It all began with the vomit:
Ever the cheapskate, I went out drinking upon one fine Saturday night with the addition of a 500ml plastic bottle full of finest sambuca. Drinking would be cheap! Or, at least, that's what I intended. It all went rather wrong when A got hold of the bottle. He downed half of it at once following about seven pints. It took about ten minutes to hit, but it was spectacular when it did. He went from slumped on the pub table to full sprint toward the bog without appearing to pass through the intervening stages of movement. When he hadn't returned after twenty minutes (during which everyone else buggered off to the club down the road) I elected to check on him.

I found him, totally unconscious, curled around the toilet in trap #2. Vomit everywhere. His shirt, his shoes, his hair, the floor, the walls... You get the picture. Unwilling to leave him to be forcibly ejected from the pub I enlisted the help of another friend and we carried his (fortunately light) slumbering body out of the pub and dropped him onto a bench. I brought my car around and installed him in the back with yet another person enlisted to hold a bag in front of his face.

We had intended to simply drop him off at his front door, but bugger me if he wasn't still out of it. We hauled him out, dropped him in his mum's rosebushes, and searched his vomit-stained body for his key. Finding said key, we hauled him into his house and installed him in his own toilet. At this point he chose to revive slightly and asked for a glass of water. He didn't tell us that his psychotic dog was in the kitchen. We found this out when it woke up and went for us, causing us to levitate onto the kitchen table and call for help, which eventually arrived in the form of his mum.

The point of this story? I would say that the whole episode took about 45 minutes, start to finish.

During this time, he did not stop throwing up for one single second.
( MatJ LOOK, Sat 9 Jan 2010, 22:22, Reply)