Priest Vomit
My Dad's a priest.

In my early teens we moved to a new parish and for our first Boxing Day there we were invited to a neighbouring priest's house for a day time knees up he had every year to celebrate St Stephen's day (St Stephens being the name of the church he was in charge of). This other priest was a renowned piss head and subsequently the vino was flowing quick and easy from the moment we got in through the door.
My Dad and this other priest went to theological college together and Dad was quite keen to impress so duly kept up with all the offers of drink he was given, but due to a combination of a hectic Christmas schedule and the pressure of having to make a memorable first Christmas in his new parish he got drunk quite quickly and fell asleep in a chair.
My Dad's a heavy sleeper so when it was time to go home my Mum, brother and I woke him up by gently shaking him, then prodding him, then clapping loudly by his face until he got up. When he did get up it was clear to all he was beyond hammered. We helped him to the car where the other priest gave him a bucket and mum drove us all home.
When we got home we parked on the street, and Dad put the bucket on the floor of the car to start getting out. At this moment, who else should come from round the corner but Dad's new Mr & Mrs churchwarden team walking their dog on a gentle Boxing Day's stroll. Not noticing the their new priest in the front of the car they stopped and said hello to Mum as my brother and I got out of the back seats. I opened the door for my Dad, he stumbled out of his seat, leaned heavily on the wall, and (literally) shouted that he's "going to fall over". The churchwardens look up in a kind of shock just in time to see my Dad have a fight with the top button on his shirt, but he was way too drunk for buttons so he only managed to rip out his dog collar and throw it on the street in a rage of disappointment at his dexterity. My dad then mumbled a rather sad "Oh no" and a torrent of vomit flew past his lips, onto the dog collar, and down the pavement where the dog had to be held back from licking at it. There was a stunned silence from the rest of us. The churchwardens then said their goodbyes and left quite briskly.

Apparently, in the 11 years my parents were at that parish the churchwardens never mentioned the incident to either Mum or Dad. My brother and I, however, retell the story every Boxing Day to whoever will listen.
(rightupmyeye, Sat 26 Feb 2011, 14:56, Reply)