Actually, I haven’t seen a doctor about that. Do you think I should, considering it only happened once?
[sub]Half posting to answer, half posting to get e-mail notification…I don’t want to miss the stories that are still to come![/sub]
AwSnappity: You don’t actually need to post to a thread to get that email update. Just open 'er up, and click on that third link down below:
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Provided you’re logged in at the time, o’course.
And if you’re paranoid that you’ll miss some good nastiness, (and because the hamsters do slip up once in a while, as per the FAQ) just set up an “SDMB Threads” folder in your bookmarks/favorites, and bookmark the title page of the thread itself. That way, there’s no hunting involved to quick check that particular thread you’ve been following.
[sub]I love modern technology; it enables more efficient goofing off.[/sub]
I think the first time I ever heard of tonsil stones was on this board. Of course, I had to run and check the throats of eveyone in the family, including me. No sign so far. (thank you Jebus.)
Here’s the result of a quick google for info on the stinky buggers. This short article gives a pretty good overview, and explains why the stones are bigger in childhood and adolescence.
I actually got my tonsils out a few years ago, and I had one of those things this morning with a sore throat. Don’t think I ever thought about it before, but I guess that’s what it was.
Yet another mystery solved by the SDMB.
but, here in the US, I own that title!
One of my sheepdogs, Max, ate the plastic wrapper of some ground beef.
GrizzWife said that she observed him poop it out completely the next day and then TURN RIGHT AROUND AND EAT IT AGAIN!
The following day, I had my doggies in the back yard, i noticed that Max would walk a few steps, assume the “poop” position and drop nothing, then trot off and assume the position again. He did this a few times before I finally saw the remnant of a plastic wrapper protruding from his butt.
I ran into the garage, grabbed a paper towel and ran behind my dog trying furtively to grab the offending protrusion with my paper-toweled hand.
My not-too-sober neighbor yells across the fence “LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE’S TRYING TO TAKE A SHIT!”
(Thanks Terry… you’re loads of help!)
Here’s where “I” win the Pet Owner Of the Year award… US Division.
I managed to grasp the plastic and my dog at the same moment, then proceeded to slowly pull a twisted plastic wrapper, probably eighteen inches in length (not that I took the time to actually MEASURE it, mind you!) from my dog’s ass.
I felt like some kind of perverted magician.
Facing my neighbor’s house, I held up the prize and shouted “VOILA!!”
Thankfully, he had already gone inside.
Max, elated to have his anus free of blockage again, was happily prancing around me. However, in a moment of sheer stupidity (which is fairly OFTEN for this dog!) tried to eat it yet again.
However, this time it made it into the trash…PERMENANTLY!
Y’all knew this was gonna happen, right?
Saturday night, I headed for bed around midnight. Something (probably the little lump in my gut) said bring the bathroom trashcan with you.
He was right!
Saturday evening, in celebration of the fact that I’d managed to clean that unholy mess in the car, tend to Mrs. Skeezix all day, and not get sick, I had me some tacos. I loves me some spicy hot tacos, gang, and have 'em about once in a blue moon, because I’m t’only one in the house who does.
Sunday morning, about 3:30AM, up it comes. I would have been completely unsurprised to see my liver, shoes, and two of the cats join the mess in the garbage can, after the ninth or tenth heave.
I managed to live through this, dump the whole mess in the loo, gargle some Listerine, and stumble my way back to bed, best friend (the can, natch) in tow. The Mrs., still recovering from her own bout, mercifully slept through the whole thing.
Of course, about 4:30 or so, comes the second wave. Now, when your guts are empty, and yet they insist on voiding themselves, you gain a keen understanding of the nature of suicide. Specifically, I was trying to figure out how to wake up the Mrs. and get her to put me out of my misery. Of course, all I could articulate was “Hrrrgghh… Arrgghh… Bluuurgghhh…” and so on.
By the time this wave had passed, I had the (fleeting) hope that this would be my last go 'round, as the amount of red mixed into the intestinal stew at the bottom of the can indicated quite clearly that blood loss was gonna do me in in a few minutes. For the first time I could understand how the thought, “Oh, well I’ll be dead in half an hour, or so,” could pass through your mind and leave you with a sense of relief.
Lying bastard digestive tract.
'Round about this time, when I’m ready to sell my soul for an hour’s sleep, the bottom half of the works figures it’s high time to get into the act.
So, every half hour, like clockwork, I’m on the loo, venting water, and not much else. I can’t drink a bloody thing, and the copious amount of fluids my rebelling body is shedding have convinced me that, in fact, I know just how a mummy feels, a few days after the wrap. It’s two exits, no waiting, and I’m starting to give serious thought to sleeping naked in the bathtub, just for a little relief.
Well, the ensing 24 hours sucked, needless to say. And now that the sponge that replaced my innards has finally stopped squeezing itself (and me) to death…
I can’t friggin’ sleep.
There’s no justice, man.
I’m allergic to eggs. They do Bad Things to me. The problem is you don’t always realize what foods eggs lurk in…
I awaken about 3am one night with the worst abdominal pain on earth. I shuffle the ten feet to the bathroom bent in half, unable to straighten up. Sit on the toilet and realize I am in for some serious pain. Giving birth to a full grown Rosie O Donnell drug free pain.
As the pain hits, I start to get nauseous. I can’t get up, so I grab the garbage can. You never feel more ladylike when you’re chucking ballast from both ends like a double ended firehose.
It gets better. After the majority of the toxins are purged, after all the pain (It hurt so bad I was whimpering and sweating), my blood sugar and electrolytes are naturally out of whack. I manage to faint while astride the throne, drop the can o vomit and land in the puddle. Luckily, I didn’t get any in my hair.
There’s nothing like coming to on the bathroom floor, pants around your knees, in a puddle of your own sick to make you feel like a princess :rolleyes: . Or having to go to the kitchen with drying puke on you to get a soda to get your blood sugar back up.
I now keep a few cans of Coke in the bathroom and avoid eggs like Superman with kryptonite.
Oh maaaannn, I love this thread.
I was stressing out before about the StinkyTonsilPelletsO’Death™ and then I realised that I had my tonsils removed when I was around 7 or so.
Bliss 
I also get those lovely uterus goo-chunks. Usually they all decide to splurge out at once and then I get that wet feeling and it’s like “Ah damn”. You know what I mean.
Just thought I’d share your pain Scablet.
I usually get what I would call Uterus Jelly right before and then during ovulation. It’s sort of like the pipes unclogging or something like that. It sometimes looks a bit like chicken fat, with a mucilaginous coating.
I’m oh such the proud self-sufficient new Daddy. The Man-Cub is all of maybe 7 months old. It’s a bitter cold December day. My wife has taken time off from work, but she’s dying for a good night’s sleep and I’m eager to hike off into the wilds with my boy. Just he and I. Father and Son. Bonding City.
I drive down 29th street from Ditmars Boulevard, and up onto the might TriBoro Bridge. I am transversing this famous landmark, when the Man-Cub looks at me, and projectile vomits as hard as a homo sapien possibly can. He’s a wee bairn and yet, managed to splash onto the dashboard, as well as all over the seat, carpeting and of course, himself.
As soon as he catches his breath, he does the only logical thing he can do. He projectile vomits. Again. And, again.
Evil spirits had reached down into his belly and unleashed Hell. I calmly drove the rest of the way over the TriBoro Bridge, did a U-ey in Harlem and came back home.
My wife was irked to see us back in 20 minutes instead of 24 hours, but apparently found it mighty hilarious that we were both slicked with his inner juices. Poor kid. Got a tummy bug, and what is the WORST THING ON THE PLANET TO GIVE TO A CHILD WITH A TUMMY BUG???
Apple juice. The exact thing I’d given him in his bottle. My poor van, it was never the same. All I can say is, thank god for Simple Green. That stuff rocks !
Cartooniverse
I’m sorry, but as beagledave may know, I have to take the Dog Owner of the Year award from everyone as my dog Marge loves to eat underpants…girl underpants…and most tastylicious is the cotton panel in the crotch of the girl underpants.
So one day, I found my hot pink satin bikini undies gone. I’m a slob, I figured I lost them somewhere in the rubble of my closet.
But of course, then I took Marge out for a walk, and watched her stretch and strain to grunt out MY PINK UNDERPANTS, undigestied, but a bit stained and wet. Of course, they wouldn’t move an inch, and I did have to pull them out of her anus with my bare hand, like some horrid horrid magic trick.
I’m reading this all day long…
And speaking as a Greyhound Rescue guy and dog lover of the highest order…
Haven’t you people heard of just shooting the dog or yourselves?
Ugh.
Ewww, Jar, barehanded?
hardygrrl, that was the funniest thing I’ve read in ages! I honestly came this --> <-- close the wetting myself while trying to visualise that scene.
It’ll be one of those things you’ll laugh about in years to come. Trust me :D.
(Hope you’re feeling better now, by the way).
You left a medicated, just-operated on dog in your car while you went to work? On an unreasonably cold day? I hope I’m reading this wrong.
I thought oldscratch won dog owner of the millenium in the other TMI thread.
I once stepped in dog vomit. Cold dog vomit. On a rug. In my bare feet. When I wsn’t expecting it.
I screamed. And then I cleaned it up.
And it wasn’t even my dog.
How about this - just last night - enjoying a lovely adult moment with my SO when my cat started that special howl, his distant early warning signal that cat hork is soon to follow. Try concentrating with that going on in the background.
Yes, I have chosen this as my VERY FIRST post. Thank you for your pity.
Pity? No, no, my friend.
When, in the afterglow, you lie on your back, one arm thrown up over your head, and the cat wanders across the top of the bed, and, giving you only minimal warning of impending horkitude, hurls up a gob of partially chewed canned food into your open hand, then we give you pity.
And a handi-wipe.
Welcome to the boards. 
Best. TMI. Thread. Ever.