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Toxic Custard Workshop Files[Great Vomits of the 20th Century]

The Grisly Details - Part 5

Mount Vesuvius

This was back about 3 years ago. I came home from work feeling rather groggy, but figured it was just lack of sleep, so crashed out for a while. Couldn`t sleep at all, so got up. Felt rather disgusting, and figured a little alcohol may make me feel better, so downed some cider.

After about half an hour I started burping incessantly, so headed to the kitchen to get some indigestion remedy.

I was sitting on my bed, and started to feel heartily sick, so grabbed the bin, ready to "shout for huey". It was around then I turned into a veritable Mount Vesuvius. If they ever held olympics for vomiting, i`d be a first class contender. Managed to get most of it in the bin, but I was like wide mouthed scatter gun.

For weeks afterwards I found it. On the side of my desk, on my wardrobe etc... I moved over a year ago, and as far as i`m aware, there is still some on the bedroom door, nestling in a corner.

(Turned out it was a bug. Barely eat for a week, and of course, suffered the violent consequences at the OTHER end too.)

- Steve


Hold the line please...

Early one morning in my A-V closet of an office, I was correcting some catalog pages by telephone, when I recognized the compelling signs of imminent upchuck. Grabbing the waste paper basket, I quickly whispered that a visitor had arrived, and said I would call back shortly. The gastric visitation did arrive only a moment later, but after I had my head strategically hung over the waste basket. A short trip down the hall to wash out my mouth, and splash water on my face, and then I was back on the phone completing the proofing session. Later that day I collapsed with a high fever, and did not return to work for two weeks. The memory of handling business so smoothly while preparing to upchuck sustained me through the ensuing physical and financial miseries.

- Anne Farnsworth, USA


Calling for Huey in Darkest Africa

I guess any army has it's fair share of upchuck anecdotes, in fact, I'd go so far as to say that several regular soldiers (or PF's as we'd refer to them in South Africa) would elevate it to national sport level.

This true tale reflects upon the confusion that arises out of having to turn your insides out and spew your guts up, while at the same time prevent a disaster from happening as a result of the galloping squitters. To the sufferer, hell seems like a picnic, but to the onlooker, it is impossible not to see the funny side of it.

During the conflict in Angola, it was necessary for the infantry to perform fairly lengthy foot patrols (up to 15 days at a time and travelling approximately 5 - 30kms per day). In summer, the temperature averages about 45 Celcius in the shade, so a fair amount of water is lost and should therefore be replaced. As there are no water "depots" in the sticks, one must improvise by using waterholes used by wild game etc. Of course the opposing forces knew this and would act in a most unsporting fashion and poison the waterhole with Strychnine or some other foul chemical.

On one such occasion, we arrived at said waterhole complete with empty bottles and raging thirsts. Two of us were "volunteered" by the sarge to fill everybody's bottles while the rest of the platoon kept watch. This was great as I could slake my thirst before filling fifty-odd bottles for the other blokes. Now there's a bit of an art to filling a waterbottle from a waterhole - which I won't go into. Suffice it to say that the process took about half an hour.

By the time the two of us got back to the rest of the platoon, we were feeling decidedly "unwell". The sarge saw we were looking a tad green about the gills and stopped anyone else from drinking the water. Within the hour the blokes were taking bets as to which of us could hurl our guts the furthest. However, it wasn't long after that when the cramps hit. I won't go into the gory details, but it became a tad confusing trying to determine which end to see to first. As our condition worsened, I, for one, couldn't have cared a damn whether the terrorists attacked or not. All I wanted to do was to curl up and die right there. I can imagine what our sarge might have threatened if they'd attacked: "Okay, one false move and these two loaded soldiers could explode at any second. Surrender immediately or I'll aim the worst end at you!"

So there you have it. Not necessarily a noteable place to have hurled by any means, but one that has a funny side imagining a platoon of troops dutifully facing outwards while two blokes were puking and crapping, bare-arsed, in the face of the enemy - definitely above and beyond the call of duty.

- Alan Largue, South Africa


Call him a taxi!

A couple of blokes getting wasted at a pub in aid of a mate's birthday.

After a while, they realise that the birthday boy is not going to be able to drive (despite recently taking several lessons (dig, dig....Ahem!). In any event, they summon a taxi for him (NO they didn't call him a taxi). When it arrives, the birthday boy opens the front door of the taxi and addresses the driver.

"G,day mate.(hic!) Have you got spare room for a six pack and a pizza?"

"Sure", says the cabbie.

"Hhhhhhhhuuuuuueeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyy", says the birthday boy to the front seat.

Thank you, thank you - I'm so pleased you brought that up......

- Alan Largue, South Africa


Stomach Moove

It was a beautiful spring day. My sister and I were in Wagga (NSW) for the day. It was about lunchtime, and although I wasn't hungry, I was VERY thirsty. After discovering Pizza Hut sold crap drinks, I went into a kebab place, which was the nearest takeaway store. I discovered a new flavour of Moove (flavoured milk) was sold there: vanilla malt. Great! I bought it. A block or two away, I opened it, and took a huge sip. Imagine drinking vanilla custard mixed with really SOUR cream, with little pieces all through it... Absolutely disgusting. The use-by date was that day, but I reckon it had probably been sitting out in the sun for a while. Anyway, having impeccable manners, I didn't want to spit it out right in the middle of the pavement, so with this stuff still in my mouth I ran up a side street, and vomited all over the rubbish bin when I finally reached one. Fortunately no-one saw me! The taste stayed in my mouth for ages... whenever I think about that incident, my stomach lurches.

- Kim Collins, Australia


E.T.

While my family hasn't teased me about this in years, it's still embarrassing...

When E.T. came out, I was around 7 or so. A family friend took my brother and I to see it and, the next weekend, mom wanted to go so we all went again.

Being a very popular movie, the ticket line was stretched way out in the parking lot. And being a Baton Rouge, Louisiana summer, it was 100+ degrees F, sunny, and a bit humid to boot.

We all sat together with my mom on the aisle and me right beside her. I made it through the previews fine, even though I complained that I was feeling a bit warm still. Somewhere within the first twenty minutes of the film, I lost it. My mom's friend went to get a theater employee and the next thing we know, the lights are on, the movie has been stopped, and a voice booms over the loudspeaker, "Would the woman with the kid who just threw up please stand up." Everyone stared.

Needless to say, the movie wasn't nearly as good the second time.

(We'll see how long it takes my brother to read this on the web site!)

- Jenny Exelbierd, USA


The aeroplane

Here's a vomit story about aeroplanes and eating.

A few years ago I visited south west Tasmania. As it is quite a remote wilderness area we flew from Hobart in a small plane. We spent about 10 days bushwalking in the area and made it to our pickup point for our return flight.

On our last morning everyone scoffed down their breakfasts except for me. I hadn't packed enough food and I didn't have anything eat at all. The plane landed and we all piled in.

We flew along the coast and it was particularly windy. Lots of big waves and low fast moving clouds. The plane was being tossed around a lot. One person started to feel sick and chucked several times into the nearest air sick bag. The revolting sound and stench of this in such a confined space made everyone else feel like having a heave as well.

As we descended the ride got even more bumpy. Everyone in the plane (except for me and the pilot) started getting really air sick. I was handing out those spew bags like there was no tomorrow! Bloooooaaaahhh! Yuk!

We landed without too much more drama. My companions staggered out all white faced and disposed of their over-flowing barf bags. We went to our hotel and after freshening up I headed off by myself to the nearest cafe for some delicious treat. And it stayed down!

Morals of the story:
He who eats last digests longest.
An empty belly in the sky is worth two full bellies on the ground.

- Ralph Blake, Australia


The Power Chunder

Whilst working in between times as a trainee network techie and HTML programmer I have worked for no less than 14 different bars nightclubs. The average stay has been around 3-4 months.

Now, anyone who expects to hear that I actually worked for my living - well, they're wrong - I was involved in the promotional side of the nightclubs, where in return for inviting my friends to come to the nightclub for free or for a discounted entry fee I would be provided with cash and drink cards based on the number of guests I had brought into the nightclub the week before.

As you can imagine, for the 2 years that I did this, I got quite intoxicated on a fairly regular basis - working for 4 different nightclubs on 4 different nights of the week (Tuesdays - Belief, Thursdays - Lipstick, Fridays - Shine, Saturdays - Pop) and being furnished with between $25 and $150 worth of free drinks on any given night adds up. It's not long before one is able to go out for a night's drinking at 8:00 pm, have consumed 15-20 standard drinks by about midnight, having moved between several bars, and not be very intoxicated. It is also conceivable that on certain occasions one doesn't necessarily use one's drinkcards in the intended manner (buying your guests - and cute girls - drinks) - but drinking them all yourself.

The first notable spew story comes from my 20th birthday, when I was working for the Carousel, in Albert Park, Melbourne. I decided to have a birthday party at the Carousel as we were launching a format of night with a new name (most people don't know the name of the night when the go to a nightclub - they just go to "Redheads" or "Metro", not realising that they are at "Lipstick at the Redhead" or "Pop at the Metro"). With any birthday party, the birthday boy is expected to get rather, well, sh*tfaced. This birthday boy arrived at the Carousel to receive $125 worth of drink cards on the door, his parents arriving two hours later and placing a $50 tab on the bar, his colleagues who do the same work as he does buy him drinks, and the 173 friends that he has invited to this party all want to buy him a drink, it means that come close of the bar, this birthday boy was barely standing.

Anyway, Carousel closed at 2:00am on Friday morning. Not realising that I had two vouchers for free taxi rides in my wallet, I proceeded to wander around to the Redhead (where I had worked previously to Carousel) in order to get cash out from their bar's EFTPOS machine. No sooner do I walk in the door I am given a $50 drinkcard by the head promoter as a birthday present. Upon consumption of said drinkcard and recovery of said cash from the EFT machine, I and my flatmate decided to catch a taxi to a small, out of the way nitespot in Hawthorn which shall remain nameless. Upon using the CASH to pay for the taxi, I proceeded to stumble my way to the front entrance, greeting the bouncers as I usually do and skipping the line at the front. Management decided that I was in desperate need of another $50 worth of drinkcards and yet again, I proceeded to drink my way through them.

I can't honestly say that I can recall the whole night, but one of my rules back then was if I was feeling a little drunk then I would order a "sobering" Kahlua and milk. After six of these, the club closed, and I decided to catch a taxi back to my girlfriends flat (as I had run into her, again, at this destination). I don't remember anything about the taxi ride, however I do remember walking into her flat from the taxi (6:30am on the 17th of January, in Melbourne = BLOODY BRIGHT SUN AND NO SUNGLASSES!!!), attempting to use the toilet, and then running with my pants still unzipped out of the toilet, through the living room, out the front door, across the driveway, to the lowest point in the neighbour's fence, and doing the power-chunder. I'm not talking about any old little chunder, I'm talking 6 foot multi-coloured yawn all over the junk in the backyard!!! This was kinda difficult to disguise... so I left it there, and went to bed. 6 hours later when I regained consciousness (very slowly) I proceeded to the fridge, to find it devoid of all except for cordial and iced water. Grabbing a drink, three panadeines, cigarette and someone elses sunglasses that were on the bench I proceeded outside to try and recall the events of the night. After two drags of my smoke, the smell hit.

It was there a week later. Stale Kahlua and milk, mixed with all forms of beer, champagne, bourbon, post-mix soft drink, cordial, vodka, and other spirits, had fermented on the grass.

She broke up with me two weeks later. The smell at this point was still noticable, but not overbearing, and thankfully no longer in the flat. Just hold your nose as you get out of the car please!!!

- Anonymous, Melbourne


High quality

The scene is down on the Hobart docks, New Years Eve (or New Years Morning, as it was by this time). We were standing outside Stoppy's deciding if it was worth attempting to get a taxi. We didn't in the end, and walked all the way up to the foot of Mt. Wellington to her place but that's another story. Anyway, Kelly decided to lean up against a 'No Standing' sign and release an evenings worth of Pale Ale, Tequila Slammers and Cheezels. It was a fairly standard vom, by all accounts. At least, that was according to the guy who wandered over and cast a discerning eye over the steaming heap. "Not bad," he said. "That's mine over there," and he pointed to a slightly larger and more colourful upchuck slowly dribbling down the pub wall. We all strolled over and debated whether his really was of a higher quality.

- Brian Kelty, Australia


Marathon Toilet Session

Wednesday night, after training. Kelly, Bryce and myself had gone down to Round Midnight for a few quiet ones. We'd only had a couple of beers when Kelly when decidedly green and rushed off to the ladies loo. "Bllleeerrrkkk sploshsploshsplosh" sounds could be heard intermittently for the next couple of minutes. After she'd been in there for about 15 minutes though, we got a bit concerned and went over to the entrance to the toilets and asked if she was okay. "Yeah, I'm fine <hhhyyyeeuuugggh> I'll be out soon." We decided to wait, because she sounded in real distress.

If anyone was been to Round Midnight, they'll know that the entrance to the women's toilet is just outside the door to the club. So there we were, leaning against the wall outside the club when a group of Russian sailors from a recently docked trawler came up the steps. They must have thought we were the bouncers becuase they came up to us brandishing money. Only one of them could speak any English, and all he knew was "We want beers and dirty women. Have Australian and American dollars."

Trying to explain to non-English speaking Soviet sailors that they could go in, it was free and these are the directions to the local sleaze bit, to the accompanyment of <BRRRRrruuuuggghh sploshsplosh coughretchheave haaaccckkk splatsplosh> is something I'll never forget.

- Brian Kelty


Lasagne and white carpet

This story comes from my undergrad days. Like most undergrads, money was always tight. So when I spotted a poster at uni advertising for guinea pigs for a physiology experiment, it seemed like an easy 20 bucks for an hour or so pushing buttons. Basically the experiment involved taking a sedative, then my reaction time would be tested by me pressing a button as soon as I saw a certain type of image.

The sedative was supposed to be about the equivalent of a 1/4 Valium tablet, but it hit me like a slab of cheap beer. I got extremely woozy, very quickly. After the experiment was over, I was led into a waiting room where they would take my blood pressure, heart rate etc after about half an hour wait. In the meantime, they gave me a microwaved lasagne to eat. All the time, my head is starting to spin more and more. Starting to get the picture?

I was given a lift home after this (about 5 mins drive from uni) and halfway there I could feel the belly begin to violently protest. I thought I could make it inside and lie down before things got ugly. Uh-uh. I stepped through the door into my bedroom, when my stomach gave one massive contraction and in one mighty heave the lasagne came bursting out, all over my white carpet. I'd never had a vomit like it. There was no nasty burning in my throat, or gunge dribbling out my nose, it had come out in just one solid throw, one massive chunck. There weren't even any preliminary tremors.

The best thing was that since the lasagne had only been in my stomach for 20 minutes max, it hadn't been digested at all and was completely recognisable. You could have scraped it up and put on a plate and not known any different. All the bits of pasta were still whole with bits of mince clinging to them. What an image!

- Brian Kelty


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