Back of a bus, aged 10.
No, I'm not talking about the loss of my anal virginity, but the worst vomit ever. The vomit itself wasn't so bad - it was mostly liquid and the American mustard I'd had on the offending hot dog lent it a delightful neon yellow shade - but the timing, direction and control made it quite spectacular. I vividly remember the initial spurt nearly missing the respective left and right shoulders of the people in front; the second heave landing in the aisle but not cutting off in time to spare my jeans; the third, which I decided for some reason to put into my hand, thought better of, and dropped (long strings of saliva now connecting mouth to hand and thence to floor); and last wretch slapping off the edge of my seat.

The bus was on its way downhill at this point, so the stream quickly splashed its way over the step and pretty much all the way up to the driver's seat, running between the chairs of my fellow passangers.

A dog gave it a taste. People tutted and sighed at my mother. Vomit-flavoured steam rose in the cold winter air. The bus had to be decommissioned and replaced at the next stop, which was all well and good, but nobody up the back was able to get off without walking straight through my puke.

BONUS TIP: If you think you're about to be sick, guzzle down some cold cola. Not only will this trigger it and get the ball rolling, but it tastes ace on the way back up.
(EastAnglianswine can see your willy, Tue 12 Jan 2010, 18:52, Reply)