What a morning that was.
I am the proud owner of a lovely black labrador, called Oscar, who turned 11 last month. It was not an uncommon thing for me to be woken up for work by Oscar, who responds much more enthusiastically to my alarm than I do, and who would triumphantly demonstrate his endless vigour by licking my face should I not awaken from the land of what is most commonly referred to as 'nod'.

In December last year I was suffering from the heaviest bastard cold that I had experienced in some time, and was generally a fucking nightmare to be around. I am sure many of you have experienced a cold before and the most irritating symptom at night time is, without doubt, the inability to breathe through your nose - this incurrs a far greater risk of snoring, and a 100% chance of a totally dry (or even slightly crusted over) mouth. Once upon an ill-fated morning the time came for my alarm to attempt to revive me from the surety of such sweet slumber and, once again, Oscar had risen before me and was bounding about with typical glee before he came to make sure that I, too, was conscious - I wasn't.

It had been a recurring theme throughout the previous weeks that my open-mouthed approach to sleep did not combine all too well with his face-licking approach to rousal - the result of which had a distinctly french feel to it. After a while, though, I began to mind this phenomenon less and less, and figured that as long as I was waking up in time for work, and as long as we had a healthy supply of toothpaste, things would work out for the best.

This morning was different, however. This morning, after a bit of tonsil-tennis with a male dog, I could taste... something. This morning, after wiping my mouth, there was a slimey, greenish-brown smear left on my hand. Yes, good people of B3ta - Oscar had been out that morning to have what turned out to be an otherworldly greeny-brown lawn snake, had used his ample tongue as toilet paper, and had passed the savings on to me. What ensued was total.fucking.carnage.

When I realised what had happened, my first and foremost thought was to somehow make it to the bathroom and to plan my next course of action once there - a simple plan. What actually ended up happening was I attempted to get up too quickly and fell on the floor, once on the floor I began to dry-heave (having just woken up, I simply had nothing in my stomach to vomit). It was at this point I discovered that dry-heaving is in fact a great way of fighting the dry-mouth that an open-mouthed sleep brings, as your mouth fills up with saliva. I also discoved just how important those little enzymes in the saliva are at breaking down food and releasing the flavour. Dear God. The taste is something unlike anything I hope to experience ever again - it is quite simply the most disgusting thing imaginable. This prompted further bouts of dry-heaving.

In between furiously trying to spit out the dog poo that had successfully mixed with the saliva to form an altogether more liquid substance, and dry-heaving my stomach muscles into oblivion, I made a mistake. When you are trying to get rid of something in your mouth, and you have run out of saliva to spit it out with, you get an intriguing urge - that urge is to swallow, to lubricate your throat and encourage more saliva to be produced. This simple act of swallowing allowed me to fully appreciate the texture of quite what was in my mouth. I remember it well - I swallowed one small lump of something, and another, more slimey, bit that had some gritty qualities.

This tipped me over the edge, and I hurled harder than I ever have or will and was sick the tiniest bit, about a hollowed-out half a lemon full (the universally recognised unit of measurement for sick). I had given up on walking anywhere by this point and thus crawled my way to the bathroom before plunging my mouth under the running tap, not daring to swallow a drop for a good 20 minutes. I didn't make it into work that day. Oscar no-longer wakes me up.



Some obligatory comment about length.
(2_Killer_Mockingbirds Listened to all the same songs on, Tue 31 May 2011, 21:25, 19 replies)

fucking brilliant
had me in stitches, Oscar rocks.
( zulu eh?, Tue 31 May 2011, 21:46, closed)

*click*

( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Tue 31 May 2011, 21:47, closed)

so wrong
and yet so right

*click*
( bertisfantastic bert is a sleepy bear, Tue 31 May 2011, 21:58, closed)

^^
this *click*
( custardthehedgehog, Tue 31 May 2011, 22:42, closed)

Hooray!

( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Tue 31 May 2011, 21:58, closed)

One of the most
informative things I've read in a while.

Have a click.
(bat_fudgie, Tue 31 May 2011, 22:18, closed)

Nice Doggie
It still doesn't rate for the copper penny club
(tip132, Tue 31 May 2011, 22:48, closed)

It's been a very long time since I heaved and lol'd simultaneously. I was actually thinking about posting on this qotw, but my experience of eating african land snail pales into insignificance.

I expect to read this in the next newsletter.
(Pugwash, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 1:14, closed)

I clicked when I got half way through.
That means I don't have to read the rest doesn't it? Please...
( SteamedCleaner, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 2:07, closed)

Oh my dear god
bokes, clicks, looks at pics of fluffeh kitties to take the agony away.
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 3:00, closed)

Never before have I been so close to vomiting
while sat at a computer. Bravo.
( Bats, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 8:00, closed)

Click for the mouth breather.

( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 8:07, closed)

Erk!
Why did I have to read that whilst eating my breakfast?
(The Luggage is haunted..., Wed 1 Jun 2011, 9:03, closed)

Arf!!!
Click!
(Suck it and Sea, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 9:10, closed)

too much detail
i love it (boke)
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 10:15, closed)

O Dear God
I think I'll skip lunch....
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 11:08, closed)

Excellent, and revolting.
I just chucked up 16 hollowed-out half lemons' worth.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 13:40, closed)

This, boys and girls
Is approximately equal to 8 hollowed-out lemons.
(Sir Itchalot has a very self-referential signature, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 15:16, closed)

Which, in turn, is equal to one grapefruit.
The grapefruit is really the kilometer to the half-lemon's meter.

Of course there's always the good old imperial measurements like a honeydew for large amounts or a berrysworth when you want to get scientific.
(2_Killer_Mockingbirds Listened to all the same songs on, Wed 1 Jun 2011, 19:33, closed)