When I was 18 my 17 year old date got soooo drunk. I really needed her to sober up, and puking is the first step to recovery. She didn’t know how to make herself throw up, and was beyond the point of instructing, so I had to put MY finger down her throat and make her puke. Thought I could jerk my hand out quick enough to escape grossness, but not so.
Hey! Her dad was a cop, and some things you just have to do, ya’ know? I mean, I needed that girl to be mostly sober when I took her home.
You’re not originally from northern New Mexico, by chance?
OK. But I’m spoiler boxing this for a damn good reason. Probably a wives tale. Probably a story filled with holes. Still, it is Definitely the single most gross story that I’ve ever been told, bar none.
You’ve Been Warned.
This is where that tree in ‘Oz’ says “I’d go back if I were you…”
As the story goes, two cops, a 40-something & 20-something, are bull-shiting in their car about ‘whose had the worse call’ stories when they get a call: a report of a bad smell coming from an apartment in the Port. When they arrive and park in front, the manager is waiting for them. He says neighbors have been complaining about a bad smell from 8-C and he thinks its a dead body. Tells them 8-C is rented to a SF in her 30’s who lives alone, hasn’t been seen in a week. He gives them the key.
So, they hump it up 16 flights of stairs (its a walk-up) and they’re already bitching about how its going to be a ‘stinker’. They get to the hall of the 8th floor and get treated to full lungs of some truly funky stink. Yeah, something died here alright, and its ripe. The key opens the lock and they call out, but no one’s answering. And the smell is Really bad now: both of them are gagging a little. The living room/ dining room area is clear. Kitchen too. Bedroom has an unmade bed with a blood stain in the middle of the mattress and a robe on the floor. But the smell really gets worse is they approach the bathroom.
They open the door to the bathroom and there’s a dead body there in a clawfoot bathtub. Nude. And the smell is off the scale. As they walk closer, they can start to see more of the body than the pale bloated head & shoulders and dead arms hanging over the edge of the tub: They see the dead torso inside the tub. And lastly, they see the dead crotch and the legs in the tub. Well, about a week prior, it used to be a crotch.
The female genitalia were gone all the way up to the pubic bone, like she’d fired a shotgun shell out of herself, and the bloody tattered flesh edges were completely covered in what looked like huge pillbug-looking bugs or maggots.
Old cop backs up and starts to desperately keep from hurling. Young cop knows that his hotdog lunch is coming up fast and he heads to the toilet to vomit it out. He lifts the lid, looks in and goes pale. He then vomits all over the floor and stumbles out of the bathroom in a panic to get to the apartment door: He’s lost it.
Old cop is fighting for control from the smell from the body, the smell from the toilet, and the smell from the fresh vomit on the floor, but he forces himself to look into the toilet. And in the toilet is a huge bowl filled with those same pillbug-looking maggots, all writhing all over each other, and over some piece of meat stuck to one of the sides of the bowl. Meat with hair in it. Pubic hair. Yes, the bugs were eating what used to be part of a woman’s vagina.
Old cop loses it. He’s throwing up. He’s scrambling to get out. He’s throwing up as he’s scrambling, making a mess down the front of his uniform. He gets to the door to the hall where he finds his partner on his knees, who has just finished retching. They look at each other, and then they both start retching again…
What happened.
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As the scene was deconstructed after the fact, it appears that the following events took place. The SF in 8C was into some pretty sick kink. Somewhere she had heard or had read that a really good orgasm could be had from the inserted wiggling tail of a dying lobster. Curious, 8C had bought herself a live lobster, drank significantly, and had given herself a bath to get herself ready for a ‘good time’ . Supposedly, she cut the legs and claws off the lobster with shears and proceeded to insert the tail-end of it vaginally, with the intent of getting off on the thrashing. To keep the thrashing going as long as possible as the lobster was dying, she had used a BIC lighter on its head to induce pain (from the scorch marks on the dead lobster that was found in the trash).
Unfortunately for 8C, the lobster was female. And in its death throws, it expelled its eggs into her vaginal cavity. Eggs which she knew nothing about after she’d thrown away the dead lobster and had crashed for the night drunk. Eggs which hatched over the course of that night. The next morning, she woke up in pain and bleeding. She then ran to the bathroom to have her last bowel movement. The lobster young then literally exploded out of her into the bowl, taking some of her genitalia with them. 8C then stood from the bowl, bleeding profusely, and fell into the claw foot tub from loss of blood, where she subsequently expired a short time later.
I love bunnies, but that was one of the first stories to make me.
Actually laugh out loud
in a while. I guess I really AM a sick and twisted fellow.
Last spring, in my Ancient Religions* class – I showed a ‘how to’ mummify someone, a filmed lecture of a professor from Long Island who worked out ancient mummification practices by using cadavers; when he got to the part where he talked cheerfully about removing the brains, one of my students ran from the class, quite pale, to the toilets to throw up (I admit, I scheduled the class directly after lunch on purpose.)
In another class I came close; I was lecturing on the cult surrounding Attis/Agdistis, the consort of Cybele, whose followers ritually castrated themselves when they were initiated into the god’s priesthood. There is a really nice set of bronze ‘nutcrackers’ in the British Museum which I photographed for that lecture’s slide set. Several male students in the class went visibly green, and begged me to move on to the next part of the lecture.
No mummies this term, but I will be covering the Black Death in a few weeks in another class, and I have loads of pictures.
*I teach various courses in Classics and Ancient History as well as the history of rock – I haven’t made any of my students throw up in the music class, but death by choking on vomit comes up of course, including when we watch Spinal Tap (in which case it’s someone else’s vomit).
No, is this something New Mexicans do? “Eee!” as an exclamation of fright and horror was standard in Southern Spain.
I gave my kid Ipecac once when he’d possibly swallowed something dangerous (as it turned out, he hadn’t). Do I win?
I’ve never made anyone else throw up, but I did come close by showing my friends some videos so foul that just mentioning them deserves a spoiler box. You don’t want to find those videos online… trust me.
tub girl, 2 girls 1 cup, and eel girl.
I’ve been made to puke in a manner of speaking. I was back home from a night of heavy drinking, and I started thinking about this girl who I’m flirting with. She has a boyfriend though, and earlier that night she texted me saying she just had sex with him… Yeah, it’s a fucked-up situation. Anyway, my stomach full of beer, I thought about them having sex, and the thought of it made me so enraged and disgusted that I threw up. The alcohol was a key player though… although I almost never throw up when I’m shitfaced.
Anyway…
Wow, that is the rudest, cruelest thing I can think of doing to a guy who liked me! That is worse than when my bitchy friend mailed framed pictures of herself to a bunch of men who were interested in her for Valentines Day despite the fact that she was sleeping with someone else at the time. She just wanted to keep them around in case she got bored with her current man, which I thought was cruel and evil, but at least she didn’t write on the back, “P.S., I’m full of some other guy’s semen right now.”
Actually, I should have described the situation better. We hang out publicly at a Japanese study group, and she is the organizer. She was very late, like over an hour. So after on MSN we are talking and I asked why she was late. She said she was with the BF and that they fought and then had sex. So… it wasn’t as bad as what you just described, although it did hurt a lot to hear it period. I mean… I know that’s what BF and GFs do, but I don’t want to hear it ya know?
Hee hee hee - I thought of that when I saw the thread title. >sigh< Beaten to the punch by one of my fans…
I made my mother retch repeatedly for half an hour after telling her about an incident with my terrier the night before.
He likes to bury precious things in our furniture. If we give him a chew bone that’s too big, it’s a precious thing to be saved for later and I’ll find it tucked under my pillow later in the day. If he finds a particularly stinky old ball in the park, I’ll find it under a cushion on the couch. He’s run in from an evening walk before and jumped up onto the bed with me and tried to bury an old apple core into my armpit while I called to my husband to fetch a kleenex to come take it away from him. The dogs aren’t allowed on the bed but the urge to protect precious things from the other dog seems to invalidate the rule.
I was up around 3am last week nursing my daughter back to sleep, and noticed that the terrier had a precious thing up on the bed with him and he was trying to bury it with his nose in the comforter around my husband’s feet, while the other dog looked on drooling and jealous. I only have a nightlight on for night nursing so couldn’t see what he had, but could see it wasn’t a chew bone, or a ball, or an old apple core. I ordered him off the bed, finished nursing, put daughter down, grabbed a baby wipe and removed the precious thing. All I could see in the dim light was that it was a thing that appeared to have once been alive, as it was slightly furry. I gagged, dropped it into the garbage, washed my hands about 15 times and went back to bed.
In the morning, curiosity overtook and I had to poke around in the garbage to see what it was. And yep, it was an old once-alive furry thing. Whatever it was had been dead a few days at least, and its head/tail/limbs were gone. All that remained was a squishy body about 5 inches long, wet dark grey skin with light brown fur covering most of it, with little red fleshy stumps with bones poking out where legs had been chewed off. I’m guessing either a rat or someone’s dead and buried pet rodent, which my terrier had sniffed out and dug up, then snuck in the house without my husband noticing. So I checked the comforter and, sure enough, there was all kinds of sticky ooog around where he’d been trying to bury it near my husband’s feet. I called husband through while I took the comforter off so he could take it to the local laundry for me. As I was talking to him, I flipped back the comforter that usually covers me, and gave a little scream: my lovely little doggie had obviously jumped onto the bed with his new prize while I was sleeping and snuggled up on top of momma to chew it up. The side of the quilt that covers me while I sleep was smeared all over with shreds of old dead rotting furry thing. At least I didn’t wake to find it buried in my armpit.
Telling my mother the next morning almost had her vomiting, she kept retching and asking for water. I certainly gagged everytime I thought about it for an entire week. Husband is on instructions to check the terrier’s mouth after walks from now on and the terrier’s been wormed within an inch of his life.
Dogs are excellent.
Yes, it’s a variation on this urban legend.
Yep. Mostly for surprise at somebody’s actions, though. It’s usually Hispanic women that do it, and I haven’t heard it much in southern New Mexico.
Someone’s made me puke…
When I was a teenager, I used to go out and drink on Saturday nights, despite my grandmother’s insistence that I go to church Sunday morning. One Sunday, I felt particularly hungover and tried to beg off, but no luck. An hour later, I was sitting on a pew bench feeling miserable. When the choir director asked everyone to stand for a hymn, I realized that it had suddenly become very important for me to not move.
My brother glanced over and saw me turning green and swallowing repeatedly. With a gleeful smile, he leaned close and said, “Julie. Don’t. Barf.” I turned (away from him, unfortunately) and bleeargh gave up a bellyful of vodka and two ibuprofen.
Now I admit that there was probably no way I could have held that puke down, but if not for my brother, I think I might at least have made it outside.
My breakfast is still contained within my stomach, but that was a pretty awesome story.
A friend once told me a sure-fire method to make a very drunk person puke. You say something along the lines of “Wow, you’re really drunk aren’t you. I bet your arms and legs feel all heavy, and slow, like you’re swimming through lard.” Then you go into detail about how the lard smells and feels, and that it’s warm and gooey and squishy. I only tried it once. It worked. Rather spectacularly as a matter of fact.
I guess I’ve watched too many episodes of CSI and read too many Stephen King and Graham Masterton novels, because I thought that lobster story was kind of fascinating.
And the cats batting the bunny parts around made me grin. 
The only time I have felt like I was going to barf due to a story/something on tv/a movie/whatever was watching Fear Factor when they were drinking raw ostrich eggs out of a vase. I am hurking a little bit just typing that, actually. ::vomiting smiley::
Didn’t know it was an urban legend, but I’m damn glad its false & a lie. Still, false or no, it still remains as the single most vomit-inducing story ever told to me. In retrospect, I never should have repeated it, even in a spoiler box with warnings.