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This is a question Blood

Like a scene from The Exorcist, I once spewed a stomach-full of blood all over a charming nurse as I came round after a major dental operation. Tell us your tales of red, red horror.

(, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 14:39)
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Not much blood, but I'll throw the vom and poo in as well
Bear with me, I get to the point somewhere down there....

A few years ago, pre spawn, myself and the fragrant Mrs went on holiday with the rest of the clan Osok -they'd rented a BFO gite in the Dordogne and invited us over. Hey ho, sez we, a nice relaxing holiday, sounds good.

Now, it was a punishing trip. Finish work in Manchester, drive to Chester then drive down to the Saaarf East, arriving at stupidly-late O'Clock. Have 2 hours kip, collect Sis and Bro-In-Law, belt down to the Chunnel, and then drive about 600 miles in a oner.

Naturally everyone else immediately lapsed into a coma, so I was propping my eyes open and frantically chainsmoking to try and stay awake as I drove and navigated all the way down Johnny-Frogland, with only lound music and the occasional spurt of adrenalin as I clocked a Gendarme keeping me going. (I had a radar detector which at the time meant confiscation and hefty fine in the land of Cruelty To Geese and Collaborating).

I did however take the elementary precaution of making sure that someone with German plates was going faster than me at all time so if Monsieur Plod was playing the Gallic equivalent of Motorway Snooker I'd be OK. I digress.

Approximately halfway through the trip, the three passengers made it known that starvation was gripping their malnourished and frail bodies, and they wanted feeding now. Cue a bloody awful soss & frites with extra grease.

300 miles later, with much cursing of directions, French Road Sign Hiding Pixies, the world, the designers of the drivers seat of the C-Class and so forth, we arrived. To give you an idea of how fragile we were feeling, my B-I-L hurled himself fully dressed into the pool, while I was unwound from the car like a pretzel, except swearier.

(Get to the frigging point, I hear you shout. Patience is a virtue)

Now I wasn't feeling great, with extreme tiredness, greasy food, nicotine poisoning and being polite to Customs Monkeys all taking their toll. So I hie me off to the scratcher for a well deserved zonk. Lovely Gite BTW, an old farmhouse with lots of heavy oak furniture. This was to spell doom shortly....

I awoke later, with that old familiar feeling welling up. Yup, Captain Chunder had boarded the good ship Osok, and was arranging for my stomach contents to abandon ship right NOW.

In the bleary horrified seconds of realisation before I could move I realised that (a) no chance of reaching the bathroom (b) there was a convenient shuttered window within range.

Girding my loins, I leapt like a gazelle from the bed...... no.

Girding my loins I leapt about six inches at full leap-speed, to collect the oak bedside table with my face. This knocked me back onto the bed dazed and somewhat concussed, but before I could work out why the room was spinning, the first boatload of Captain Chunder's scurvy crew arrived.

"Yaaaarrrrrcccchhhh" is the correct term.


Two boatloads, and the immediate pressure was off. Window time!

Loins duly girded again, I leapt like a concussed gazelle, duly skidded on the steaming pool I had thoughtfully deposited on the floor (wall, furniture etc), and collected the heavy wooden shutter with my napper.

My dear lady wife, who had been lying petrified at the noises (well, "Hgnn" *THUD* "Owww" "Yaaaaarrrrrrccchhhh" Splush "Yaaaarrrrccchhh" Splush "Hgnn" Slither *THUD*" is a fairly odd thing to wake up to), gets the light on to discover me slumped whimpering in a lake of chunder in my shreddies, bleeding spectacularly from my nose/lip and shutter-induced scalp-wound.

After a final "Yaarrch"-lette, I crawled on hands and knees to the bathroom, where I had just enough energy to shove bog roll at the dripping claret, before without warning, a stomach spasm gripped so hard that Captain Chunder's assistant, Bosun Follow-Through, pounced. I had just filled my shreddies with foul Frenchness.

I don't think I have wanted to be shot in the head quite so much as at that point, swaying blearily in the bathroom, blood dripping and mixing with the vomit that had coated my entire body, with Haz-Chem material filled kecks, and crucially no glasses so I couldn't even find my way out again. It took me three hours to clean the bathroom and myself before tottering out to meet the pitying look from my lovely wife, who had, bless her, shoveled the evidence into a bin and cleaned up in my absence.

This went on for three days.

The only three days that it didn't rain for the whole two weeks.

Bloody holidays.
(, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 17:12, 9 replies)
Dearie dearie me
you do have some chortlesome adventures!

*wipes eyes*



(that's a special French click, btw)
(, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 18:32, closed)
Bloody Frenchies.
You should have stayed in Britain where we know how to cook.
(, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 19:11, closed)
Have a
*click* of sympathy.

Well told, you poor bugger.
(, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 19:30, closed)
Both ends runny and francophobia too!
Have a click.
(, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 19:40, closed)
just for some marvellous descriptions ;)
(, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 20:46, closed)
for ace sound effects and ninja punnage at the end.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 10:08, closed)
Brilliantly written Osok
You had me laughing out loud at my desk at every paragraph, I especially want to see "a stomach spasm gripped so hard that Captain Chunder's assistant, Bosun Follow-Through, pounced" welcomed into the annuls of great euphemisms.

Have a very well earned click from me, excellent work.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 10:25, closed)
cant stop grinning at that.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 13:00, closed)
fucking CLICK

(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 17:39, closed)

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