"No, you don't understand... YOU ARE SITTING IN IT."
Early last year, my life was a bit of a state. My girlfriend had left me, and I wasn't coping very well. Fortunately I have two wonderful friends who let me move back in with them and begin to sort my life out.

We aren't what you'd call cool. We do, however, have friends who are, and it was one such friend who invited us to a night out at the Bongo Club- a night out that I badly needed.

We drank. Then we drank some more. One of my flatmates, swathed entirely in camouflage, decided it was his sworn duty to scream at the band who were playing that night. At this point, I decided to join the other flatmate outside on the smoker's picnic tables. As we sat, we were joined by two French girls. As he halfheartedly chatted them up, I began to feel that familiar nausea rising in my gullet. I leaned to one side and broke wind.

"Did you just fart on me?!" screamed the girl who had sat down next to me without me noticing. She leapt to her feet with a look of raw disgust on her face. I couldn't really have felt worse if I'd just been caught shitting in some else's toilet cistern.

The nausea continued to rise.

My flatmate continued to chat up the French girls.

Then (and I am relying on my flatmate's account for this part) I turned my head to one side and released an arc of purely liquid vomit that apparently resembled Little Britain's 'racist old lady' sketch.

I felt better. Much better. The French girls were gone, naturally, but we continued our good natured drunken chatting. Then, through the smokey haze, a Romero-esque figure lumbered. Clearly off his tits, he put his hand on my shoulder and slurred: "Got any drugs, mate?" as he sat next to me on the bench.

I looked at him. He looked at me with one eye, and my flatmate with the other. I just couldn't hold it in.

"Mate. You're sitting in my sick."

He looked at me quizzically.

I looked to my flatmate.

"No, he means it. You're literally sitting in his sick."

He eventually left, but I genuinely believe it was more to do with the lack of drugs than any concern for the state of his trousers...
(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 20:24, Reply)