Open window for ventilation.
My own vomiting CV has been pretty textbook stuff to be honest. I will now and again overdo it and find myself talking on the big white telephone- usually the following morning. For the purpose of a more interesting tale, this is the experience of watching somebody else liven things up a little.

Whilst at university, on one occasion I left the student union and boarded a district line train home. District line trains are big buggers with plenty of room in them. I had a four seat section (where the benches face each other) to myself and from my vantage point I could clearly see the end of the carriage. Sat slumped at the end was a barely concious guy about the same age I was. He had clearly given it both barrels that evening and was in a bit of a state. Nevertheless he had kept some awareness of his condition and had opened the drop window in the door that seperates the carriages. From time to time he would sit upright, then stand before hurling out of the window. This innovative approach was definately working, as his clothes, shoes and indeed the inside of the carriage remained entirely vomit free. A few stations after I boarded he seemed to lapse into a deep sleep.

At this point, a group of three couples boards the train and sits in the same part of the carriage as our hero. One of the ladies is wearing a dress I could swallow without the aid of a glass of water and was complaining about the cold. Her chivalrous partner immeadiately slams the dividing window up and closes it.

You can of course, see where this is going.

Our drunk friend awakens from his slumber a few minutes later and proceeds to repeat his sound vomiting process. Only of course he does so to a closed window with six people sat around it. The results were pretty horrendous- he had excellent velocity and the resulting splashback was also moving at a creditable pace. The vomit is essentially blasted to fine droplets and reaches all of the new arrivals with the effectiveness of a heavy aerosol. There is a moment of silence broken only by the sounds of the train. The protagonist looks down at his splattered front and then around at the shellshocked group of people before brilliantly slurring the legend "it's for ventilation" before grabbing his bag and exiting the train at the station it was then pulling in to. Whether it was actually his station or whether he was simply trying to escape a beating remains unknown to me. He left his startled and cowed victims covered in a light, cloying layer of sick. Perhaps it was as well that I also left the train at the next station as they were starting to liven up and at least two of them showed signs of wanting to vomit themselves.

Length? Temple to Mile End. Twenty two minutes on a good night.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 10:02, Reply)