I swear it wasn't mine...
Fifteen years ago, a friend's family took me with them to go camping in Spain for a couple of weeks. The parents had the mobile home, and the kids (myself included) slept in tents. The camp site was so unbelievably boring, that we counted the minutes until 4, which was the time after which we were allowed to start drinking.

I'm sure that there are many stories to tell about the three weeks of boozing, but I honestly can't remember most nights. The last night was an attempt to drink beer together with gin shots. Let's just say that I lost track of time, space, and my crawl back to the tent.

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed that my tent mate (who had come home after me) had puked inside the tent. As I went to blame him towards his parents, I heard a croaking voice from within the tent saying that "the vomit was here when I got home". Of course, this became a yes-no discussion: who had barfed in our tent? Well, we had a chance to find out while cleaning up together. We found remnants of carrots in the gooey stuff. I had had carrots the night before. My buddy hadn't. Therefore - it had been me.

To make things worse - apparently, my buddy had come home equally shit-faced, found the insides of the tent covered in vomit, had used the bottom half of my sleeping bag (with me passed out inside) to move most of the puke to my part of the tent, and decided to fall asleep in the middle of what was left of dinner, booze and a VERY foul smell. Nice.
(dezwits Life ain't nuttin' but glitches and honey, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 22:50, Reply)