My housemate and I once decided to meet his missus for a couple of quiet pints on a Sunday
We had a couple of nice relaxed pints, chatting shite, the usual. Then we had another couple, then another couple, at which point I decide Tequila might be a good idea. The HM points out this isn't a good idea, but he'll join me for a couple anyway. We throw a few of them down our throats, chased by another few pints.

Woke up at 9:45 the next day, feeling like hammered shit. Phone work to apologise profusely as I'm staggering towards a taxi rank to head up. I get to work, and apologise for oversleeping (fooling no-one). I then have to nip to the toilet every 5 minutes to either throw up, or heave until my stomach aches.

At 11 I ask if I can go home, because I'm so 'ill' I can't do any work at all, so I'm no use to anyonw. The boss agrees, and allows me to go home.

I spend the rest of the day in bed clutching my stomach and groaning, before vomiting profusely again in the evening.

Fucking horrific.

Alt: Humping excrete.
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Thu 7 Apr 2011, 13:03, Reply)