A friend of mine who was prized all around the school for her burping habits was sitting with a circle of friends in the quad. After downing her lunch she felt a beauty working its way up from her belly. She quietly encouraged its growth whilst waiting for a break in the conversation, grasping her moment she begged for attention, but alas this burp was more than she could have hoped for. Needless to say her friends were also caught unawares as she vomitted whole-heartedly all over herself. Nice huh?
- J Woodham
I have a spew story that I still laugh about, (and it happened 25 years ago). I was pregnant with my first born and I had to tell my mother, well my mother always argued with me about everything, I was sitting on the floor holding her hand and she was trying to tell me why I couldn't be prego, when she got me so upset I spewed all over her. There was a moment of silence and then in a very calm voice she said, "You would do anything to prove your point wouldn't you!" I have never felt so loved in my life until that moment, she and I both laughed for years about that and she never argued with me again. thanks for letting me tell that.
It was sort of like a blind date. I had met this guy at volleyball - opposing teams we were, and the next day he rang me at work - and I had to ask if he had a beard and glasses, and he checked that I had long dark hair - OK - right people. Anyway we set up a date for the following weekend.
We went to a housewarming in the Adelaide hills, and I drank a whole of Rosso Antico (straight). I NOW know it is an apperitif, but at 17 I just guzzled. Well we then went to a 21st and my date left me in the car (Mazda RX4) (pretty sporty in 1976!) with the passenger seat laid flat out, and he just prayed like hell I wouldn't spew in the car. Yuk, second-hand Rosso isn't too good!!
He then thought hell, I can't take her home like this on our first date, so he took me back to his place (he lived alone) and I spewed everywhere but in the toilet bowl.
I think he must have been pretty keen on me because we have now been married 20 years, and I have never touched Rosso again - I can't even stand the smell.
- Jane Buscumb
Well this was about the time all of our volleyball friends were getting engaged, married etc. I think we had been married for about a year or something. One such couple were engaged and at their party I was drinking all sorts of thinks, but topped it off skulling champagne out of the bottle.
On the way home I said I wasn't feeling too good and we were on a main road, so he took a side-street and as I opened the door to chuck he pushed me out the door so I wouldn't chuck in the car (he tells me later that it was ever so gentle!) He had had a bad experience many years before of his mate spewing in the back seat of his 2-door coupe and said he couldn't get rid of the smell for months. Hence the panic.
- Jane Buscumb
About 8 years ago we took our two girls on a family holiday to Qld. Girls Lisa then aged 5 and Cindy then aged 3. We went on a lovely cruise to Dunk Island and then to a uninhabited coral island for a day. Seas were calm, but I got seasick. The boat people asked everyone to go to the back of the boat so we could board the smaller glass bottom boat and be taken to the coral island in small groups. Everyone was gathered at the end of the main boat and Cindy decided she wanted to do a wee. We went to the toilet and as soon as I saw the bowl, I pushed her out the road and chucked big time!! Cindy opens the toilet door (mid-chuck) and yells to everybody "Don't come in, Mummy's being sick!!"
That was pretty bad, but it got worse. Because the boat was stationary, when I flushed everything just floated past all the people waiting at the rear of the main boat. Not good. (It took 3 days to get my balance back! Talk about pollution at the Great Barrier Reef!!)
- Jane Buscumb
Not long after Qld fiasco we went to a New Year's Eve party. It was a bit quiet and I was disappointed as I was ready to party. (Girls now aged 4 & 6). This party was dull so I was getting stuck into the Canadian Club and coke, which was getting lighter and lighter (meaning less and less coke to dilute!)
We heard about another party so we decided to invite ourselves. Party was in full swing, finished bottle of CC, so now onto claret. Aha, they have a spa, and I just happened to have my bathers on. So here I am dancing wildly in the spa, now drinking baileys on ice...sorry ...guzzling baileys on ice.
Suddenly don't feel too good. Stagger out and go plonk on the carpet of the spare bedroom of these friends (sorry now ex-friends). Ooops I chucked, but it just happened to be on their brand new carpet. Sorry.
Anyway, Brian to the rescue...again ...so it seems. Decides I will be enough to handle so leaves the children at these ex-friends's place as they were asleep in their bed (glad they didn't chuck or wet the bed too!) Brian drives me home, praying I don't chuck in the car...again. Hoses me off on the front verandah, takes me inside, showers me, puts me to bed, and then goes back to the car to return to the party to pick up the children but alas has left the car on high-beam and the battery is flat. Just then, evidently (so I am told as I am flat as a lizard on the bed) - friends bring the children home as they thought there must have been a problem with me. So now I get teased by everyone for 'abandoning my children' and of course losing friends. I did apologise to them but...spew is spew I guess.
- Jane Buscumb
Sometime in about 1979. Night time. About 2 hours after beddie byes. (Being about 7 at the time, this was probably around 9:30pm).
Dodgy spaghetti bolognaise combined with Being A Kid
Speciality Vomit. My younger brother (about 4 at the time) and I shared a bunk. I was on top. I felt ill. I climbed down the ladder. Well, half way down. About half way down I did a very respectable projectile vomit of half digested spaghetti over my sleeping brother's face. This woke him up. (From memory,
the smell caused him to go a sequel.)
- Damian Moore
Sometime early in 1984.
Clinical death. And cornflakes.
I hated school. I used to pretend to be sick. My mother was not very sympathetic. I got up this one morning and pleaded nausea and a headache, which got me the usual "You're still g going to school" answer. So, I ate my breakfast (dunno why. Ah yes, stupidity) and trundled off to the bus. The bus was rated 40 passengers, and had about 75 kids on it, quite closely pressed together. I was forced to stand and was bounced up and down a lot.
It was about 3/4 of the way to school when my stomach rebelled against the evil cornflakes. However, I was also about 3/4 of the way down the bus. I clenched my jaw and tried to swallow while running for the front of the bus. Through the 30 kids standing up. I had to swallow a few times. I made it. I got the bus drivers attention. I think the fact that I was green with bulging cheeks caught his eye. He stopped. Right outside a Red Rooster store. Where an old (50??) lady was waiting for a bus. The wrong bus stopped. I got off. I got rid of the cornflakes. I got back on. The bus kept going. This poor woman was probably scarred for life. I, on the other hand, was Chukka Khan for the rest of the year.
- Damian Moore
At the end of a 4-5 week Army Reserve camp at Wacol Barracks in Brisbane, all the corporals went into the city. After visiting several
pubs, me and a couple of others went to a place called New Orleans for a
feed. Somehow after the feed I got separated from the others and decided to go back to camp. Now as the railway stopped just town the road from camp I wandered up to Central station. So there I am standing on the platform when suddenly the nights infusion of alcohol and food decided that it did not want to share the same time and space as my self. There are not a lot of private spaces so I took the only option and project vomited over the tracks. This was done with the greatest degree of dignity, no hiding the head looked the other travellers eye. luckily my train arrived. The trip was about fifteen - twenty minutes and being tired and emotional I dozed off, luckily been woken up by one of my soldiers at the Wacol. Luckily the next day was Sunday and the last day. I have another story about how I got my brother and law thrown out of his club, but that's for later.
- Mark Farnham
This story was told to me by my Social Studies teacher when I was in 7th grade.(What kind of teacher tells his students stories about vomit? The same kind of teacher that tells stories about how his arm got stepped on by a guy wearing cleats while sliding into second.)
Anyway,when my teacher was in college he knew these three guys whose names were the Weasel, the Toad, and the Frog.(Guys, if you're out there, don't blame me, blame Kwiat.) So one night my teacher was in his dorm playing cards with a friend and the Weasel comes in after a night of heavy drinking and he's sick as a dog. And he pukes right onto the table.But the resulting puddle of vomit is not your ordinary puddle of vomit. Oh no. It is The Perfect Barf (ladies & gentlemen, we have a title!). It is perfectly round. I don't know how this happened. Just one of Nature's little miracles, I guess. So anyway, after this perfectly round barf has landed on the table, the Frog comes in (or maybe the Toad. I don't remember.) And the Frog (or Toad) is also sick as a dog.Is his extremely drunk condition, he mistakes the round puddle of vomit for a pizza. ( he was very drunk) Being hungry after his night of prolonged drinking, he decides to grab a slice of pizza, sticks his hand into the puddle, and ... you get the idea.
- Sent by a former student of West Springfield Jr. High ( the few, the proud, the tormented)
1968 MG midget, travelling on harbour bridge
a recruitment evening at an Officer Training Regiment for the Australian Army Reserve.
Myself (longstanding member of aforementioned unit)
Warthog (nickname of a mate of mine who I conned into coming along for the night)
Large group of unit members
One lovingly restored 1968 MG Midget
One bottle of Old Tawny Port
About one dozen hot dogs
One jar of Hot English Mustard.
Warthog thorougly enjoys the evening, drinking consistently and eating the dozen hot dogs, liberally laced with the Hot English mustard. He wins the bottle of port in a raffle, when the cry goes up (jokingly, I might add) of "SKULL! SKULL! SKULL!". Not one to back down from a callenge, he rips the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and downs all 375mls in one go.
His stomach remains calm until the drive home in my MG, when we're half way over the Harbour Bridge (no-where to run to...).
"urp...I think you better pull over"
"Mate, I can't, were on the Bridge. Hang on for thirty seconds and I can
25 seconds later, a large stomach spasm kicks warthog without warning and a stream of projectile vomit that would make Linda Blair jealous gushes forth, spraying all over the windscreen of the car (and me). The roof is off and the window open, but even when he turns his head to vom out of the car, he misses completely and it all goes done the inside of the car door and pools in the (newly installed) carpet.
The semi-liquid mixture of beer, port hot dogs and human bile gets my gag reflex working overtime and I spew down the drivers side door.
Aftermath: Warthog is dropped home and hoses himself down in the front yard before going to bed. He leaves his clothes in the front yard
because of the anti social odour. I can't be bothered cleaning up the mess as It's 3:30 am, so put the cover over the car when I get home, and
call in sick to work the next day. When I went down to the car to hose it out I realised the mistake of waiting until 11am to get out of bed:
the midsummer heat has warmed up the spew under the protective seal of the car cover and I cop another lungful of the beer/hotdog/mustard/port/bile brulee and nearly lose whatever I had left in my stomach. Unbolted the seats, remove the carpet for professional attention, hose off the inside of the widscreen, polish the car door.
Cost of evening:
Hot Dogs Free
Carpet cleaning $45.00
Carpet relaying $120.00
- Warthog's mate
I have found a home. I am famous in Memphis, Tennessee for the sheer
volume factor of my earl calling. Each of my friends can remember in vivid detail the first time I bellowed my bile in their presence. I am
a demigod of the yak attack. I am 28 and have loved my cups for some 12 years, some highlights.
Parents weekend, boarding school, Holiday Inn. Everyone’s folks got the kids their own rooms in the hotel for the weekend. It was an all gents school and there were no girls, after a bathtub of good ol Busch beer, I stuck my head into the familiar coolness of the quiet resonating hole and went to business. After about 20 minutes (you see, when my stomach empties, some evil gremlin in my nervous system does not let the gagging stop) the cops came and charged us with disturbing the peace: 2 expulsions.
My personal favorite though took place with half of my body inside and the other half out of my best friend’s condominium as I emptied my self of a gallon of real shitty red wine on to the slippers of his neighbor from upstairs who had come downstairs at 4 a.m. to complain about the violent “sceaming”. I dont remember this.
My final entry involves me butt-ass as an angel nekkid (enjoying the coolness of my bathroom’s tile floor). For me It was a straight ahead affair, but for my friends (We were in early highschool-- post expulsion) it was somewhat disturbing. My father had come in to see what was up and my friends were afraid of being sent home to angry parents. Dad has a rather dry sense of humor and upon looking into the bathroom and what all my friends were afriad he might, he turned to them amnd calmly said, “You boys hungry? Want some nachos?” They were all to miffed to speak and he went back to bed.
My name is Joe Boone and would like to direct any drinking buddies to my entry should it be included. Thank you for the vigilant work.
- Joe Boone
My friend [Name withheld] was attending a party, now known as the party of the three pjukes, where he vomited three times within one half hour in three different places. First, he pjuked all over the prize roses of the neighbour (Who is a rather famous TV star in Norway) while mumbling that "I don't like Rolf " (The name of the TV star.). This was from the balcony. five minutes later, he was talking to my ex-girlfriend and suddenly said "you know, I REALLY don't like Rolf. I'm gonna barf all over his ceiling." And he pjuked all over the 2. story floor, which technically is the ceiling of the TV star's appartement. The third pjuke was the worst, as he first pjuked he guts out and then fell asleep in it. We woke him up after 10 minutes, and he stood up and wiped the large ammount of stomach residue from his face with the inside of his sweater. After that, he put on his sweater, and shouted "where's the party!?!?"
- Pål Unanue
- Great Vomits of the 20th Century