Let’s try this again. My hosting company torpedoed our last attempt, by losing more than 20 comments. So, I deleted that original post, and now invite you guys to again share your legendary tales of upchuck. I don’t believe we’ll have similar problems this go ’round, so have at it!
I’ll prime the puke pump by telling a quick one of my own…
During Jr. High a kid jumped to his feet in Social Studies class one day, double-timed it to the front of the room, grabbed the teacher’s garbage can and vomited with gusto and high volume. Needless to say, the other kids howled in protest, and the teacher flew off the handle:
“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE?! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT THIS BOY IS SICK?? YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES!!” he shouted, from deep within his Hemingway beard.
Then he told the kid (Kevin) to go to the clinic, and said he’d be down to check on him in a few minutes. Kevin left the room, and the teacher was pacing around. We assumed he was still mad at us, barely able to control his rage. But, a minute or so later he said, “Is he gone? OK, good… Ooooh, god. Did you see that? I think it was a baloney sandwich and bean with bacon soup.”
We busted out with laughter, and a splendid time was had by all.
There are other stories, some personal (at least one featuring Long Island Iced Tea), but I’m going to turn it over to you folks now.
Please share, or re-share (sorry!), your tales in the comments.
And I’ll see you again soon.
Have a great day!
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1981 New Years Eve. I was a Freshman in High School. I turned up a bottle of Vodka and can only decipher the rest of the evening based upon a few moments of clarity. I remember being pulled out from under a truck with vomit all over me. I remember being pulled out of a car because I had barfed all over the backseat. I remember being held up at the carwash and getting hosed down with the pressure hose. I remember my Mom pulling me inside the house by my hair when my friends took me home. (she was not supposed to be home) Long story short, My mom threw me into the shower and then into my bed. She had to get me out of bed again around 5 am because I had gotten sick again in the bed. The next day my Mom took me to my Grandparents farm because she wanted to shame me by having my them see me in this shape. I couldn’t even make it into the house. My Grandfather came out and told me to run down to the pond and that would help me finally get “everything” out. I walked down there just to get some peace. I made it about half of the way down there before I dry heaved a few times and then fell asleep right in the middle of a field. When I woke up later I saw shadows all around me. I rolled onto my back and there must have been 7 or 8 buzzards circling me in the sky. I was gone so long there were two trucks out looking for me. I had been out like a light in that field for 6 hours. For the next 6 months all I had to do was see a beer can and I starting feeling sick. Good times.
My most embarrassing puke experience was throwing up out the passenger side window while going down the interstate after a date. This was the first date with this guy. Needless to say he didn’t ask me for another date. I can just imagine what that side of the car looked like.
Too bad he didn’t ask you out again. Your pride was then stripped and you would likely have done just about anything. Right! Wotta dummy….or maybe I’m just a sociopath.
When I was about 8, my younger sister and I shared a room. We were in bed and it was about 3 AM when I realized I had to puke. We were in an upstairs room so it was a long trip down to the bathroom, but I wouldn’t have made it if it was across the hall. I leaned my head over to crawl out of bed and started puking. My sister began screaming for our grandmother. I was covered in sweat and taking shallow breaths, so I couldn’t do much talking when she got there. My grandmother was yelling about poop on the floor. I kept trying to explain what happened, but it just wasn’t coming out right. Luckily my sister witnessed the whole thing and she said, “Granny, I saw her puke that shit out of her mouth!” I don’t think she would have ever believed me if it hadn’t been for my sister. It happened one other time, only with no mess or witnesses. I’m sure there’s a name for what happened, but I never looked it up. I hadn’t even thought about it much until now.
As an adult, puking involves explosions out of every available exit in unison. I only do that once every 10 years or so. I’m not sure which is worse, though. Probably diarrhea in my mouth. Blech!
My most recent puke story (I have many from college that will remain untold for now, and I don’t want to write a book). Wife and I went to a concert at the IL state fair. Because I know people that work there I got us into a private area where they had restaurant sized machines filled with what we were told was vodka and lemonade. She was designated half-drunk driver, so I pounded them down. About ½ way through the concert, she slurred at me that I had to drive because she was too wasted. We got home with the aid of friends. Didn’t realize why we were so wasted until a few days later.
Got home and I blew chunks all over the bathroom. Made a colossal mess, unsure how I missed the bowl so badly.
Next morning, she got up for work, and I said, don’t worry about the bathroom, I swear I’ll clean it when I get home. She evidentially didn’t hear me and somehow did NOT notice the destruction I left behind. I got my bleary ass up and went to work, and when I got home…
The wife says, ‘the lady from the tile company came over and measured for tile’.
OMG you did NOT let her in the master bathroom did you? Yes why?
Wife screamed when I took her into the bathroom and showed her my masterpiece from the night before. Puke was all over the toilet, tank, walls, floor.
She obviously was still drunk while getting ready for work because she did not notice any of that!
The sales rep did her measurements and made a hasty departure. Never said a word.
We live in a mid sized town, and to this day I wonder how many people that know us heard the story that rep told about how vile our bathroom was. From guilt more than anything we gave her company the business for retiling our bathrooms.
Oh, the reason we got so wasted? Our ‘friends’ substituted Everclear for vodka and didn’t’ tell anyone!
These stories happened to friends. THEY ARE NOT ABOUT ME
My good friend to this day is Ronny. Ronny is a pretty big guy. When boxed wine came out in the 80’s he tells the story of going to a party. “It started out I had a box o wine, then I had a belly o wine and ended up a backyard o wine”.
My friend in college had a car that smelled of barf. She had driven to a party with her friend. On the drive home her friend suddenly leaned forward, cupped her hands to the sides of her mouth and barfed into the dashboard vent. My friend ran a garden hose down the vent but couldn’t get the smell out. Later her friend told her that she was trippin’ and thought the vent was a garbage can with a slotted lid.
My favorite puke event was at an outdoor party. Looked over at someone moving his head back and forth. He finally leaned over to the window to puke and came to the realization that it was closed. Looked really cool from the outside.
This is the last time until next time.
———-
When we were going from Iraq to Afghanistan we flew map of the Earth, once we got into Afghan airspace. Map of the earth is where you keep a constant altitude over the ground, by going up and down with the contours of the surface.
Up and down. Up and down. Over the mountains and down into the valleys. Up and down. Eventually it started getting to a few people. Then it started getting to more people. And finally someone threw up. Now, let’s stop right here to give you the layout of the inside of our C-130.
The seats aren’t like commercial seats. The rows are along the fuselage. One row along each side of the plane facing inward, and two rows (back to back) in the middle of the plane facing outward. The rows are like long benches the length of the plane with no arm rests or partitions. The seats are like a net of some sort. They are very comfortable, it’s like you’re sitting in a hammock/basket sort of thing. Anyway, the fact that they are nets and facing each other is important here.
So, someone threw up. Since they were facing the person across from them when this happened, the person across from them got a lap full of puke. They also started to vomit. This all happened within a second or two. For some people the site of the puke was enough to set them off, for others the smell did it. Just like that, a chain reaction of regurgitation blew off like a geyser that would put Mount St. Helens to shame.
Ground beef and chunks of carrots were everywhere. It was in people’s hair. Most people had up chuck on their skin that wasn’t from their own stomach. People tried to avoid throwing up on someone and would just throw up on someone else. I had a puddle of ejected chunks in my lap and on my feet that had the DNA of me and at least three other people. People couldn’t stop. It was like the wave at a ball park. You’re your section finished voiding their guts, another section would start and it would comeback around to you. The thick ass stringy mucus of the gut gravy was hanging onto the netted seating. It was a nightmare of belly juice. Even the well seasoned flight staff were retching.
And we had to just sit in it. We were in the air for another hour or so. The sour foul stench of vomit from 40 people was thick in the air, like a tangible entity seeking revenge simply for existing. As we went up and down steep climbs, little rivers of hurled refuse would slosh back and forth. People were moaning and in pain. Some people were crying. Every once in a while you could hear someone try to involuntarily push out a heave and succeed only in a dry painful lurch. Everything was ruined.
When we landed, we had to clean the plane out with hoses and brooms. It was pretty bad.
“And when I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.”
I apologize, but the hoses brought that to mind. Peace.
Ya, it’s actually “Nap of the Earth”, but whatever… I hate C-130s.
My favorite story of puking. Period. My sister, at about age 7 had the flu, with liquid out both ends, felt the need to puke while having “to go”. It sprayed like a fire hose behind her. All over the wall. When asked why she disnt puke in the trash can, “I needed to puke, you puke in the toilet.”
When I was 10 or so I was in the cub scouts and my group took a trip to the Shiloh civil war battle ground, about 2 hours East of Memphis. We were in one of those church vans that has 4 rows of bench seats. The kid sitting behind and to the left of my Dad jettison his McDonald’s without warning onto my Dad’s left shoulder and the left side of his head. That in turn made my Dad puke. We pulled over and cleaned up the best we could. I think we had to stop somewhere and get my Dad a new shirt. I’ll never forget him sitting in that van with his shirt off . The part that makes it so funny even to this day 30 or so years later was him yelling Goddamnt! trying to dig a chunk out of his ear with liquefied Happy Meal dripping from the inside of his glasses.
The scene: a summer company picnic with lobster, warm Bud Lite, horseshoes and cigars….the temperature was in the mid 90’s with very high humidity. I ate two crustaceans with an unhealthy amount of melted butter along with at least 6 glasses of soul hydrating beer. A buddy suggested that we team up and challenge some other guys to a game of horseshoes. During the “practice” round, he hands out Marsh Wheeling cigars. We spark them up and, even though it tasted like burning hair, it kept the pre-Zika mosquitoes away. I was planning to drive home after the match but by that time the effects of the meal, cheap beer and jungle temperatures had me second guessing my meal choice and my travel arrangements. Still puffing that stupid cigar, I get into my Buick beater, roll down the window for some fresher air and step on the gas slowly going down the rural road as not to draw undue suspicion. One last drag on the cigar…the damn thing suddenly popped and a blaff of cigar tar thwacks me right in the uvula, that hangy-downy thing in the back of your throat. I hastily toss the cigar out the window and begin Bassett drooling as a prelude to the inevitable main event.. Now retching, I come to a stop, hang my head out of the window and blow my guts out. Being on the right side of the road, my puke fest was visible to all passing cars. Lots of honking, “are you OK?” comments, laughing. I did not care. I just wanted to stop puking but the large amount of consumed food/beverage made for 7 or 8 “reloads.” When done, the taste in my mouth was epic…sour beer, slimy lobster all mixed together with buttery cigar tar. I drove the few miles home at about 12 mph because my eyes were still watering and I was post-puke panting. I ‘fessed up to my wife when I got home but I don’t think she was listening because she was laughing so hard. Despite many cleaning efforts, my beater Buick smelled like cheap cigar smoke and sour beer until it died the following summer.
Picture a 6th grade classroom. Pretty standard rows of desks. One desk in the room was bumped right up against the teachers desk. She called this the “Dunce Seat” This was in 1986. I occupied that seat 4 times that year. You’d usually end up for a weeks stay for being disruptive or some other asshattery. My second time as a guest I got a stomach bug. I could feel it coming on and asked to go to the bathroom. I was told to be quiet or risk another weeks stay in the Dunce Seat. Less than a minute later the projectile vomit shot all over the Dunce Seat and her desk. Two other kids also puked from witnessing my evacuation. All future bathroom requests were granted with haste for the rest of that year.
Another McDonald’s moment. The big one on the Las Vegas strip, circa 1989. My now ex-wife force fed my 6 year old nephew a double cheeseburger and fries, down with copious amounts of Coca-cola. from the look on his face, every bite was a struggle and I became increasingly sure we had not seen the last of his meal. We start walking back to the car and he complains about being tired, so I hoist him to my shoulders. I pulled him up too hard and the back of my head pressed onto his stomach. Well, you know what happened next – warm liquid half digested burger and sandwich, mixed with the dark brown soda, began pouring out of his mouth onto my head and face, down onto my shoulders, – not a single drop reached the ground. The puke version of a bukkake scene. I had to go back into the McDonald’s, strip my shirt of in the men’s room, and wash from head to waist in the sink. It took about half an hour to get rid of the stench and dig every burger nugget out of my shirt. Over and over I was dry-heaving, and to this day I do not know how I stopped from losing my dinner as well. When he got home, my nephew raved to all his family and friends about puking on my head. I think the only saving grace is that this took place before smart phones so there are no pictures.
Not anyone I know, but this is beautiful. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1LI7ndOcGU
I’m the same Patrick that wrote of the Shiloh shot heard round the world. I thought of a couple more. We were having a Y2k new year’s eve party at my buddy Glenns apartment on the 11th floor of the high rise he lived in. We were trying out his new Keg-r-ator by taking turns doing keg stands. One dude, on becoming heads up vertical again, stood there swaying with his cheeks all proofed out like Dizzy Gellespie. We all in unison started shouting NoNoNoNo! Somebody had the foresight to open a window. From witch the New Castle Brown made a streak all the way down the white stucco to about the 3rd floor that was there for months. The next one was when my son was 2 1/2 ish still not potty trained but my wife got him some “non-leaking, waterproof”, diapers so we could take him to the pool. I’m hanging out with him on the steps, he’s splashing and playing. Then I noticed a brown swirl in the water. Not unlike what you see on shark week when they throw chum in the water. I snatched him up out of the water and proceeded to check his drawers. My friends,there is no such thing as waterproof diapers. The moment I laid eyes on a stew of toddler poo and pool water , I immediately lost it, and began to puke on my own feet on the side of my aunts pool. While I was doing so I heard my wife in the background saying something smart aleck like ” What’s the matter , they’re waterproof”. In between expulsions I managed to get out a “Fuck You”.
My ex (that bastard) never changed a dirty diaper…ever. One Sunday afternoon, I was allowed to go shopping with my friends for an hour or two (very limited length of time). Hubby stayed home with our year old son, putting him in his crib and then returning to the den to watch football (it was winter and COLD). When I got home my son came running to greet me at the door…totally naked and streaked with shit all over his body and even in his hair (what little he had). When I walked into the nursery, there was shit smeared all over the wall behind his crib like he had been finger-painting. The crib and mattress were covered in the foul, pasty substance. Seems as though my son had done a righteous dump, reached into his diaper and proceeded to have a go at it since Daddy wouldn’t get him out of his crib to play. It took me hours to clean up that shit! This incident should have been included in the divorce papers.
Patrick, you deserve some kind of award for all the puke you’ve had to deal with. I love you, man.
Any of you freaks live in Salt Lake City?
I’ll be in Lehi tonight signing titties if there’s anyone to hang out with.
So the state of Alabama won’t lower their flags to half-staff in memory of 49 Americans gunned down in a hate crime. There are three or four people in Alabama who can read, and you’d think they’d explain the circumstances to the governor and the rest of the crackers.
NOW I have a puke story.
John
It’s only one county, not the entire state of Lamabama. And shouldn’t you focus instead on being grateful Our Founding Fathers provided us with the means to keep the population in check by granting us the right to bear assault weapons?
Clueless,
You’re right. Washington and Jefferson really kept those slaves a-dancin’ with their AR-15s.
To be fair, if I owned a plantation full of pissed off slaves, I’d want an AR15 too.
You know Jeff’s been away too long when I dream about him. I called him up, he came over and we shot the breeze. I was the most sane dream I’ve ever had. He looked weird though, kinda like Stephen King.
Hey John, on my laptop my horse disappears. Same info, different machine. Suggestions?
Hi Reva,
Just a wild guess or two . . .
1) Your laptop might be clearing cookies on shutdown and/or startup. I don’t know exactly how Gravatar saves its avatars, but I’d compare the cookies settings between the two machines.
2) Make sure the email address with which you identify yourself to the WVSR is the same on both your machines. Your Gravatar is associated with your email address.
3) Every avatar image has a “rating” like a movie, G, PG, etc. I’m not saying your horsie is anything other than a nice G pony, but Gravatar might be getting confused about the rating nonetheless. Here is a page where you can check the email address you use on your laptop to make sure the rating is consistent with acceptable use in Gravatar:
https://en.gravatar.com/support/gravatar-locations/
4) Find a way to vote 4-no-Trump. It probably won’t fix your avatar, but I’ll sleep better at night, and as we grow older, we need all the quality sleep we can get.
My love to you and your herd,
John
Know what John, you have to use the correct email for Willie to show. Thank you very much.