"Best Vomit / Worst Vomit"



Date: 05 Feb 96

Hmmm. I'm not sure if I've had a worst vomit yet, as I don't vomit much, but I'm sure if I remembered it, the post I made for the "blackout" thread where I drank all that tequilla would have been my worst.

BTW, I just had lunch with a friend who was at the party and talking about the upcomming party we got to reminiscing other parties. He referred to my "blackout" experience as "the time you and Sully were trying to see how much tequilla you could drink and he ended up face down on the lawn and you were hanging over the sink for an hour." :) Ah, to be remembered so fondly...

Anyway, back to the story at hand: best vomit.

Oddly enough, it happened at the same place as the party, except that Allen and I were just hanging out. We started off at Love and Haight, a local middle eastern establishment where we ate tons of baba ganoush, humus, pita, falafel, etc. Sounds colorful already, no?

We then spent a few hours drinking at some bars in the area. I had quite a few ciders and beers, as there is a good selection and I wanted to try several different kinds.

Getting back to his apt, we cracked open some Sierras and he began the preparations for lighting up. I do not usually partake of the _kind_ as it tends to make me feel ill when drinking, but as it happened, that part of me that remembered this was MIA. "Sure," I said, as he passed it over.

This continued for a while, our talking and puffing, and sure enough, I began to feel ill. It was a slow thing at first, just at the edges of my mind, not actually a physical reality yet. But as the nausia began to take shape and settle down into my stomach, I became aware that hurling was not an option.

Being fully conscious of my state, I didn't want to seem rude and puke up all that already mushy food on the carpet, so I excused myself to "go pee".

As stumbled toward the door of the bathroom, I had to hurry as saliva was dripping from my lips and the impending puke began to rumble in my tummy.

I didn't _quite_ make it, however, I got close enough that the projectile force of my vomit caused it to shoot out of my mouth in a perfect arc that landed right in the toilet. Creamy yellowish vomit speckled with orange-brown chunkies whooshed in there with such perfect aim that narry a drop was left on the seat. So small even was the splash, that Greg Louganis would have given it a 10.

I was amazed. I kept checking for spillage, but it was a clean deposit. Nothing on the seat, nothing on the floor, and damn, if I didn't feel instantly better, too.

So I just flushed the toilet, rinsed and rejoined Allen in the other room.

"I just vomited," I informed him proudly, "not a fucking drop outside of the toilet."

"Cool," he responded in typical half-lidded, stoned Allen fashion, "wanna nother hit?"

"Ah, no thanks," I said as I grabbed another beer.

-s


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