Shuddering Tales Of Vomit

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
101

My personal worst was at sixth form college. I had an awful migraine and the nurse had to take me home, I just kept moaning “please, please hurry”. I almost made it, but when she pulled up outside my house I opened the window and threw up half-inside, half-outside the car.

The most disgusting I’ve ever seen was on holiday about ten years ago. We were in Gran Canaria and I allowed the rep to talk me into going on one of those organised trip things. Now this one had a free bar and on the coach back there was a middle-aged couple totally drunk, slurring all over the place, not entirely sure where they were. You could see the man was about to be sick and I was praying he wouldn’t do it over me. Then he just vomits all of a sudden, not trying to cover his mouth or be sick on the floor or anything, just sits there and vomits into his lap. He then just sits there staring at it flicking the bits off onto the floor. The whole time the woman with him doesn’t say anything about it but carries on stroking his arm and whispering drunken endearments. Urgh, I mean I was drunk as well, but not that bloody drunk.

102

GFraduatin from Basic training night vomit story:

I had managed to find a female basic grad who was interested in my as I was in her, and we had arranged via mail and brief conversations in chow line to meet at a specific hotel in town the evening of graduation.

After some hassle we did meet up,no big dea there and not much conversation either. I am surprised at myself for not even remembering her name offhand, but i can find her picture and last name in my Basic Trainign Cycle "yearbook. Anyhow, she was sharing her hotel room with another female who while not completely fugly had been unable to “hook up” with anyone else. So she asked me to find someone for her roomate to diddle, which I proiceeded to do.

This was much more diffucult to do than you might image as most of us had been drinkinbg fairly steadily since we got off base and finding someone capable of walking with me to this room and who was not “black or Mexican” (her roomates words, not mine and a possible indicator as to whay she had yet to hook up) limited my choices to one Pvt. Paul Hosler. A cool guy who was thrashed, but capable of walking.

Anyhow, I got Paul to the room, the lights went out and while me and the female I had “hooked up” with were a bit more touchy-feely, Paul and the other female apparently went right to business, grunting and panting began almost immidiately. What follows is an approximate transcript of the next minute of audio:

“ungghhhh!” “ohhhh” Unhggggg!" “ohhh” “Unghh…blughhhhhh!” “Ohh…my god, you get off me!!! Shriek shriek!”

Thats right, Paul could not handle the motion of the ocean in his state and had managed to vomit all over her face and into her mouth. Me and the girl I was with tried to supress the laughter, but not sufficiently well. And that is my best vomit story.

103

I was stationed in San Diego while in the Navy. Me and a couple of friends spent a Friday night doing some serious suds sucking and getting pretty wasted. On the way back to the base, I decided I was hungry. We stopped at a Denny’s, staggered in and sat at a table. Just after we ordered, my stomach began to rumble and I was on the edge of passing out. The smells inside the Dennys were not agreeing with me. I got up, staggered out side and lost everything about 10 feet from the front door. I sat down on a planter with my head between my knees, I was hanging on tight trying to stop the spinning. I heard some voices and looked up and an older couple were walking up to the door. They looked at the mess then at me, To this day, I still remember that voice. Imagine a high pitched voice of a ditzy blonde named Mitzi. “Henry, ask that guy what he ate so I don’t get the same thing.” The next thing I remember my friends are standing me up (I passed out in the planter) and the manager is asking me to pay for the food I ordered. I got sick again and the manager told my buddies to get me out of there. I woke up the next morning laying in the grass next to my buddy’s van in the Navy base parking lot. He put a blanket over me too.

104

Sure, you know: “This wasn’t… supposed to happen!”

As long as I’m posting, I guess I could share a 2nd-party story from college: I was living in a house with three other guys. One of the guys (let’s call him “Jethro”) didn’t drink. Everybody else, including our relatively small circle of friends, did. Excessively. So it usually ended up that one of us would get sick drunk and Jethro would be left to make sure we weren’t 70s rock-star drunk and that we survived the night. One morning after I’d been particularly assinine, I was apologizing to Jethro and he said, “I’ve made it my goal not to graduate until every one of my friends has vomited on me at least once.”

Another friend (let’s call her “Minerva”) hung out with us on occassion but never drank to excess. A few months before graduation, she said that she’d never drunk enough to throw up, and college wouldn’t be college without it. Over the next couple of weeks, we’d have parties and such but she never had the opportunity to get as stupidly trashed as she would’ve liked. Until one Thursday, when a local bar had “nickel night.” (Beer was a nickel, mixed drinks were a dime. Not sure how common that is in college towns, but it’s a baaaaad idea.)

Around midnight I walk out of the bar and notice that Jethro’s just sitting there on the curb. I get closer and see that Minerva’s sitting beside him and is kind of slumped over his lap. I walk up and ask if everything’s okay, they both look up at me kind of bleary-eyed and shout, simultaneously, “I did it!”

105

Ooh, my favorite vomit tale of all time.
I was 6 years old in 1st grade. The place - music class, with a yappy high-strung teacher. Anyway, we’re all sitting in our desks with our music books in front of us, singing when yak, yak, yak, I started throwing up on my desk. And I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there and kept throwing up (and up and up and up).

And the teacher made all the students finish singing that stupid song before she would tend to me. And so I’m barfing and pretty soon, the other students are noticing. Some stop singing and raise their hands, trying to get her attention, and she just nods and them and motions to them to keep singing. Good God! Was the song really that important? I sat there throwing up for probably 3 minutes before she finally said “Okay, off to the nurse you go.”

I have so many throwing up stories though. I was the “barfs all over” kid in elementary school and still have a very weak stomach. I remember the time I gave one great big heave and in just that one heave, orange-colored vomit completely covered my desk. It was amazing, I watched it spread and reach all the corners of my desk without spilling over. It looked like lava, steaming and flowing.

I also remember the time when I was 11, woke up in the night about to barf, and didn’t quite make it to the bathroom. There was a trail of vomit puddles on the kitchen floor, and it was the first time I ever cleaned up my own vomit.

And (I’m really getting into this thread here) there was the time when me, my brother, my sister, and my dad all got sick within days of each other. It was very exciting. The highlight of it came one night when, so far, I was the only one sick. My sister had gone to Grandma’s house that night for dinner while I stayed home sick, and when she got home, she told me about it, the most important thing being that she ate a peanut butter sandwich.

Fast forward to later that night. Now I slept on a pull-out bed beside hers and a little lower. I wake up to a splashing sound and realize I’m wet. (This is when everyone is giong to stop reading, I can tell). And since I am dumb with sleep, I don’t realize what’s going on. Splash, splash! Twice more, right on me. And I thought that she had spilled her glass of water on me, and I was kind of mad about that BUT THEN the smell or peanut butter rose from the oozing stickiness sliding all over my head and hair and neck and shoulders…
AAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAH! OHMYGOD!

And I ran screaming into the shower and stayed in there for about 4 hours making sure I couldn’t smell peanut butter anymore.

Dippin “who wants a peanut butter sandwich?” Dots :slight_smile:

106

Yep one time I threw up freshly eaten Raisin Bran in my mom’s hair as she bent down to tie my shoe. Yuck-0.

107

I have puke stories, one involving me, the other a friend of mine.

1)Way, way, way back when I was 7-8, the family went out to eat on Friday night. This was back when we still had to kinda watch our pennies, so eating out meant that we went to the Roy Rogers in the old Rockville mall. I got a cheeseburger, french fires and chocolate chake. Then for dessert, we went to Friendly’s where I got a grape ice cream cone with chocolate jimmies.

I know, I know, you’re thinking, Grape ice cream, with choclate jimmies?!? What the fuck is up with that?

Hey, I was like 8, 'kay?

Anway, we get home and late that night my stomach decides that grape ice cream and jimmies don’t mix. So,I got out of bed, calling for mom. dad comes down the hall and manages to catch some of the puke in his hands. The rest ended up decorating the door handle and door to my room.

  1. I went up to Pittsburgh for my best friend Kevin’s graduation from Carnegie Mellon. We met up with our friend Howard and Steve. I honestly can’t rmember how much we drank, I just know that Howard and Steve had gone through 2 bottles of Jack n’ Coke by the time we met them. We finally staggered back to Kevin’s apartment, but not before Howard blessed the steps of the Catholic Church down the street with a massive volley, complete with chunks of salsa & tortilla chips.

Back in Kevin’s apartment, Howard was set up in Kev’s room, which was where kev had all of his stuff ie; his guitars, amps, books etc. Kev very nicely got a garbage can and lined it with no less then 2 bags and placed it near Howard, so there would be no untoward accidents.

Wll, at some point Howard woke up and it was like the Exorcist, complete with the head-spinning deal. Howard managed to even get the puke inside the closet which was tricky considering the doors were colsed. After he was done Howard was thoughtful enough to try and clean up what had happened, which meant that he spent the next 2 hours traipsing back and forth from the bathroom to Kev’s room, using a washcloth and a bar of soap. Not the most efficient method of clean up, trusts me.

The worst part about was that Kev’s room got the sun all day, so the stench was unbelievable.

108

I have several stories of vomit so here goes (sorry if this gets long).

  1. This one happened when I was about 7 years old. My parents were thinking of remodeling the house and had invited a contractor/friend over for dinner. This was a very big deal, since they wanted to see how much remodeling they could get for the least possible amount of money, and I had to be on my best behavior. And I was. I was really good. Til about 8 pm. I was sitting in the living room and I was thirsty. I stood up to get a drink and BLECHHH the dinner guest gets the reverse repeat of the meal. (I had no prior warning about this stomach rebellion.) And it didn’t stop. Mom somehow managed to get me into the bathtub (easiest place to contain the mess), clean up the carpet in the living room, and call her mom for help (in the meantime, my dad had disappeared–he’s a courtesy puker). Her mom came over at around 11 (by this point, I’m swimming in a tub full of puke). They made the desision that I needed to sleep and put me back in the living room. They put towels on the floor, a bucket on the towels, towels on the couch, towels on the pillow and me on top of all of that. I was on my side and still puking up stuff (mainly mucus and bile) and was so exhausted that I passed out. And stuff kept coming up.

Fast forward to the next morning.

Parents decide I need to see a doctor, so they take me. Mom had me in one arm and a bucket under my mouth in the other. Next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital (this is about two weeks later), with a very sore back. I’d had spinal meningitis, my back was sore from 4 unsuccessful (and 1 sucessful) spinal taps. The only sign was the constant stream of vomit.

  1. This story takes place when I was about 9 years old. Through some fluke, my uncle had gotten ahold of several gallons of ice cream and had given them to my parents (they had a chest freezer and kids; my uncle had a bachelor pad and no freezer). So, since we had all of this ice cream, what else could we possibly have for desserts after meals? One evening, my dad decided to make super-ice cream cones. Not a triple scoop cone, but like 6 or 7 scoops of ice cream on a cone. I had a french vanilla ice cream cone and it was good. I finished it all.

Of course, bedtime isn’t far off…so I went to bed. And I started to feel really icky. Really bad. And I couldn’t move. I was so incredibly cold. Shivering. I yelled for mom to come…and as soon as she gets in the door of my room, I turn and puke on her. On the floor. On the bed. On my dresser on the other side of the room. Some went into the closet. Some went into the hall. Everywhere. I practially filled a 10’x13’ bedroom. It was amazing how much puke there was.

My mom was so mad that I puked on her. She started yelling for my father to clean up while she took me and showered. As I was being pushed to the bathroom, I see my dad arriving to clean up–wearing pjs, combat boots, and a dust mask. Carrying a shop-vac. I started laughing (and got grounded for puking).

  1. Ah…the joys of being 20 years old. First surgury–to get my wisdom teeth out. Since my wisdom teeth were impacted, the dentist “highly recommended” getting put to sleep for this procedure. So I took his advice. Since I was going to be out for the procedure, an adult had to be with me–so my Dad sat and waited for me. The dentist knocked me out, took my teeth, and I woke up to the assistant telling me to go home, eat something, and go to sleep. I remember my dad helping me to the car. And I remember the ride home (the dentist was a block from my house). I even remember getting out of the car and dad carrying me up the steps into the house. My parents put me in the guest bedroom, and I was almost ready to lay down on the bed and sleep some more. Dad told me to take my shoes off, and I looked down at my feet, looked up at him, and said “I don’t feel good.” And while looking right at my dad, I threw up all over him. Nasty puke–mainly blood and probably some teeth fragments or something. And then I fell down onto the bed and fell asleep. When I woke up, I saw my mom sitting on the bed next to me…she wanted to make sure that the bloody puke was from the surgury and that it wasn’t an ulcer or something else.

  2. Freshman year of college…this was before the wisdom teeth thing. I was 17. I had not yet tested my limits for alcohol consumption, and one night I thought it would be a good idea. So I went to a party, drank 1/2 of a fifth of Jack Daniels (straight…not chased)…then chugged two beers (Guiness, to be exact). Then got caught by an R.A. being drunk, was taken back to my dorm, and put to bed on the floor next to a trash can.

I remember sitting up, and throwing up 3 times into the trash can. As soon as I was through with the third upheaval of puke, my roommate walked in the door. So, I’m drunk, sitting on the floor, holding a trash can full of vomit. And I look up at her, and show her the trash can and its contents and say very loudly “Hey, look! I threw up!” And then stood up, took the trashcan to the bathroom and flushed the contents, rinsed it out, came back to the room. Repeat the exact same scene (of me puking 3 times, showing it to roommate, cleaning up) twice more that night.

For some reason, we didn’t get along too well for the rest of the school year. Don’t know why :slight_smile:

  1. And then there was the time my senior year…when I had a “Marguaritaville” party. My roommate was a freshman…and I was giving her very strong drinks (stronger as I got drunker). Plus, her boyfriend was giving her drinks. Later that night, I see her heading for the door…and I see her hand go up to her mouth. She didn’t make it to the bathroom…she got puke all over her hand, and the door, and her towel which was hanging on the door, and her bed next to the door…and then puke in the hall and around the corner into the bathroom. And all over the stall door and the toilet. I started in the room, and cleaned up her trail. And when I got to the end, she was laying on the bathroom floor, in a pile of her own puke. She looked up at me and we started laughing (and she started puking again from the laughing).
109

My husband and I just got back from Oktoberfest a little while ago. Do I need to continue?

My husband parked me in a little corner between a couple booths with three or four little patio-type tables and went to get ice cream. A couple guys whom I’d swear weren’t even old enough to drink (damn, I’m starting to feel old) sat down at our table with slices of pizza and cups of lemon aid (we’re outside the biergarten, but only just). I notice that the big one (who is sitting closest to me, natch) has put his slice down without finishing it, and he’s sitting there with that eyes-half-closed expression that just says, “Dude, I don’t feel so good,” but I was so absorbed in not making eye contact that I failed to consider the implications. Hubby got back with the ice cream and strawberry shortcake and we were totally oblivious now to the fellows at our table until… bleah.

I was in such a state of shock, that I think I actually thought something like, “well, that wasn’t too bad. I don’t think we have to move.” But then he heaved again. Everyone else is vacating the area, but I’m still dumbfounded. I guess I haven’t been exposed to enough vomiting drunks. Then he heaved again. This time common sense kicks in (and, unfortunately, so has the gag reflex) and I demand hubby get me out of there while choking down chunks of my own. The reality of the situation has finally sunk in for hubby, too, and we left.

But I really wasn’t in the mood for the rest of my ice cream.

110

Two stories:

  1. When I was about seven, I woke up in the middle of the night a very sick little girl. Very sick. Also very tired. Much to weak to leave my bed. Threw up, rolled over, went back to sleep. My mother came in the next morning to wake me up. Have you ever had a beagle? They eat EVERYTHING. I had one at the time. There was a large hole in my sheet where she had devoured both vomit and bedclothes. I was fast asleep, my whole left side covered in vomit. Mom couldn’t decide if it was disgusting or hilarious.

  2. Several years later, I once again woke up very sick. Fortunately, this time I made it to the bathroom. Mom heard me and came out to help. We proceeded to stay up for the rest of the night as I alternately vomited and dry-heaved for about six hours. Around seven in the morning I was mostly done. Went downstairs while Mom made breakfast. Dad was in the bathroom shaving. Conversation as follows:
    Mom: Have something to eat honey, just a little dry toast
    Me: No. I’ll just throw up.
    Mom: No, honey, just a bite? I think it’s gone.
    Me: Fine. (eats a bite of toast) Uh-oh.
    Mom: Get out of the bathroom, Alex! Move it! She’s gonna blow!!
    Dad: She’s fine. She’s not going to throw up, she’s just over-reacti-
    Then I yakked on his feet. Suffice it to say, he was not happy. Mom had to clean it up that time, too.