18th birthday Guiness story
Briefly a mate gets collected from the pub at the end of his 18th birthday session by his Sister in her 1 year old Fiesta 1.3 SuperSport. (That dates it to about 1984.) To cut a long story short he fell asleep as soon as his arse hit the seat, but woke up just before they got home, just in time to projectile vomit over the inside of the windscreen. It ran straight down the 'screen into the demister vents and thence to the heater. Any what didn't go there just continued down behind the dashboard. Sadly, on the mk1 Fiesta the carpets are installed before the dash, so you can't get them out. At all. Not even if your little brother has managed to get a lungful of guiness puke down behind them. Yuk. She had to get rid of the car a couple of months later when the winter weather took hold, as it couldn't be driven without the demisters, and now it couldn't be driven WITH the demisters either. She couldn't sell it as no one managed to complete a road test (it really was that bad) so she p/x'ed it with the local used car lot. (Came back with an XR2 so some good came of it). By coincidence I ended up working with a relative of the car dealer and the car was legendary, they'd sold it several times but it just kept coming back...
( A Lurker jacked up on B3ta on, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 0:59, Reply)

18th birthday.
Apprentice type at the Saab garage where I used to work got taken out for a posh Chinese by the entire staff of the garage. Towards closing time most of the staff head off for last orders at the local boozer. I'm a pig so I was still face down in the Chinese (we ordered too much and I hate to see it go to waste etc). By this stage the apprentice (whom we'll call Matt, for that is his name), had imbibed enough of that Chinky lager to make an elephant puke. It wasn't his first time on the juice, but I doubt he'd ever been on a binge that had been "maintained regardless of cost" before. He was doing really well, poor lad, and had even made a good showing in the food department. At about 1am they're stacking chairs rather obviously so we take the hint and head off. I go home and the Parts Manager agrees to take Matt home in his lovely Saab 900 Turbo. Mistake. Matt is still awake and giving directions for the first part of the journey. By the time they reach the huge housing estate where he lives he is, however, out cold. After more than an hour of driving around and prodding Matt and asking "is this your road?" and getting nothing more than a groan for a reply, the Parts Manager stops the car & beats Matt into some semblance of Sobriety, enough for him to volunteer a 'phone number. Matt's dad was not impressed as it was by now going on 3am. (Why do people have children then get upset when stuff like this happens, it's lkie they didn't do this stuff when they were young?) By the time Matt's dad had got dressed and come and found them Matt had woken up enough to try to puke out the window. He missed and instead completely filled the (large 3 door) door pocket with Vermicelli Noodles in a sea of Lager. This didn't all fit in the door pocket so the rest was used to make a small lake in the front footwell. Needless to say the smell was impressive, aided by the fact that it was mid-winter and you would freeze without the heater. The happy ending is that the parts man was outside his house again at 7.30 am to take him to work so that he could valet the car... Nice touch.
( A Lurker jacked up on B3ta on, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 0:45, Reply)

on the walls,sink,bath,toilet,bed...
ok so i'm at a new years party drinking coke,eating cake and it hits midnight.time for bed for all the children (me,my brother and my besht mate).so we all lay there talking quietly when i say "i feel sick".I ran to the kitchen to get my mum and started to throw up so i ran down the hall,hand's over mouth,spraying coke,cake and chips everywhere,and i had two choices.should i go left or right?i went right.i should have gone left.I ran straight into the bedroom and dropped spew on my sleeping bag,ran out of the room,and into the bathroom where i spun twords the crapper,taking my hands off my mouth, spraying the room!

strangely enough i didn't get in trouble and my brother and mate didn't find out about it for 2 days!
(That guy with a hat., Tue 24 Aug 2004, 0:17, Reply)

choco-grape-skin-eye-glue-story
Many years ago, my mate Neil and I ate a few bunches of red grapes and a box of chocolates, before going for a night out on the cider and blackcurrants (we were young!) When we got home, he slept in the top bunk, and I slept in the bottom. When I woke up the next morning, I thought I'd gone blind because I couldn't see anything. Neil had spewed on my face overnight. It had dried in a grape-skin-choco-currant-type-of-glue on my face and had stuck my eyelids together. It tasted fucking great though!
(cuntymints Cuntymints, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 23:33, Reply)

Back when I was a student (as all good vom-tales begin)
A friend in my halls-of-residence gave his stomach a good spring clearout one Friday night, at the bottom of the stairwell connecting two housing-blocks. The next morning, two hundred people got up, and headed for the stairs to go about their day.

A fifth fundamental physical force can now join Gravity, EM, and the brothers Nuclear - it's name is Simon's Ripe Gutsauce. It pushed back all who faced it with such power as to make diamagnetism insanely jealous, and the Cornish tides stand and salute.

The - "smell" is too small a word - remained until the unfortunate cleaners destroyed it with what I assume was a controlled detonation and some form of magick.

After the weekend.

The Bank Holiday weekend.

Three days of... that, staking out the stairwell as its own, occasionally sliding under doorways. The poor fuckers in that building must have felt like Egyptians at the first Passover.
( friendlyfire, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 22:57, Reply)

4 Floors from the Loo.
One humanities lesson I started (for no apparent reason) to feel 'quite queasy'. My teacher (Mr Bob Hunt at WVCC, Syston) thought I was simply being my usual slightly disruptive self. He told me I could not go to the loo.
So I sit there, feeling steadily worse, until I can bear it no longer...
I sprint out of the classroom and into the corridor. I know theres a loo around the corner...
Locked. "Fuck." But I can't hold it, a little puddle of orange vomit later and I'm off again.
I went up and down the maze of staircases, banging on locked toilet doors all the way, leaving more little orange pools.
Heading towards the final toilet in the school I can feel my stomach going again. It's in my mouth. I get to the door. Would you believe it? It's fucking locked.
What do I do? Chuck up all over the door.
( Whippersnapper, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 22:48, Reply)

A few years ago..
seriously fucking cold winter in Wales (-15C is bloody cold for the UK). The usual beer, vodka and brandy. Gets home and launches pavement pizza on to the doorstep. Stepped past it to get in and go to bed. No problem so far, gets up in morning (alright, about 1130). step outside on to now frozen puddle of puke, and go cartoon-style in the air, banged head and back on steps, but nothing broken - thank fuck!
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 22:32, Reply)

Redecoration Vomit
O.K - last one, I promise:

Short story - me and the g/f go out for expensive meal - followed by 5 bottles of expensive wine. Both of us completely sh*tfaced. Climb into bed - pass out.

Woken at 5am the next morning by the sound of her chucking up over the side of the bed.

Now - we've got a victorian house - with nicely done, original floorboards, varnished at great cost. After cleaning up her mess (hey -that's what loves all about- isn't it?) I notice the varnish on the floorboards is starting to peel. Not only that, but the corner of the ceiling in the front room developed a large, green stain where the stuff had leaked through the gaps in the floorboards and down onto the plaster.

I had to repaint the ceiling twice. She is now reminded of this event everytime she says 'Wouldn't it be nice if this room was a different colour?'.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 22:26, Reply)

Tourist Vomit
Just remembered another one - out with the lads (again) - curry, pub, home. Simple plan, only it ended with 6 drunk and confused 20something blokes all trying to get back to East London - finding it easier to navigate by landmark, we spy Tower Bridge and head for that - get halfway accross only for our team leader and navigator (me) to feel an urgent need to upchuck - so over the side it went - landing on the glass roof of one of those tourist boats as it passed below.

I knew sailors liked to use language - but I'd never heard half the words the captain was shouting at me...
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 22:08, Reply)

Birthday Drink
Went out for 18th birthday drink (in the pub we'd been drinking in for two years - landlord was not impressed!) - lads only - so lots of drinking games - triple shots for the birthday boy (me).etc. End of the night everyone back to mine for further drinking/crash on floor.

Wasn't feeling too good - but managed to remember where I lived. New g/f then phones up and asks if I want to go around to her's for, well, you know. Leaving my now sleeping mates at mine - quick sprint to hers and knock on the door - she opens wearing rather sexy number, only for me to vomit all over her feet.

Still - she understood it wasn't my fault...
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 22:01, Reply)

Vomit
After a works night out which included a big meal and loads of red wine, jack daniels and a spliff I got a lift home from a friend of a friend in his dads brand new Green montego Estate. I puked all over the car, the window my jacket and the seat belt and I didn't tell him until he found it the next morning. Needless to say I didn't really care cause it wasn't my car and I hardly knew the bloke. Serves him right for driving drunk folk about on a friday in a shit car instead of getting drunk like everybody else.
( bezmanstar, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 21:51, Reply)

well me and my frined..
we were coming back to my house after having a slight binge in town, and after arriving home i promptly decided i should try and get rid of some of my alcohol load, but it decided to release itself from my mouth instead, 3 hours later my frined cam in to see what i was doing, and after he saw the reborn alcohol, his body thought best that he vomit all over my head, not a nice smell in the morning...
( [DTMX] Fishing hook, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 20:56, Reply)

happy little useless fact...
if you eat loads and loads of the little haribo cola bears because your stoned and havent eaten all day they taste exactly the same coming up as they do when you originally eat them
(Voidedge, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 20:21, Reply)

fish...
i cant stand the smell of fish... there is a point to me telling you this, me and a few friends were in spain and decided to go to a market, little to our knowledge that on the day we went it was seafood special so i'm walking through trying to hold back my puke from the sheer stench, we finally get out and clear of the area and i feel better, so, going into a phone box to call somone my friend steps in too... and starts eating a crab-stick, i promptly vomit all over him, the phone and the floor all because of a crabstick *shrugs*, ok crap ending there but hey
(Voidedge, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 20:08, Reply)

Vomit
Don't talk to me about vomit, I'm the vomit master! In fact, I was puking up purple nastyness at my sister's wedding two days ago, half of which I can't remember, but anyway thats another story.

This one night I walked back home one freezing night, on my own as usual, after 6 shots of a very nasty green drink called absinthe. I got inside the first door of my house, somehow, but there was an inner door to defeat as well. In my drunkenness, I dropped my keys on the porch floor and couldn't find them. Then I turned around, and puked heavily into the porch letterbox. My mum found me half conscious lying in the coal shed outside, covered in puke. Lovely.

Turned out to be good practise for uni though...
(Dufflecoat, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 19:17, Reply)

Tequila, it makes me gassy....
Two more.

On a boozy holiday whilst 18, I managed to drink most of a bottle of tequila, go outside the caravan, lie on the hard pointy gravel and vomit all down myself, whilst my head was tucked nice and neatly inside my t-shirt. Not only had I yakked all down my clothes, but in them and all over myself.

Final one for now, the Wife and I went to a restaurant for valentines. She sat looking like she had been abandonned in front of all the other Valentines day couples whilst my gastro-entiritus relegated me to vomiting up the tiny starter for two hours in the toilets...

Not the best of valentines that was. the next was much better...
(Mr Joe Bangles, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 18:58, Reply)

Blessed are the cheesemakers...
Two incidents spring readily to mind....

The first had no alcohol involved with it at all.

I was travelling back down to University (a 200 mile trip) which I'd take a few hours over, stopping off and seeing friends etc. as I set off, I bought petrol and "snacks" for the trip back, namely a bag of minstrels, a bottle of sprite and a ginsters "Buffet bar", or as I now call them "Hell wrapped in a spicy sausagemeat coating." It was quite a warm summer's day and I chucked all the stuff into the glovebox. Then, after 6 hours in total I arrived hungry at my flat with no chance of an open shop and nothing to eat bar the contents of the glove box. So, I tucked into the Buffet bar, washed it down with some sprite and a handful of chocolate.

10 minutes later I felt slightly odd. The warm confines of the glove-box had had an adverse effect on the filling of the Buffet bar, namely turning it into Bacteria central.

I legged it out of my room and (past the locked bathroom) into the 2nd bathroom in the student block. As I turned through the door lunch decided to go on holiday and I fired everything I had eaten a good 12 feet or more across the room, spraying through my fingers in a nice wide arc and coating almost every single surface, the toilet, shower, sink and recessed window in shit-brown coloured puke.

Then I had to clean it all up.

Lovelly.

Prior to that though, the "cheesy-hurl" was when I was a mere 18 and had been drinking very heavilly one night. The vodka was ok, the murphys wasn't too bad, the southern Comfort and coke was probably a bad choice though, not to mention the Cider, bag of chips, pot and 20/20.

The next morning, my head was tender and my stomach was going through hoops. I decided to first of all drink a pint of milk to calm it down. That worked for a while. Then after 20 minutes it stopped working. I really didn't feel that good at that point. So, as I could feel the acidic presence of intense heartburn, I decided to quaff some antacid and calm things down.

I guess the mix was wrong. A hearty desert spoonful of Bicarb in water hit a rather troubled stomach. It felt ok for a moment, then started to get worse. The reaction in my stomach made it blow up like a baloon and I managed to stagger from the sofa onto my feet before the largest ever belch ripped out of my mouth. The only downside to this was that the bicarb had sank under the now semi-digested milk and forced it up my throat like a, well a shot from a semi-digested cheese cannon.

The smell could only be described using the "biblical horrific" scale! I had to first of all stop vomiting, secondly swallow a mass of it again, thirdly sit there belching for about ten minutes and finally scoop up rancid sloppy semi-cheese from the carpet.

Then that night, we went out drinking again....
(Mr Joe Bangles, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 18:50, Reply)

Big red taxi causes hospital panic
Last Christmas a group of girlies from the office won a night out with a fire engine limousine company. They took us on this massive pub crawl and i got horrendously Dresden-ed.

Went home at 3am, puked everywhere, went to bed but had to get up at 6am to go into hospickle for an operation.

Everything went reasonably well with the op until i came round from the anesthetic 4 hours later and threw up everywhere.

We're talking projectile. I even managed to set off two other women in the ward.

Nurses were running around everywhere, doctors were paged because they thought I'd had an allergic reaction to anaesthetic and i'm still puking. I didn't have the heart to tell them i was actually hungover after a monster night out.

So, to the nurses, other patients, the consultant and that rather worried-looking anaethestist at Queen's Med - sorry.
( Sausagegirl, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 18:48, Reply)

Not a unique story, I'm guessing, but happy memories...
When I was 19 I took a job in a local hotel for the only reason 19-year olds ever take such jobs: I needed the money. The hotel had been closed the previous year (due to some "bad press" when someone had been shot in it), so they were keen to revamp its image from paramiltary shooting gallery to respectable venue. So as part of our induction course, they trained us to make and appreciate cocktails, which involved drinking most of them.

I think you can see their blunder galloping across the horizon. Even in small quantities, a shit-load of cocktails is still a shit-load of cocktails.

Four hours later I stumbled into the house I'd only moved into one week earlier, up to my room at the front of the house, over my sleeping-bagged mate and over to the window, climbing onto the sill because I'd decided that it would be a perfect place to "get some air".

Turns out that air reacts badly with cocktail-lined stomachs, so as my mate sees nothing but a doubled-over, gurgling sillouhette, I broadly yakked all down the red-painted front of the house and over the downstairs bedroom window.

Happily, the house was visible from a large area, so my handiwork was there for all South Belfast to admire. The last time I was back home, it had been painted a nice vomit-friendly colour.
(finassy, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 18:36, Reply)

Last one.
At a party in the lovely town of Horsham about 4-5 years back now it was a bring your own bottle.
For reasons that currently escape me I was not into beer or anything at that time, so bought two bottles of cheap wine - one white, one red.

The party was a complete success, somehow an entire bus of spanish girls turned up and I became very drunk.

Very drunk.

In fact the whole bottle of white went down like a treat, then the red. Then, I went through someone elses bottle of red wine, then a bit of someones on top of that.

OK, I was going to be sick, I really couldn't wait, dashed out the front door, sad on the step, head between legs, chundered like a good one.

Walking back inside I noticed that I'd vomited a bit on my t-shirt. A big red stain.

I was throwing up blood.

I panicked.
I went crazy.

A very nice guy called bob came over and slapped me to be calm - to give him his due it worked. I was throwing up blood. Look at the giant stain on my t-shirt.

Calm down, he said. Have you eaten anything with tomato ketchup in? No, I replyed.

Have you had any red wine?
Yes, I said, two and a half bottles.

You prick! He told me, told me to go to the toilet, clean yourself up, and stop being a baby.

I felt like such an complete idiot. He did however invite me to his birthday party in London the next day, so I must have made some sort of impression...
( djdirect, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 18:19, Reply)

Yarr. Be choppy on the Bay of Biscay
Was on the way home from a holiday in 1992 on a ferry that took 24hrs to get from Santander (Spain) to Plymouth. I don't like ferries. It was my 12th birthday. Bastards.
Anyway... I started off fairly badly being sick in our cabin on a regular basis and eventually decided fuck it, i can't be arsed to stay in a pokey cabin all day and went out and about. I was sick over the side (which was fairly amusing to watch it splatter across the side of the boat), sick down corridors, sick watching 'Memoirs of an Invisible Man' with Chevy Chase in the cinema, though that could have been cos the film. At this point it had now reached pure bile, which doesn't taste or look good. Finally I was sick on an engineer who took sympathy on me trying to get into a locked toilet. I eventually returned to my cabin to go for a rest, when i hear 'Bing Bong. Can Philip Kingston (that's me) please make his way to the canteen'. My mom had asked the kitchen to make a cake for me for my birthday. I stumbled my way there, looked all happy and stuff to receive this cake, and then casually put the candles out by chucking over the lovely chocolate gift.

I try not to travel by boat much these days.

We didn't eat the cake.
(clothtoucher, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 18:15, Reply)

2nd entry, hurrah.
After the last London bash, very entertaining, lots of beers consumed, I pulled a very nice London based aussie girl who I managed to persuade to come home with me. Oh yeah, I live in Cambridge by the way.

We'd been snogging each other senseless, so it wasn't too difficult. The only problem was, that at 11pm I was hammered. Utterly utterly fucked. Holding an bash on a boat where I'm both drunk and seasick simultaniously is a *bad idea* folks.

So we're there going for it on the train (nothing too risque just yet!!!), and I need to go to the toilet.

So off I go to the train toilet.

An hour later I'm woken up by the train engineer in Cambridge sidings who had had to break into the toilet, vomit everywhere, me completely dazed and confused, young lady nowhere to be seen.

What the hell happened?

After he gave me the bollocking of my life I phoned the lass and she's checked into the 30 quid hotel and told she had to be out by 6am (this is at 2am, boycott Sleeperz, Cambridge!) so I ended up giving the mad Indian guy on the counter major grief and he refunded half the money (although I didn't know it was at the time), and took the lady home.

I still got lucky that night. Go me.
( djdirect, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:58, Reply)

When I was travelling
I met an American guy named Adam in Belarus who owned a Dacha - basically a delapadated Russian summerhouse in a farm.

Now, we decided to spend a day chatting and working on the farm nd ended up very happy with ourselves for such 'down-to-earth'ness. We decided that to celebrate, we should drink a few shots of vodka.

Now, I'm not that practiced in Russian style vodka drinking which seems to consist of downing MUGS of vodka one after the other, then licking a garlic freshly dug up and chewing on some pickled cabbage so I had some trouble keeping up.

Adam however was downing for American/Belarussian relations and after 3 litre bottles was decidedly unwell.

He ran off to the toilet - which is essentially a tiny wooden shack (not unlike the toilets in 'wild west' films), with a seat being a hole cut out of a plank of wood, and a 6 foot deep hole dug out underneath this.

He his head over the hole and threw up a lot.

Did I mention that he wore glasses?
No?

Well, they followed his vomit into the hole by accident and unfortunately for Belarus, glasses are extortionately expensive, like 3 months salary for a pair.

So he pushed the shack over, and lay down on the ground with his arm down the hole.

He was not most popular after that, but I did get to laugh my head off.
( djdirect, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:52, Reply)

My most expensive puke
Long story short: went out for an elaborate meal at a top London restaurant (Petrus, for those of you who care) where I ate far too many rich foods and drank far too much vintage wine and armagnacs followed by a drunken wander around Soho smoking a huge Cuban cigar.

Managed to hold everything down during the 20 mile cab ride back out into the sticks but the inevitable came to pass the moment I got the key in the front door with a fine dining extravaganza deposited over my only suit, cashmere coat and Italian shoes.

Conservative estimate of the value of that heave was approximately 200 pounds in materials alone (50 quid just on the brandy), without factoring in the dry cleaning costs.

NEVER again.
(ottaky, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:50, Reply)

When I was 18
I rented a place with two friends of mine. One night all of us where out partying late and brought home a mate who was too drunk to get home by himself. He slept in our living room. When I laid in my bed for about an hour, I started hearing loud noises from the living room, things where obviously falling over and being destroyed, but -being pissed ourselves- none of us bothered to check out what the fuck was happening. After more than an hour of hell happening right under my bed, our mate stumbled trough my room, into the bathroom. When I heard him fall over, I got up and went to see if he wasn't drowning himself. He laid there in the bath, with all his clothes on, in VERY hot water. His smell made me vomit myself, so after I cleaned both of us up, I went to see what had happened.
Now this is very difficult to describe, but I'll do my best. He had vomitted, pissed AND shitted all over our living room; then had launched himself and slid through it on his belly, several times. He had used the brownreddish mixture to make an abstract painting on our wall. He had taken a dump in a bag with clothes and on our couch. The stuff was on the windows, electrical sockets, the tabel, the stereo,... You name it and it was covered in shit, piss and vomit.
Of course everybody who even remotely knows the guy gets to hear this story, even to this day we tell it enhousiasticly to new people we meet. Now it's even on the net.
Serves him right, messin' up my living room.
(miet, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:46, Reply)

I was at a party...
Getting along great with this college student gal I had met... Then I passed out. She got all mad at me for passing out, and left.

I woke up, sans girl, and decided to drink more.

The last thing I remember was proclaiming "F*CK HER! SHE'S A STUPID BITCH!" and chugging the better part of a bottle of vodka...

The next day, I stumbled out to my car to get a pack of smokes, and promptly vomited all over the trunk of my car. The worst part, I didn't remember going to get burgers, but there were golfball sized chunks of cheeseburger in it.
(Floz sells fried objects, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:18, Reply)

Yet more predictable alcohol related experiences ...
but surely worth marks for style.

Heavy session the night before and feeling rather icky I'm driving in the work van accompanied by 3 colleagues. I managed to pull in at a handy layby before I let go, and even had time to wrench the door open and lean out to puke.

At this point it went a bit wrong. I'd flung the door open with such force it bounced back again, closing on my head, or at least trying to.

Apparently you can swear fluently and loudly WHILST vomiting on yourself and into the handy little cassette holding bit inside the door, a skill that impressed all my passengers.

See, I'm not totally hopeless.
(Throbbe, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:11, Reply)

not that much of a story
but when I first left home, I used to live with a mate in squalor, frankly.

After a party, one generous soul threw up all over the pile of washing up in the sink. We spent the next morning happily scrubbing the plates and attempting to squeeze bits stomach lining down the plughole with our rubber gloves.
( thorpe www.voodootrombonequartet.com, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 17:02, Reply)

Etching away..
One chistmas a friend came round with one of his christmas presenst.. a crate of different beers from the loacl brewery. So we drank them - All of them. By this time I was smashed and so was he. More friends turn up and drag me off to the pub whist the other friend (wisely) decided to go home. I have 2 pints of Guiness and try and play pool in the pub, but I can't even hit the white ball. Shorly after starting the second pint it's clear I have to vomit. I go to the toilets and chuck up for a good 20 mins.
During this time my friends are quite pissed and have left assuming I'll just go home. I emerge from vomiting to find them gone. I down the last 3/4 of my second guiness and leg it after them.
I caught up iwth them on the way to another pub, beers in hand, I drink one of the beers and decide the next pub would be a mistake.
I return home and pass out in bed
Unfortunatley I wake up an hour later with the need to vomit again heavily - which I do. Out of the first floor window of my bedroom - directly onto the conservatory glass roof :(
The next morning i have to wash my vomit off the roof with the hose - it stinks and was so concentrated that it actually etched a stain into the glass you can still see nearly 165 years later.
Stomach acid is EVIL stuff.
( Darkedge, Mon 23 Aug 2004, 16:55, Reply)