AAARRRGGGGGHHHH, Boomerang!!!
When I was a kid my parents took me on a day trip to that snail-quaffing, garlic-munching, horse-eating country across the channel where it’s illegal for a woman to shave their legs or underarm pits.

After twenty minutes or so rocking about in the Channel, I realised I wasn’t feeling too good. The whole ferry experience was leaving me queasy and the fact I’d been pigging out on skittles and M&M’s for the entire journey from home to Dover meant my gut was churning like an industrial washing machine.

My dad took me up onto the busy viewing deck, reasoning some fresh air would sort me out. Within a few seconds of the harsh spring air repeatedly smacking me in the face, I felt an urgent and absolutely fucking terrifying need to spew. Racing over to the railings, I stuck my head over the side and produced a rich, dark, chocolaty Technicolor yawn peppered with brightly coloured, half-digested skittle goodness. I watched the stream of puke sail out over the vast expanse of choppy water.

I instantly felt a lot better. And the people round me suddenly found somewhere else to stand and enjoy the view of shitloads of miserable-looking water.

But I didn't care, I was busy watching, mesmerised, as the strong wind caught the trail of spew and sent it sailing back towards the ferry – it was like watching a stinky, lurid stringless kite caught and tossed by the wind. The spew arched and danced and floated effortlessly, dancing a weird fandango as it went, returning to us, moving with a life all its own. And the speed! It was so fucking fast! It was truly awesome! It moved so quickly I lost sight of it.

Then, after a couple of seconds, twenty meters or so further down the viewing deck my dad and I heard a thick Scouse accent growl: “AWW FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!”

My dad and I both turned our heads and saw a man in his forties wearing a business suit, covered from head to toe in premium quality skittle-speckled thick brown stomach sauce.

“Errr, think we’d better go back down and find your mother,” said my dad.

And we did, never to talk about what happened ever again...
( SpankyHanky, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 13:57, 2 replies)

yey
hell of a shot that was :D

Me and the wife went on a coach trip to Western Germany a few years back; a surprisingly great trip (the West Germans have got it so much better than us) and on the way back from Calais the weather picked up a bit.

I'm not too bad with travelling by boat, but the missus didn't have a hope in hell. She was turning green just watching the boat in Calais, let alone standing on the fucker. We hop onboard and set sail for Dover. About 10 minutes in, the missus struggles a bit and says "Where can I sit? Where's the easiest place to sit on the boat?" Me like a cunt says "At the front in the cafe love."

Only took 2 minutes, she spewed like a chunder-geyser.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 14:32, closed)

On a school trip that necessated going across the Channel,
our geoggers teacher advised us to eat one of the mini pots of jam from the cafe if we felt sick. "It won't stop you being sick, but it will taste nicer on the way out."
( Bob Todd whee, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 17:52, closed)