Bilingual...ness and rainbow yawning
Where do I start? The onset of alcoholism was at the tender age of 16, when I got so gloriously intoxicated (in 30minutes!!! Get me!) that I redecorated a local club, had an ambulance called for me (during process of being extracted from said club), and then during my escape from the authorities, continued the technicolour yawn over myself and my best friend. Whilst literally falling out of my dress in the centre of town. No shame, as I hardly remember it!

Roll on a few years, I've been hardened by a year out and one year at uni, so I venture to Greece on my own for the summer. I'm meeting a Greek friend of mine out there, and as she lives with her fella, she lent me her house. To be honest it was all a bit dull, until the drunken incident which caused me to cut short the holiday 5 weeks in...

You'd think I'd have learnt...

We'd not done much drinking as she was always really (infuriatingly) busy. But she was free on this particular night, and we went at it in style. I can't even imagine all I drank, but I tried to get a taxi back on my own, and they wouldn't let me (probably because I was incapable of standing). So I got a lift home. All good right?
I woke up the next, well, day to a flat filled with pools of vomit; vomit on the bed, vomit in the hall, vomit in the bathroom... 7 pools, in all. God bless marble floors! So after dealing with all of that I collapsed in front of the telly, and didn't brave outdoors until I'd slept one more night.
That's when it all went wrong. I was living in an upstairs flat of a house where downstairs was occupied by an elderly lady. When I say I was in Greece, I was in rural, greek greece. They spoke NO english, and my greek was limited to "piss off wanker" and "please give me a kiss". I'd arrived, therefore, in my drunken state, singing and shouting loudly in GCSE French and refusing to speak English, coz I knew they'd not be able to understand that. More horrendous was the fact I'd delivered a puddle of foul brownish stomach lining fresh onto this woman's doorstep. It was still there when I emerged 36 hours later. Covered in flies. Stinking in the summer heat. The utter horror and shame of what I'd put this elderly lady through was too much to bear. I cleaned it up, (retching,)changed my flight and left 2 days later.

I am truly truly sorry, and no, I still haven't learnt.
(Imp of destruction, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 12:22, Reply)

"more scrumpy!"
1x bottle absinthe
1x bottle aftershock (red)
1x bottle bacardi
an awful lot of beer
and two extremely large and suspicious bottles of some murky looking liquid labled 'Scrumpy'
some* pills* (*indeterminate)

the four friends imbibed this booze fest whilst 'enjoying' bucket after bucket after bucket after bucket... it got late and things began to go wrong. I myself wandered into the nearby field and suffered a mighty panic attack whilst shouting at a cow - staggered back to the house to find 'D' doing the 'stab in between your fingers with a big knife' game but getting it messily wrong. 'E' was asleep in a chair, calmly I thought until he suddenly shot up and stated, 'more Scrumpy!', whereupon he went outside and into next door's front garden. He then walked right up to their livingroom window and roared an obscene amount of sick onto it and the nearby flowerbeds.
'A' was sitting in the bathroom, in the toilet, big sickie grin round his chops and in his beard. I looked in the direction of his smile and saw a tiny little poo in the bath. It was only small, but it stunk and it made me do a little sick. then 'A' did a sick. then 'D' came upstairs and saw us sicking and he made a sick too. After our communal sick we all felt better, but still twisted so we went downstairs and 'E' was sat on the front garden - he was holding a cat and sicking on it.

No apologies for length because you love it.
(lemonymillenniumbaboon, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 11:58, Reply)

Don't mix painkillers and wine....trust me on this one
15 years old, fresh out of hospital (tonsilectomy- hadnt eaten in 4 days), my friends decide to take me out to celebrate- cue lots of wine and merriment.
However, an hour before going out, i take my codeine - good stuff, don't feel any pain- and lie to my mother about where im going.
After downing about a bottle of cheap plonk, the room starts spinning and so does my head, and for some reason, i lay into my then boyfriend, hitting him, swearing at him, and getting both of us chucked out. So we are out in the street, still arguing, when i feel really queasy, and proceed to puke red stuff all over him, like something out of the exorcist, screaming at him between mouthfuls of bloody vomit.
Wake up back in hospital- apparently after chundering, i collapsed into a pile of glass because the bastard boyfriend walked away from me- and get a severe bollocking from the nurses.

Good night though!
(cookie_freak, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 11:22, Reply)

Hmm cocktails. Bit lumpy, though
My worst vom must have been the one someone else drank...

Cocktails make me vom. Especially when they have tequila in them. I've no idea why; I've never got riotously drunk on tequila. Well, that's not actually true, but I never got drunk enough to put me off the stuff. Still makes me vom, though and I don't even need to be at all drunk for it to happen.

Anyhow, so I'm at my mate's wedding banquet; a Chinese tradition adopted by foreigners in Hong Kong; basically dress up, eat lots, get pissed, go clubbing, possibly end up in some go-go bar in WanChai the following morning. We were at the clubbing stage of the evening.

I have several stupid friends who think shooters are clever and don't know of my vom-allergy to Tequila. Sure enough a round of shooters came round and, not wanting to appear a "girl" I held my breath and sucked back on some orangy concoction. Still not sure what it was, but it was enough to activate the sick trigger.

Didn't even reach my stomach; Leapt back out immediately it got to the lower reaches of my throat, my stomach adding some well considered bile to the mix, just to warn me for next time.

I am fairly used to this happening by now and can usually catch the offending output in the glass it came from but it was past 2 and my aim was off. I caught about half of it in the glass and the rest went up the sleeve in my really fucking expensive suit.

I staggered off to the loo to clean up, hoping that the bile wouldn't have eaten the lining in my jacket by the time I had sponged it off, then rejoined the party ensuring that I stayed on lager for the duration. Craking evening, finishing at about 6am and deftly avouiding go-go bars; always a plus with a wife to explain youirself to.

I found out abouit a week later that someone had thought that I had thrown up exclusively down my sleeve and had left half a drink.

After exploring the subject of why they thought this and why it might be important / amusing, I discovered the truth; my bosses wife had necked half a glass of my vom.

My boss knows by now, I believe he will take the secret with him to the grave, though.
(Freegan Bikefascist, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 10:48, Reply)

Blue Elephants and soul-crushing despair:
After partaking of a fine lamb rogan josh from a certain Indian eatery in Aberdeen which shall remain nameless (but with a fairly hefty clue as to its moniker in the subject-line), I was feeling fine and dandy. For about an hour. Thereafter, I was plagued with stomach cramps of an increasingly violent persuasion, forcing me to the leave the pub and take to my bed in a girl-like fashion. After a couple of hours tossing and moaning, I decided there was nothing else for it: I HAD to stick my fingers down my throat and be delivered from this universe of pain. Crawling to the bathroom on my hands and knees, I finally made it to the bath, before my intestines exploded. I wasn't just sick: I was sick to proportions previously only seen in German fetish movies. It came out my nose, my ears, my arse, my fingernails, covering the entire bathroom in cardamom-scented vom. Then, weak and debilatated from copious outpourings, I staggered back to bed, leaving the contents of my stomach plastered across the bathroom for my flatmate to deal with when he hoyed in some hours later with a lady friend.

I haven't been able to look a lamb rogan josh in the face since.
( furry numnah has returned from the dead (but her profile appears to be mightily fucked), Wed 25 Aug 2004, 10:34, Reply)

the worst vomit
it was a friends 16th birthday, and being 16 at the time i was young and stupid. so after a weekend of solid drinking i turned up with my drinking buddy, i personally got through a bottle of archers, a half of vodka and half a bottle of imported ouzo. then i set to work on about half a case of carling. normally i'd just be out of my mind, but then the weed got broke out. i had a plentlyful amount, including buckets. this send me under no-end. to which i was handing my mobile to people at the party saying i was going to die, ring an ambulance. i chatted loads of crap about smell vibrations, then passed out. i awoke two hours later and as i was lay on my back i vomited vertically, spurting chunks into the air, to whcih gravity came a cropper and covered me in it. to which my friend whose party it was had to clean and change me. then i was lobbed outside and threw up on the grass and lay in it. what a party!
(vegeta, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 10:28, Reply)

All At Sea
A bunch of us went on a day trip to France, one mate only drinks spirits but on seeing the extortionate prices he was told that unless he subbed the extra he would be bought lager same as the rest of us. We were all rather pie eyed by the time we got on the ferry home however this one bloke started to look a bit green when he was boarding the boat. One minute later he was giving the ferry a browny orange go faster stripe all the way down the back of the ferry.
During the trip he and the less sea legged mates all went below deck to concentrate on keeping the contents of their guts down whilst the rest of us hit the fruitys and had a few more drinks.
Later the same mate was seen trying bundle through passport control not showing his passport, obviously he got called back so I went to help him out as he was still seemed to be very pissed. He looked at me very worried and said that he had lost his passport I asked had he checked the carrier bag he was clutching. He said yes but I checked anyway and found his temporary passport (this was some time ago when you could get a cheapy cardboard passport) sticking out of about 4 inches of fresh vomit in the bottom of his bag. So we managed to hand the passport over to the customs officer who opened it gingerly holding the top corners of the passport.
(C64, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 6:36, Reply)

Group Reading Time
I think i was about 7 at the time. In the morning I was feeling unwell but my mother would always make me go to school no matter what. So she made me eat an orange and sent me off to class.
An hour later it's group reading time - you know when you used to sit around on the floor in a circle and take turns reading from your books.
Now it was my turn to read and the nervousness tipped me over the edge... I opened my mouth but instead of words orange liquid projected forth spraying all the poor kids in my circle and their books... oops.
(flash, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 5:50, Reply)

Fabric Softner and cheap champagne...
Drunken Teenage Party...you know like the ones n the oc...apart form all the beutiful tanned people.only pale ugly motherfuckers still suffering the after effects of teenage acne.anyhow my m8s parents were away for the week and we were going through a groupie stage (humping anyone that could play chopsticks on a piano you know) any how...being the only girl still a)awake b) hadnt poulled yert and c) drunk enuff to do anything to impress 17 yr old boys who were "musicians"I was severley drunk after winning a bottle of cheap champagne by winching my best m8 on the stage of a nightclub. Bores me how drunken people are so mmpresed by faux lesbinaism....anyhow were playing a game of "donkey" with 5 other guys (the game where you through a ball and if u dont catch you r a D...and then f u miss again your a o...until you drop it enuff times and your donkey? you get my drift) anyhow being a drunken girl with no co-ordination it was me who was the donkey. My forfeit was either sacrifising my virginty to a band member or......drinking a shot of fabric softner, I went for the fabric softner option hoping to immpress the boys with the rockhard stomach and not through it up. 4 secionds after the fabric softner burns down my throat i run to the toilet and spew up the soapest sickness iv ever seen in my life. all over my m8s new toilet. Was in the toilet.the toplet paper the curtain.s EVERYWHERE to this day i cant look at fabric softner without feeling sick.
(StrangeKristine, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 2:09, Reply)

Probably
the last ones -

When I was at university, the rag committee had a drinking contest with the rugby club to raise money for, amazingly, rag. Two teams of ten, one keg of beer per team, first to finish wins free drinks for the rest of the night.

I was on the rag team (which won, possibly because at least two of the members were actual, non-metaphorical alcoholics), and quite early on we gained a crucial advantage over the rugby club when someone realised that after the first two pints or so, your stomach was completely full and there was simply nowhere for the fresh booze to go, so from there on in you could puke each pint up almost immediately. So we did. In fact, we half-filled a proper big plastic rubbish bin with spew. In, as I remember, under fifteen minutes.

The annoying side effects were that we were all stone cold sober again within half an hour, and none of us except the alkies could face even a half of shandy.

At the same venue a year or two later, some bright spark on the bar committee decided to have a Buckfast promotion, 50p a glass - a proper tumbler. Really fucking bad plan. The toilets were awash with vomit and piss by the end of the night, with both cubicles and the floor in front of the urinals occupied by unconsious blokes covered in crimson sick.

But the most spectacular casualty was a woman who was standing at the bar waiting to get served when she suddenly lost control of her right leg and lurched sideways at immense speed. She of course tried to keep her elbows and arms on the bar, so she slid along it, knocking drinks off as people leap out of her way. Her mate caught her at the end of the bar, at which point she started to throw up. And kept doing it as she was hauled off to the ladies', leaving an impressively broad trail of puke the colour of congealed blood across a good twelve feet of carpet.
(Wong Fei-Hung - now with added flickr.com (see profile), Wed 25 Aug 2004, 1:58, Reply)

College Vomit
I was In buisness studies, A thursday, I had done my usual shopping in the supermarket next to college for cakes and things, So I had sat in the lesson armed with a box of profiteroles a liter of chocolate milkshake and some Sponge cake. Feeling a little worse for ware, I had a sick Burp, I clamped my hand over my mouth thinking if I can get out of hear it will be ok, It wasnt every one looked at me when I stood Up and so This thing I thought was just a burp wasnt It was the full blown thing And then The worst happened I was sick some more and my hand being where it was I sprayed it all over my face, I was so Embarresed and covered in vom
(The kilted Ninja, Wed 25 Aug 2004, 0:41, Reply)

God I miss University,
When the American re-make of The Ring came out, I decided to have a large portion of homemade Chicken Tikka Masala (the bright red stuff) before I watched it. Me and three of my housemates enjoyed the film, and two them and me decided to have a little drink. One of my house mates opened a nice bottle of red wine (13.5%vol). We had half each.
The other housemate who stayed up opened a bottle of white (12%vol). We finished it off between us.
At this point I bring out a bottle of something you can't buy in Britain. It is called Ron 151 and is made in the Dominican Rebublic, my mother very kindly bought some for me. It's called Ron 151 because it is 151%proof (or 75.5%vol). The Dominicans call it 'petrol' because you can run two stroke motorbikes off of it. (this is god honest truth!)
One hour later, all 75cl of the Ron have been drunk between the three of us, NEAT. This is when we started drinking the shots of Archers.
I will now take this moment to say that I have an alcohol intolerance.
I remember bringing up the thick and red, rice pudding textured vomit up in the downstairs toilet, the upstairs toliet, in my bedroom, on myself and then things get hazy. I wake up in the living room the next day with my white T-shirt now a nice shade of red-brown. There is sick outside on the Patio, on the stairs and in my pants (?).
It isn't long before I start bringing up Bile (which my housemate proudly got a photo of). After a few hours I brave walking upstairs to my bedroom to be greeted with a large pile of red rice and a room that smells of nail varnish remover (that's the ron).
It took three clear weeks to get rid of the smell, and some careful explaining to one of my lectures of what the red flecks on their text book was,,,,,
(syrtismajor is comfortably numb and has been worrying the populace since 1982, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 23:24, Reply)

Worse for my mate
Myself and a few friends were out at the local shitzy ritzy when I felt the sickness take over me. Sensibly I made my way to the gents to cast out this demon. The journey to to the toilets seemed to bring me back to my senses and I managed to hold it in for a bit, so I made my way back to my seat.

On my return my friend got up to go and drain the lizard. Unfortunatly in his absence I had come back down with a beer fever. This time it wasn't staying down and I puked into a pint glass.

When my mate came back I pretended to have a sip of this foul real ale and said "urrg, this beers weird, try it" I passed the warm brew to him, he took a look, then took a gulp. When asked what it was I smiled and proudly said "my sick"

I should of had a punch in the face that night really and for some reason the guy is still a friend. Oh incidently we left the pint in a prominant place, so be careful minesweeping in clubs.
(manky dog, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 22:33, Reply)

i've had a few, but my friend's is better...
a friend of mine was a keen marijuana smoker, taking it into school at least twice a week, keeping it all to herself ( damn her!). During an art class one day, which was after lunch and so after her spliff, she made a gargle noise and proceeded to cover her mouth with a cupped hand, and then ran out of the class while everyone else kept clear away from her, she then hurled a mass of sticky brown puke over the railings outside, all of it landing on a salt-grit box. everyone had seen it as the railing was in front of a window, and so we all saw her stomach contents defy gravity for a few seconds. she got suspended for a month after that...i think the puke is still their, just a bit more crusty than it first was, that's all...
(rainmaker is 98% lurker., Tue 24 Aug 2004, 20:52, Reply)

my worst pukes
i am a rare soul who does not drink or get ill all that often...in fact, i have clocked myself as having a really bad puke about once every five years. so much time goes by in fact, that i almost forget the proper procedure. one of my last pukes involved me leaning over into the toilet so far that more vom was forced,lazer-like, through my nostrils than even spilled from my mouth.(which burns horribly, by the way)
most recently, and for the second time in my life, i had such extreme food poisoning that i actually puked while sitting on the toilet, therefore puking and shitting at the same time. and wouldn't you guess, the exact same fluid/material came out both ends. i felt like i was being turned inside out.

so, sorry, no embarrasing public hurling stories, just painful ones. thanks
(travbot, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 20:07, Reply)

A couple of puke stories
These are not me. Really.

1) My old friend (who I realised how much of a little bastard he was and I have left for dead) was complaining about stomach pains during lunch time. It was the first day of Year 9. Well, he was keeling over and screaming. We all laughed at him, as you do, yknow? Screaming 'Ha, you're going to die', and other things to that effect to try and squeeze maximum entertainment from the situation.

During next lesson he sat ouit the office, and tried to get sent home. He eventually did, but only after he spewed the contains of his ghastly stomach over the headteacher's shoes.


2. Every school has a weasily kid, you know the kind. Unkempt, and covered in a light fuzz, who speaks like a twat. In Year 2, I had the pleasure of speaking to this prick (he wouldn't piss off! Thick shit), when suddenly, his stomach growled and a firey monstor erupted out. I run back to avoid the oncoming jet of molten puke, but strangely, it didn't seem to come. He was covering his mouth with his hand, which only resulted in the build up of vomit spraying out of his nose.

The little pansy's mum was a dinner lady, and she of course rushed over to her son's aid. He removed his mouth from his hand, and the idiot actually spoke. Because his lips were so protrusive, they acted as some sort of ramp to the sick, and it shot into the air as if he was some sort of statue that sprays water throuh a little whole in their gob.

Oh, and I puked over me sisters coat once. Cow.
(Randall4k, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 19:56, Reply)

Not mine (honest)
But worth sharing.
I was at a party quite happily drinking with some mates. We were getting really quite nicely drunk when Mike started making his famous punch, famed trhoughout the land for tasting just like fruit juice but about 25 ABV. The recipe is a litre of wine, a litre of cider and a litre of lemonade measured in a handy jug. I had a few glasses and thought I would stop, but my friend went that little bit further.
One quick hamster impression later we knew he was going to barf, and he went for the nearest container available, the measuring jug and filled it with one litre exactly of vomit.

Never have I seen such a precision display of chucking. Gold medal effort :)
(crackshot, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 19:02, Reply)

Is drink related.
Apologies in advance for lack of length as I can't remember the details.
This particular evening ended in me hanging out of a first floor window wearing only my pants whilst calling out for Huey whom I presume is on the street immediately below. The bathroom door was directly opposite said window and open, I don't know why I had ignored it. Then housemate comes out of his room, eyes up the situation in one and says "I see you're busy mate".
The bit I can't remember is everything leading up to that point.
(nonproffessional, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 18:32, Reply)

Sausage beast? Only after a Khyber kebab...
I am one of the frequently mentioned people that takes a lot more alcohol to knock down than most people, which has meant I have had front row seats for many hilarious incidents involving my mates and their small stomachs.

The best time (that I can remember) was when we were having a house party at a really posh house that belonged to my friend's step-dad. We were all about 16 or 17 and decided to dabble in the mysterious world of super-strength lager. I must have brought about 25 tins of spesh, and many more people had various alco-pops and other sugary monstrosities. My friend (let's call him Jake) has had a reputation for being a lightweight, so naturally, many people were challenging him to drinking contests. He must have downed about 7 or 8 tins of lager and a few alcopops when he decided that he was feeling a "bit ill". He frantically searched for something to hold the vomit which was inevitably going to make an appearance, but could find nothing. So he ran over to the concert-sized grand piano in my friends house and heaved away into that, before passing out underneath it. This in itself was a capital offence, but when we saw the volume and consistency of his bile (it was like treacle and smelled like death) we knew that it would go down in the annals of history. Needless to say, when the step-dad found out, we were never allowwed back round. Shame really, because it was a wonderful little venue...
(shady_dave, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 18:24, Reply)

well
This one is short and sweet. I was about 9 or 10 years old and I didn't feel well. I was sitting around downstairs doing the family thing, when I realised I was going to vom.

I ran upstairs to the bathroom, but I felt like I couldnt hold it in, so in desperation I put my hands over my mouth. Vomit (chunks 'n all baby) proceeded to shoot out of both nostrils, covering the walls either side of me. By the time I made it to the toilet I was ok. Bonus!
( mugatu, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 18:23, Reply)

I just remembered another one
i was ill sometime earlier this year and i hadnt been sick for about eight years (yes i hate it that much i will do most things to avoid being sick ...) after three days of being ill my mum gave me blackcurrant tea ... i hate that stuff at the best of times and about a minute after ingesting a load of this crap, i was sick all over the bathroom ... :) purple vom ... yummy.
needless to say i havent been ill since. :P
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 17:45, Reply)

Not drink related.
In my school I had the misfortune of contracting the deadly motaba virus! At least that's what it felt like at the time. Anticipating I may not be able to make it to 5ft period physics I calmly made my way to the phone in the new school foyer just recently redecorated with shiney tiles and what appeared to be carpet on the walls. Don't worry, I didn't stain the freshly carpeted walls and leave them stinking forever more which I'm sure you're expecting.
Instead I managed to consult the school secretary on a plan of action, phone home and arrange a lift, talk to the secretary again to explain why I'll be leaving early that day. saunter over to the expensive automatic doors before feeling man's natural magma force it's way up and out. I swear I tried to escape school before the vom escaped me but it was too strong.
I keeled over and poured my injured insides' contents back into the foyer. I lay there for a few seconds regrouping my pride and strength but then noticed the tiles had been laid very well, all level with almost no roughness in the grouting.
It spread.
The rice pudding from lunch was quite liquid and ran well in all directions. I backed off and so did other pupils. I looked up from a kneeling position to see the secretary's view of the floor was hampered by her new stylish desk/counter/lecturn thingy, she couldn't see the impending doom and so run for her life. I tried to warn her but my throat was still partially full. Onwards the tide crept like The Blob, except instead of containing partially digested bodies it was itself partially digested and once contained in my body.
Luckily some girls came to their senses and called the authorities, the caretaker came and put newspaper on top of it and put a "Caution! Slippery floor!" sign up. So the world was saved from a man made threat of an advancing acid sea
(nonproffessional, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 17:12, Reply)

xc racing
a while ago (well, last year to be precise) i decided to do a few xc races on my bike.. the first few went fine, leaving just the last 'official' race, and a 24 hour affair (much in the style on le'mans, a relay of 4 people partaking).

anyways, the morning of the penaultimate race, i decide to have a tin or 2 cos im hungover. start the race. unfortunatly descover that fizzy beer downed quickly + lots of bumps is a bad combo. stop and chunder. its a really really hot day, so i start drinking lots from my camelback (kinda a rucksack with a bad full of water in, and a hose to your mouth, gives you a back, like a camel. haha). its got a 3 litre capacity, so i drink a load thinking im fine for the race. chunder again. get on my bike and start riding, take a drink and a minute later feel the need. cant be arsed to stop this time, so chunder over my shoulder, only to hear the puke reply 'oi!'. look round to discover not my puke, but one of my 'team' for the 24 hour race, with a puke covered front wheel. snigger and carry on going, with a general cycle of drink, wait a min, puke. now xc races have 'technical' sections in, which often feature 'chicken runs' to allow riders to take a slower, but easier line round, if they're not feeling overly confident. i decide that puking on each of these is a good idea, as if xc riders cant ride tricky sections, they deserve to ride thru my puke. get completely dehydrated and finish the race in a miserable position..

forward a month or so, and i'm at the 24 hour race, which features a short road section. drink a few more tins (i dont learn quickly), and manage to chunder a nice long line of spag bol on the road section.. whilst going about 20 mph. leave a 30yrd long trail of tomatospew in my trail, and handover to my mate, who comes back off his lap and simply says 'told you that beer was a bad idea'. smartarse. the vom lasted the remaining 19 hours, and as far as i know may still be there to this day.


sorry for the incredible unfunnyness, but fellow bikers out there might find it mildly amusing. the length:girth ratio of this post is incredably worrying when viewed fullscreen @ 2048 res...
(5lab, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:55, Reply)

My worst vomit...
...6 and a half years ago... I am a youthful 18 years of age, naive, quiet, shy, not much of a drinker.

I find myself living at university in Liverpool - away from home for the first time in my life. It's just a couple of months after term started and I have yet to find my drinking limits. The night starts with a few quiet drinks with my friend and his sister. We head to the student union to continue drinking. After some 12 bottles of lager we decide to go home..

We arrive at the flat and I collapse on to my bedroom floor. My friend leaves me and I crawl to the sink. I throw up in the sink... And on me, the floor and the bed. I eventually collapse into a drunken slumber.

I am rudely awoken at 12pm by my friend with four words set to drive fear into the heart of many a student: 'Your parents are here!'

The site that greats them is their son covered head to foot in dry sick, his bed is also crusty... and to top it all off... The sink including the previous four nights crockery is in inch deep in lager based sick mush.

My mothers firts words? 'So, you had a good night then?'

My dad took me to a pub for lunch and offered me a pint.
( beefandcheese, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:49, Reply)

*hwork*
My little brother, on Easter Sunday, overindulged in chocolate bunnies. So when Mom piled us all into the car for the weekly Sunday drive, my brother commenced to vomit brown liquid all over the car. And it's a fact - chocolate stains NEVER come out.
(i.am.jamie, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:44, Reply)

Not mine, but worth sharing.
And shared it was.

I think the place was Hickstead park, though it was a long time ago now, so I might not be correct with the name. They had amusement rides.

The one I enjoyed the most resembled a large walk-in top-loading washing machine, which about 10 or 12 people could fit in. It then span very fast, and the floor would drop away, the centrifugal force holding you well and truly against the wall.

After enjoying a pleasant spin cycle, I hung around to watch the next load of merry punters.

I guess one of the riders had a bit of a dicky stomach, as when the ride was up to speed he let hurl. A good projectile when stationary is a sight to behold. It can only be topped by going round and round very fast indeed. Everyone got a bit of it, including the guy who'd chucked in the first place.

I have to admit, I was a little disappointed that it hadn't set off a chain reaction of vomming, but it certainly brightened up my day a little.
(Glis, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:42, Reply)

Imagine the Scene...
You're a middle aged couple sitting at a bench on the outskirts of a Northumbrian Village. Life is peaceful. The sun is beginning to set over the rolling hills and the birds a chirping. There is literally not another soul around for miles.

In the distance, you see a car making it's way down the road. It's the first car you've seen for a while, as it so gloriously quiet where you live. After a short while, the car starts to draw close, and you notice a young man sitting in the passenger seat. He's leaning out of the window, and it looks like he might ask you for some directions, but the car isn't slowing.

As the car reaches you, the young man in the passenger seat proceeds to spew hits guts up all over the path, splattering your shoes. The car continues down the country road without slowing.

My apologies to the couple in question...
(Dr Jonah's website is rubbish, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:32, Reply)

drunken hippy
I was once on a train home from uni (way up north, Durham in fact, as if it fucking matters) and I was amusing myself by watching this drunk hippy sitting on the floor, playing a set of bongos. He kept muttering to himself about "the butterflies" and such like, and his general weirdness attracted the attention of a big bastard Geordie sat opposite him, and his pet dog sat on his lap, who promptly started taking the piss. As he was wankered, and a hippy, he didn't really retaliate, and I started to feel sorry for the poor sod, as weird as he was being, cos he wasn't really doing anything to anyone. The Geordie stands up, goes right next to his face and starts ripping him, and I'm thinking, if only someone would do something.

The Geordie is laying into him, so close to his face his nose is almost in Hippy's ear, when all of a sudden, Hippy turns white and vomms all over the mean bastard. Geordie stands up, "What the fuck, man?" and sparks Hippy in the face. Being pissed, he hardly felt it, and being a hippy and weird, he retaliates in the only way he can think of - by grabbing the dog, chundering all over it, and giving it back.....

Needless to say, the whole carriage breaks out into applause...

(Be kind, first ever post!)

EDIT: I've only just realised how fucking mean that was on the dog, but it was worth it to see the look on the bastard's face!
(Hammer Time, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:31, Reply)

One to tell the Grand-kids
It was about a year ago and me and a few mates were on a regular mid-week after work piss up. Many, many beers later and we decided to head back home. Now I was feeling pretty worse for wear at Charing Cross station but the up and down, side to side motion of a moving train was just too much and I was about to vom any minute so I’ve got up and made my way to the only toilet on the train.

Bear in mind that this was one of those old style trains with a whole carriage dedicated to four or five 1st class compartments and a small corridor running up the side, and the only toilet on the train happened to be at the end of this corridor. Now I could feel it rising in up my throat as I made the last few fast paced steps to the toilet door, only to realise once I pulled at it that it was locked and someone was already in there.

Top Tip: If You need to throw up on a train and the toilet door is locked, DO NOT try chucking up out the window. They put bars across these things to stop drunken idiots poking their head out to puke so the best I could do was to sort of hold my mouth up to the open window, let rip and hope for the best. It didn’t work. It went everywhere. The floor, the walls, up the compartment windows and doors, everywhere. I don’t think a single chunk exited the train the intended way and the only thing worse than owning up to this was the walk of shame back though the newly redecorated corridor and the evil looks and shaking heads of the people in the 1st class compartments who witnessed it…
(Beefs, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:24, Reply)

...and she was ginger
A few moons ago I had spent a quiet evening in with girlfriend at the time in our lovely, and not at all manky student house. We'd gone through a fair old variety of drinks, vodka martinis, red & white wines and there was a possibility of a wee toke-ette as well, if my memory serves me correctly. Which it rarely does.

We staggered up to bed and did what drunk couples tend to do. We made a hald arsed attempt to get on. We both passed out mid-way. A few hours later I was woken by a prod to the head from me bird who was feeling sick. I staggered up, and went to get her a glass of water & a bucket.

Just as I reentered the room she looked at me in a fairly greenish way and threw up all over the bed, herself, the duvet, pillows, the floor. everybloodywhere. I left her sitting there, and started cleaning up a bit. I wasn't best pleased as you can imagine as I wasn't too steady on my feet. A few not entirely pleasant words were exchanged. She started crying, and continued to do so. So hard she pissed herself. Just after I'd put some clean sheets on the bed. Nice.

I obviously thanked her for help and assistance in matter. To make matters more amuising the next days was my third day in a new job & was so tired/hung over I got sent home with a 'if you ever fucking turn up like this again find a new job'. Woo and, indeed, yay.

Both my length & Girth have been sung about by bards through the ages.
(Lord of the Pies, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 16:05, Reply)