I don't have many vomit tales starring my good self
as for some reason, I have been blessed/cursed with a strong stomach. Sometimes I'd love to hurl my guts to relieve stomach aches or hangovers, but I very rarely do.

My mate's different though. He's got better recently, but a couple of years ago he was a total lightweight when it came to drink, and almost always ended up boaking his ring towards the end of the night. I've seen him spew up large clumps of doughy pizza, horrific guiness filled bile and once, he even made a little design on the road after a few beers.

The best ever, though, was on a night out in glasgow. As the night drew on, the bar closed and I found myself on my own. Both my mates had disappeared, as it turns out one of them had managed to make it about haf a mile to George Square with a young lady he was determined to get to know better. My other pal had simply gone outside to phone him and see where he was, which is where I found him. Surrounded by a group of terrified yet spelbound onlookers. He was having a loud telephone conversation that went something along these ines.

"Alright? *HEEEEEEEEEEUUUUURGH* Where are ye? HWWWWOOOOOOAAAAURGH* *cough* *cough* Eh? I canny hear you..... *BLOOOOOOOYUUUURGH* what? Oh aye that was me, I'm bein sick *FLLOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEURGH*"

Right in the middle of the street. With about 20-30 people standing gawping at him. The amount that came out was easily twice what he had put in too, I'm sure of it.

We then nipped accross the road and had chips and curry sauce.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 4:50, Reply)