Vomit: a religious experience
When I was 19 I was living in a shed in Israel. One night after working my regular shift at a beach cafe I went out and, like the highly cultured traveller I was, had a couple of pints of Guinness.

There must have been something wrong with it, as a mere two pints had me feeling queasy, and when I made my hasty retreat back to the shed I instantly began throwing up. In fact I couldn't keep anything down, even a sip of water, and it wasn't long till I was performing eye-popping, sphincter-wrenching heaves, which continued even as I was dragging up a mere pipette's worth of evil green stomach fluid.

When it finally passed I was totally spent, and I threw myself on the floor of the shed and sank into a hallucinatory fug of waking nightmares - where my boss in my old job at Asda was stuck in an endless loop shouting at me to shift a load of boxes of produce across the warehouse.

Writhing around looking for a way out, I glanced at a sheet draped over the wall to my right, and in its folds I discerned the face of the Son of God, Jesus Christ. 'Holy crap,' I thought. Could this be a sign? My redemption? Had the Lord our Saviour returned to carry me away to a better place?

My puke-addled mind soon performed a beautifully illogical leap: the next person to walk through the door to the shed would be Jesus.

Five seconds later the door opened.

'Holy crap'.

In walked Warren, my shed-mate.

What did it mean? This was too much to be a coincidence. Surely Warren couldn't possibly be Jesus...

I don't think so. He was a short, weird South African who rode a skateboard, and we used to shower together.
(leonard_weather, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 9:49, Reply)