Liver Bar Pizza...
Wednesdays were simple when I was at Liverpool Uni - skive morning lectures and go to the Liver Bar to drink with the Rock Society. Along with watered down Carling and Worthingtons, the Liver Bar also used to sell a selection of pizzas and paninis. They weren't the best quality pizzas in the world, and generally consisted of a rock hard base combined with scalding hot cheese, along with other toppings (the Americano had some form of spicy meat and chopped chillies - that's important for later).

So it was a typical Wednesday, and my friend Al and I decided that we were going to make a night of it, and ended up going on a bar crawl throughout Liverpool. Going down the steps to one dive of a club, Al tells me that he's not feeling too well. As I turn around to talk to him (read: tell him to stop being a pussy and get the beers in), I see Al's eyes cross, his mouth purse and his head/neck cock back slightly, in that "I'm going to blow chunks" way. The next thing he did, unsurprisingly, was vomit. All over my arm, from elbow to fingertip. I must have subconsciously dodged most of it, as my body (thankfully) remained clean. I looked down, and dotted throughout the chyme and half digested cheese dripping from my arm were completely undigested, bright red chilli slices. I then faced the unenviable task of washing half my arm in a club sink (without soap, naturally). I now do my best to stay upstream of Al when we're drinking.

Length? It was eighteen months before I could touch a Liver Bar pizza again **shudders**
(Dowbocop, Tue 12 Jan 2010, 19:44, Reply)