Most traumatic hurl I can remember recently
. . . does not involve tales of booze and sex excesses, but a stomach bug. Sorry. Boring, I know. Stop reading here if you like.

I used to enjoy a nice cup of Milo before I went to bed, and had got into the habit of adding a marshmallow or two to the drink. Mmmmmn, I love the shmallows (no I'm not over 60)
Until the night of the 'tummybug', when I'd indulged in a few too many of the shmallows, both in the drink and during the making of(ok I lied about the lack of excess).

Think of the texture of melted marshmallow.
Think of the texture of it in your stomach, wanting to defy gravity.
Think of how it must feel, using pukepower alone, to try and unpeel these oysterythings that seem to have superglued themselves to your stomach wall.
Think of ribbons of semi-solid puke, exiting through nose and mouth, with a binder of pure sugar and bile, and accompanied by a tasty frothy malty chaser.
Not a single retch job, put it this way, it went on for about 10 mins.
God how my guts ached after that one.

And then I got the shits.
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Thu 7 Jan 2010, 23:38, Reply)