This time it wasn't my fault
Part of my shoulder had to be amputated after a patient dislocated it. You can't really tell with my clothes on. I had Vicodin (Paracetamol + a narcotic. Yummy)prescribed for post surgical pain. I failed to listen to the nurse who explained to take two only if pain remained after taking one and that they were prone to induce motion sickness when riding in a car.

Husband and mother took me out to eat and of course I wanted to be stoned, er, pain-free so I took two. Then I loaded up on Outcrap's everything's-coated-in-horrible-spices finest faux-Australian fare. On the way home I began to feel slightly ill, then really ill, then my dinner fought with the two dozen frogs and rabbits that had mysteriously appeared in my tummy. Hubby is driving like a maniac as I'm sobbing "Hurry, hurry!", runs a red light right in front of the police station and whips into the bank parking lot because I am now gurgling in his ear. I lean out and blargh bright orange slimy spew on the asphalt. My mother chirps, "Oh look honey, you puked in the president's spot."

We ran away before anyone saw us. The next evening I rode by and saw that the bank had put up a chain to the parking lot to discourage anymore political statements. The stain was gone but the place still reeked of Outcrap spiciness. I wish I'd been able to see the bank president face's when he pulled in the next day and/or stepped in it.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sat 6 May 2006, 3:38, Reply)