The Vomit Bin
I used to drink cider. I used to throw up quite a lot at the end of the evening .
It took me a while to realise these two things were connected but once I did, I switched over to lager and I've (mostly) been boke-free ever since.
Anyway, while I was still happily poisoning myself with Dry Blackthorn, I had a particularly liquid evening. The sort of evening where it took me twice as long to get home as normal because hedges kept trying to eat me and I was pausing regularly to regale the sleeping masses with a chorus or two of that old folk standard
"Whhheeeyy--eeeaiihhaya-uh huh uh uh ya fucking bastards!"
Then I got home and vomit happened.
Lots and lots of bright orange vomit, all over the carpet.
"Oh." I thought "Best clean that up"
Most people would reach for a damp dishcloth but I do things differently.
Which is why, when my upstairs neighbour came downstairs to see who was making such an ungodly racket at 2am, he found a very drunk Big D clutching a spade and attempting to drag a wheelie bin in through the back door.
He stared at me, aghast.
I grinned at him amiably and gave him a little wave.
He muttered "Fuck this" and stomped back to his flat - which I thought a bit rude.
Having shovelled up as much vomit as I could, in between bouncing off the furniture, I dragged the bin back outside again, threw the spade into the shed and went to bed.
The next morning I woke to a bedsit that stank of second-hand Dry Blackthorn and with my neighbours a wee bit put out with me.
And when the bin-men came to collect the bin at the end of the week they weren't too happy either...
(Big D, Sat 16 Feb 2013, 21:02, Reply)