Date: 16 Jan 96
From: Badart
So, anyway...it was, i think, wyvon's post about puking in the restroom reminded me...
Second time in the islands...third out of three nights...started off the morning (last) with double crown royal, (on top of the king of island hangovers, of course) fucked off all afternoon (shopping and such):
happy hour: 10-12 strawberry daquiris (weak facking drinks, though!)
3-4 Guinesses with dinner, stout, of course (what, are you kidding?)
Back to the hot tub.
Many, many, many beers later, bar closes.
Finally run out of booze...maybe 2:30 am
Run (not walk) up to the room at about 2:30, grab the bruv's open fifth of Jack Daniel's (supposedly can't take any open bottles back to the states.)
Me 'n Fred are drinking 8 oz cups of JD (on ice). Finish the 1/2 bottle.
Decide it ain't enough (Fred 'n me), hike up to *his* room, (Fred's), looking for his last remaining fifth of Bacardi (the one he was planning on taking home), me bruv (Fred's roommate), goes 'what the fuck you want?' Me, I', fucking stumbling around, trying to find me stinking footing, going 'Fred wants 'is booze.'
Anyway, me 'n Fred do most of the Bacardi, still on ice, 8 oz at a time, in the hot tub, till 5-5:30.
I guess I made it to the room...
*My* roommate, Tony, gets up in the morning and all I can remember is him going 'Fawwwk, I can't take it!'
Fortunately he woke me on his way out.
I go into the john...
puke on the floor..
puke on the walls..
puke in the sink..
in the tub..
in the shitter..
on the mirror..
on the *ceiling*..
I can't say I was proud of it.....
Fack...I *AM* proud of it..
How many of YOU have puked on the ceiling?!?!?!?!
-badart
course, I was sick for the next two days, but...I'm a lightweight...
(snip badart's recalling a story of the islands)
I can't say I was proud of it.....Funny you should ask... Way back before woman turned into two faced, baby eating, fire breathing witches (IMHO), I actually once had a steady girlfriend. Now although she was only 18 and I was a bit older, ok - a lot older, she was still blessed with the ability to consume her fair share of booze. Unfortunately what she considered to be her 'fair share' fell somewhat short of the entrance requirements to our then regular drinking evenings. To top things off it was the house warming party for a very good friend and by 7:30 pm we were well into a rather loud game of quarters where the consumption of choice was vintage red wine, fresh out the box.
Fack...I *AM* proud of it..
How many of YOU have puked on the ceiling?!?!?!?!
After one particularly heavy penalty, i turned to her and noticed that her normally rosy cheeks had turned the green of pond scum and her enchanting blue eyes were bulging like Arny's in Total Recall. A path rapidly cleared in the general direction of the toilet and through the final crack of the closing door, a bright red projectile was clearly visible. Why don't women like puking in public?
Half an hour or so later someone suggested that as her S.O. it was probably my legal responsibility to go and check on the poor wench to see if she was still of this world. Nothing could have prepared me for what lay behind that bathroom door. I'm sure a fully grown goat left sitting on a stick of dynamite (don't try this at home kids) would have left less of a mess. And there she was, red faces from embarrassment, trying to clean the lot up with a Kleenex or two.
Now I'm no materials expert but I have learned one thing - ceramic tiles have an almost magical repellent effect on puke, making them almost self-cleaning while the stuff they make ceilings out of not only absorbs it but also seems to nurture it and make it multiply.
To the day that they finally evicted Richard, that bathroom's ceiling rivaled St. Peter's for pure artistic splendor.
ALAN
(BTW If I'm not mistaken that was the night we consumated our relationship)