubbled its way through her gullet. a big dollop of what looked like a neapolitan sauce, right on top of the pasta.

to all intents and purposes it just looked like a freshly cooked meal. the woman got off at the next stop and the confused looks of people boarding the train when they saw it was swiftly replaced by disgust when the smell hit them.


mmm... sicky italian food. this is still one of the most amazing things i've ever seen, but i imagine you had to be there.
(Alphabet Soap boshboshboshbosh, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 9:24, 1 reply)