What’s the nastiest thing you’ve accidentally done?
Mine has to have been this morning… I woke up, got dressed, and wandered through the kitchen on the way to check my email. I saw a bottle of what I thought was Diet Pepsi on the counter, and thought I’d just left it out overnight. So I decided I’d take a swig, and put it back in the fridge.
I’d forgotten that I’d cleaned out the old deep-fryer oil and put it in the bottle the night before.
So I took a big gulp of old, rancid used fryer oil, complete with weird little fried up black chunks, and swallowed it before I realized it.
Probably in common with more than few young males hanging out with friends that used chaw/“snuff”, I once grabbed the wrong coke can and ended up with a mouthfull of someone’s tobacco spit ( my stepbrother’s in this case ).
A couple of months ago, visiting my grandparents, I came in from working in the garden and went to the kitchen for something to drink. On the kitchen counter was a mostly empty gallon of apple cider. “Great!” thought I, “That would sure hit the spot.”
Since it was almost empty, I took a big ol’ swig straight from the bottle, only to find that it was apple cider VINEGAR. I swallowed it, all right, but 10 seconds later it made it’s return appearance and I puked all over the counter, in the kitchen sink, and on the window sill behind it.
I didn’t check the expiration date on the milk. Thank heavens I was in the kitchen, right next to the sink so I was able to spit it out instead of swallowing it. Blech!
As a wee youngster I took a big swig of still liquid fiberglass resin…probably why my sense of taste and smell aint so hot as an adult.
As an adult…its a long story with many important details omitted here…but I drank a large quantity of my own urine mixed with gatorade.
The bad part was this.
In this location gatorade was as valuable as gold.
So was the water.
Therefore both valueables were wasted.
The mixture couldnt just be dumped.
This event cause me to throw up in my mouth. I did not either re-swallow it or spit it out, till I found a temporary container.
That too could not just be disposed of just anywhere.
So in addition to get to carry around tons of heavy gear for several days, and the more normal human excrements in storage containers, there were additional containers of a urine/gatorade mixer and a large mouthful of vomit.
The things I’ve suffered to ecologically responsible…
Watchin’ TV in my easy chair, eating peanuts. Drop a peanut which falls down beside my leg. Dig around blindly, fish it out, pop it in my mouth…yeah, not the peanut…bleah
I trod in a still warm semi disembowelled baby rabbit which the bloody cat had left on the stairs. She would usually catch three and four a night in the season and only eat the heads. I still remember the guts squishing up between my toes. EWWWW! And my dad was livid with ME because I’d been so selfish to wake him up with my screams of shock. (It was the middle of the night and I was going for a pee.)
My mother and I had just gutted a huge catch of fish for the freezer, then I made us all a cup of tea. On the last swig, a bean-shaped bit of fish guts swam past my tonsils and back again as I spewed it out. We kept our mugs in a row on the back of the work counter, and a bit of gut must have flicked up from a knife. Yuuuuuck.
Since I have had my own house with neither cat nor sea anywhere near it, I have had no truly horrible experiences…
Along the same lines: I found a dead rat in a horse’s turnout pasture. Not wanting this particularly feisty young colt to find a new toy, I carefully picked up the rat by the tail and flung it out of the pasture. Apparently, it was longer dead than I thought, because the skin of the tail separated from the body. I was left holding rat tail skin. :eek:
When I was eleven and my sister was a baby (~10 months) we went to the park for Fourth of July fireworks. While we were waiting, I lay down on the ground and held her above me… and she threw up in my mouth. My dad had to go all the way across the park to the concession stand to get me some water.
Every “no, she started it” fight we’ve ever had has come down to this incident. She insists it doesn’t count because she was a baby and couldn’t help it, which means that I started it because I accidentally dislocated her arm when she was two. Whatever.
I’ve done something like that… actually, as a child, I saw a lemon-lime Fresca can sitting on the countertop, and I thought “Hey, free lemon-lime Fresca”, only to find that someone had drained that morning’s bacon grease into it.
Second runner-up is something that someone else already mentioned, taking a swig of a beer with a cigarette butt in it.
Third runner-up is using smokeless tobacco. I was in the Army, a nicotine addict, and smoking was prohibited in the field but smokeless tobacco was fine. I feel all dirty when I think I used to carry around a chaw of Skoal in my lip.
It should be no surprise that after these things, I can eat natto, Marmite, all sorts of supposedly “distasteful” things with no problem at all.
I was in my late twenties, and I had set my beer bottle down on a stage behind me at the club. Only a few seconds, and I grabbed it to take a nice big chug.
I didn’t feel the cigarette butt hit my lips, I felt it going down my throat. At the exact moment I tasted it. I projectile vomited on my girlfriend’s roommate. I didn’t even have a chance to turn my head, it came out with such force.
What I thought was a Brazil nut sitting on the counter, waiting so patiently for me to feast upon its creamy tender flesh, was actually a raw clove of garlic. (I was a kid, okay? Stuff mouth first, ask questions later.)
More recently, I returned from vacation and poured four-week-old milk over my cereal. My brother had house-sat for me in my absence and I had assumed he had replaced the milk in the meantime. The smell alone was enough to put me off dairy for a good while. Cottage cheese, GROSS.
When I was in high school I lived with my aunt and uncle in the SF Bay Area (San Leandro area, specifically). They had a flat gravel roof on their house as was common for houses built in the 60s, and it was always getting fresh tar on it because my uncle was too cheap to get a new roof - if there was a leak, he’d climb up there with me, and we’d patch it with fiberglass tape and emulsion tar.
One very hot summer, a few weeks after we had patched a big section, I was playing catch with one of the neighborhood kids. Ball lands on roof, I figure, no problem - I climb up the side of the chimney onto the roof to get it.
As I’m climbing down the chimney, the kid says, “Hey there’s a head stuck to your foot!”. “What?” “A head stuck to your foot!”
Huh? I look down, and there’s a bigass fcking rat head (and neck, and spine, and a couple legs, and some internal bits) covered in tar, and stuck fast to my brand fcking new Chuck Taylors. A huge rat had somehow gotten on the roof, and gotten stuck in the tar, then (urp) fermented up there for a while. I swear, the damn thing looked like a gorram Chihuahua. Or rather parts of a Chihuahua.
Needless to say, I ripped my shoe off and threw it away from me (with such force, as it happened, that it landed in the back alley never to be seen again) then ran into the bathroom to puke my guts out. I almost made it. In fact, I’m feeling a bit peakish just relating the story.
