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)