I was about 16
A group of us had been out in Birmingham for a few drinks at Edwards, young proto-goths that we were. I started to feel queasy in the back of the taxi back to Walsall, but by taking deep breaths from the open window and maintaining iron self-control, I'd managed to quell the terrible rumblings. We got back to my friend's house and I was feeling fine, so we got down to a couple more beers and a smoke in the kitchen. About half an hour into this I needed a wee, so I started to climb the wooden hill to the bathroom. About halfway up the staircase I realised that I was holding within me a liquid Krakatoa and I sprinted the last few steps into the bathroom. Fumbling for the light I positioned my face over the lavatory bowl, just in time, as the alcoholic wave began to surge forwards.

However, in my hurry, I had neglected one important factor. The seat was still down.

Liquid vomit hit the toilet seat and jetted horizontally in every direction, covering me and the entire bathroom. By the time my friend eventually ventured upstairs to check on me I was half dressed, wringing out hand-towel after hand-towel full of foul-smelling bile into the pan, terrified that his mom (asleep in the next room) would wake up and hear me.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 17:33, Reply)