Puking hell
A few here, actually, cos I do love a good puke...

A mate gave me a lift to our local acoustic night in his Astra van. All of us were given beer for playing, and by the end of the night our group had built up a nice little entourage. All back to mine, I declared, so about five of us crammed ourselves into the back of the van (which still had a drumkit in the back). Someone decided they wanted a kebab, so we stopped and let him out before continuing home. On the way, they came across a whole red chilli in the kebab and we embarked on an a lovely argument about which were hotter: red or green chillies. In my befuddled state, I argued the case that green were hotter, and volunteered to demonstrate by eating this red chilli whole. Seconds later, I was banging on the side of the van demanding to be let out. We stopped outside the Seven-Eleven where I ran in, grabbed a pint of milk to quench the flames and just threw a pound coin at the shopkeeper. I didn't wait for my change, and bolted outside, puking nice milky chilli stuff onto the pavement.

Weeks later, I went to a party with my flatmate, where we drank plenty and ate these little tikka bites. Well, we got back to the flat about 3:30 in the morning, my flatmate was sitting cross-legged on the floor while I sat on the sofa. Without warning, I suddenly puked loads of pink puke all over his lap and feet. He was so drunk that he didn't attempt to get out of the way, and, by now sitting in a pool of warm pink puke, he only just managed to look up to register his disapproval before I puked again, and then once more for luck. I don't think he ever forgave me for that.

When I was a kid, I managed to ruin a family day out.. we were off to the boat race in London, and Mum didn't have time to do breakfast. I carefully selected a McCain's prawn and courgette pizza from the freezer, and put it under the grill. There was still ice on it as I ate it, but we were in a hurry to leave and I didn't like to leave it. We got about thirty miles out before the pizza decided to wreak its prawny revenge on me, and I showered the inside of our hired car with chunder, much to the disapproval of my dad's friend. Dad stopped the car and attempted to clean up, but was not having much success, so he knocked on this complete stranger's door and asked if he could have some warm soapy water to clean the car out with. They were very kind, even giving me some clean clothes to wear - this horrible brown cardigan which, for years after, was synonymous with the puke.

But the best has to be when me and my little sis were both off sick from school, alone in the house while Mum went to work. Little sis started to get hungry, so I offered to make her a tasty nutritious lunch of custard (with the milk added before it had boiled, giving it a thin consistency) with some frozen diced carrots for garnish. Result: sick like you've never seen before - absolutely everywhere - and a lifelong "raw carrot phobia" for my poor little sister.
(colourzoom, Fri 20 Aug 2004, 14:40, Reply)