Dude, nice purple javellin.

I’ve got a nice shirt I really like. Excuse me, I had a nice shirt I really liked.

Yesterday, we had a ample-sized party at our house for many of our neighbors and friends. They’re wonderful people and it presents for me an opportunity to laugh my ass off for hours on end. Cool.

We put a huge bowl of Texas Caviar 'n chips out, as well as some Spinach/Artichoke dip and Wheat Thins. Expecting two dozen folks, I included a case of Cokes and Fat Tires in the cooler and opened a bottle of white and two reds. Time to relax.

Guests began to arrive and I wandered in from the patio to make sure all the air conditioning types are properly hydrated. I know many of these people and the fact nobody’s had a sip of wine is downright bizarre. Not wanting to be stuck with multiple bottles of good wine going flat, I turn to trusted friend Lonnie and suggest we switch from beer mode to grape. He concurred with a smile.

20 minutes later when he and I were only a half glass into our quest, my wife came out and said “Honey, where’s the corkscrew?” Huh? “We need you to open some more wine for us.”

Heh, I go back inside only to witness some of our most genteel, reserved neighbors with empty cups and shit-eating grins on their face. Ditto for the imbibers. For the next three hours we caught whiff of more neighborhood and spousal titterings and gossipy chat than you could imagine. Well, maybe you could.

Point is, everyone had fun and the impaired neighbors walked home while the impaired spouses were driven home by understanding husbands and wives.

In bed at 11:00, I awoke at 2:15 just wide-assed awake. No chance of going back to sleep. It really wasn’t a problem because today was to be a “research day” when I read up on coming trends so fellow employees can tell my dumbass how astute I am. Cool again.

Downstairs, I look out at my freshly slabed and rocked patio with the beautifully landscaped yard beyond and figure “What the hell, let’s empty that last third from the Cabernet bottle and appreciate some nature.” Did I mention that I was a dumbass?

Shortly thereafter, I laid down on the couch to slumber until dawn. I then immediately rushed to the bathroom to turn on the light and lift the lid. Just in case.

Ever want to get sick? Be an idiot and lay down again. I dare you.

We’ve all seen Olympic javellin hurlers. The style, the grace, the power, the distance. I embraced their form this morning. Leaping up from the couch, I reared back and began a vicious spring towards the kitchen sink, the bathroom being waaaay too out of reach. Keeping my knees high and my face locked ackwardly back in a 45 degree panicked stare, I sprinted towards the hardwood line to begin my toss. Approaching it, my body compacted forward and launched the purple projectile in a slow motion arc that met the back of the sink with the grace of a water balloon. It was at that point that things turned violent.

My garden hose has an attachment for disparate watering types. There’s Shower, Mist, Full and Spray. I’m going to rename * Spray* as Spew because it’s much more fitting. With the kitchen light on so all my sympathetic neighbors could see me, I did my Abs Of Steel wet heave spew routine into the kitchen sink for a baker’s dozen. Lovely. The garbage disposal even managed to muster a bit of resistance when employed. Then I crawled back into bed and kissed my wife goodnight.

So this morning I’m up making coffee and trying not to Weeble when said wife comes down into the kitchen. “You spilled some wine on your shirt” she says. “Oh” says I, the eloquent bastard. I walk into the bathroom to assess the damage and “Aaaaaaaarrrrgghh” see the purple effing “SPEW” stain on my left tit. Not a drop mind you, a permanent purple effing vomitous spray on my previously cream colored Banana Republic knit.

I don’t mind a little wine stain, even on a nice shirt. It’s what morphs them into yard workshirts and is completely acceptable. “Hey lieu, d’you fall on a grape?” “Naw Fred, I was enjoying a '94 with an exquisite bouquet while using the belt sander and… well… you know.” But strap me to a paint mixer and I couldn’t explain this stain any other way than I chucked on myself. I mean it’s a fan-shaped, empty cranium-originated spew of purple that would make Ahab wince. Gah.

When will I ever learn to avoid Barney tit?

Feh, drink white.

That was very entertaining. I wouldn’t have drank that much wine I don’t think anyways. Stuff just gives you too nasty a headache.

Ah yes, my husband had one of those incidents, which he refers to as ‘the night of the purple fountain’. Claim you heard someone say something funny while you were drinking wine and you sprayed a little; that might be believed.

Purple fountain, huh? Maybe that would explain “a vicious spring toward the kitchen sink” when I’d meant to sprint.

Puking in the sink is kewl. Unless you’re SO is draining her recently watered plant in there.

Every plant deserves a periodic infusion of Miracle Blow.

I rolfed red - or was it pink - all over my brand new North Face down jacket on my 18th birthday. That was unfortunate. I feel your pain. Just stand back a bit, I don’t want to smell your pain.

Yeah, like this was actually going to be a track and field related thread.

Shoot, I can’t even linkity-link to the headline about the kid getting hit in the head with a discus.

Entertaining nonetheless. As usual.

The bonus being that even replies contain witty repartee.

Sorry about the shirt, and I hope you’re not feeling too much pain today.

Based on some of lieu’s other threads, especially in The Pit, I thought the “purple javelin” in question was going to be something completely different.
Which explains my fear when I read “I’ve got a nice shirt I really like. Excuse me, I had a nice shirt I really liked.”

Naw, I’m okay. With wine, like many things, it’s often better to give than to receive.

I did feel bad for the eggshells already in the sink though. When I was done it kinda looked like some twisted Chicken Little joke.

That really makes me laugh, brondicon. I’d not considered that possibility.

I thought you were going to talk about cars. I had a '72 Javelin once. Nice blue one. Drove it into a cornfield doing about 70. Only damage was both rear shock absorbers were shove through the trunk floor. The owner made me pay a buck for every corn plant I knocked over. Cost me $224.

He was sour about the mash, eh?

Dude, I thought you meant someone drove up in one of these!

Well Oxy, that’s pretty much what it looked like coming out.

Yesterday I couldn’t find any Spray 'n Wash or 409 for my shirt but I did find some Windex and it seemed to do the trick.

Strangely, it was my wife that got sick this morning, although from a virus or something instead of vino. Problem is I’d gone downstairs and pinched a monkey tail just beforehand. She came back up and told me she’d just gotton sick.


You just stuck your head into the same enclave where I just built a sturdy fort with my Lincoln Logs? Ugh… now I’m gonna be sick again.

See? Do you see what I mean?
That’s the kind of thread I was looking for!

Oh, so you thought I was going to say “I just crapped my shirt”?

Man, I’d be famous.

Hey, that’d be an even better trick than snorting a string up your nose and pulling it out of your mouth!


Um…was that a good faint?
Or a bad faint?