The Duke of Puke
many moons ago i lived above a pretty decent pub, 3 floors above it, so it wasn't all that bad...they done lots of different guest ales and was keenly priced. One fateful night i had some friends over for a bit of grub and booze. Grub was devoured, booze was quaffed, reefers may have been smoked. Anyway, we decide to nip downstairs for a a few jars and a change of scenery. Foolishly i ordered the heavyweight 'winter warmer', which on a good day was a warming, rich pint of loveliness, if a bit heavy, but at 7%, this was to be expected.

I began to sup at the pint and quickly established that my stomach was full to capacity, what with the earlier food and booze. I didn't heed the warning signs and continued supping the 'thick as cream' winter warmer. We were sat at a table in a booth, and i was at the end with my back to the pub. I felt a quickening in my throat that i recognised was a 4 second warning that i was gonna blow!!

There was no way i could make it to the toilet and i didn't want to puke all over the table, so i bent down, so my head was under teh table and vomited litres and litres of dark, foamy vomit all over the floor. I wiped my mouth and leant back up, my friends were continuiing their conversation and actually hadn't even heard or seen me losing my guts. I felt 1000x better than i had just seconds before and was quite proud as i directed their gaze under the table to the paddling pool of winter warmer, red wine, hoegaarden, lamb bhoona, rice, naan, poppadums, spiced onions and raita. They could scarcely believe the AMOUNT of it, nevermind i had done it so quietly. We gingerly edged away from it and made a dash for the exit, leaving the expanding swamp of bile and proto-shit to ooze gently into the pub proper.

There was a pang of guilt for the poor bastard who was gonna have to clean it up, nothing a radiation suit and a shovel wouldn't sort though. I still couldn't help but glance back with a hint of pride, before i legged it out the door.


On another vomit related note, i was at a works night out one time, when some fucking fanny puke dup in a pint glass, replete with masticated chips and carrot cubes.

Bad? Yes.

Worse was to come.

From across the pub, yet another, bigger fanny declares that he wanted to drink the vomit if someone bet him a fiver. Which they did, and he duly glugged down the thick brown pukeshake. I swear the cunt was enjoying it, so much so that he tipped the glass to an even steeper angle to allow a chip to slide down, into his mouth a bit faster. He wanted the dregs.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 14:01, Reply)