Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Post #100

For my hundredth post in this blag, I thought I'd recount some stories which involve my vomit. These stories also involve copious amounts of drink, naturally.

Incident #1

I was a young youth, young enough to, like a pure fuckin mong, keep track of exactly how much I had to drink. This is so that the next day you can say "Yeah man, I was fuckin ratarsed last night, I had five pints and five double voddys" and the lads would go "Fuckin hell Kav ya mental cunt!" and I'd feel all validated and shit. Teenagers are such mongs.

Anyway, that night, (I believe I was 16) I had five pints of Bud (ugh) and 5 double vodka and oranges. A decent amount for a lad who'd just started drinking a few months before.

I cycled home, as I did for most of my drinking days.

I woke in the morning and cocked an eye to the door to see my Dad's head looking down at me.

"Are you alright?"


"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm grand, why?"

I was getting grumpy with his show of concern now. I was still young enough that I didn't get hangovers, and I felt fine, just a bit knackered. What the fuck was he being all inquisitive for?

"You're sure you're alright, yeah?"

"Jeez, yeah, I'm sound, like."

"Okay. I'll see you later, I'm off to work."

"Right, see you."

After he left I promptly fell back to sleep. I woke a couple of hours later to feel a strange kind of tightness on my face. Rubbing it, I felt something crusty, flaky. I sat up. My pillows were on the floor.

There was puke all over them. I ran to the bathroom.

Dried puke all down my face. Caked in my hair. Holy fuck. I'm a rock star.

I'm a fuckin eejit.

Incident #2

There's this club in Galway, the GPO, or maybe it's the gpo. Capital letters aren't cool. Whatever the fuck, between the years 1996 and 1999, I was there at least once (and probably more like two or three times) a week, week in, week out. It was a good time. If you didn't know people, you were at least on a nodding acquaintance with most of them. The bouncers knew us well and knew we liked to go mental and mosh to any of the heavier shit they played, but that we tended not to cause any trouble. We just liked lepping around bashing into each other. I give you this preface to explain why, despite what happened, I was allowed back in the club the very next night.

This story is why I don't drink tequila anymore.

Sometime, 1998. Tequilas are a pound a shot. Of course, for a student, this means you're drinking fucking tequila, even if it tastes like hot piss and they've run out of salt and lemon. So, I've had the usual booze before I arrive, and then knock back seven or eight tequilas in the first hour or so.

Needless to say, half an hour after that, I was thrown out on my arse by the bouncers. The following night, one of the guys, whose name escapes me (Ross?), said I was on the dancefloor and it looked like I was trying to do that "touch your toes" exercise that sadistic teachers used to make you do in PE class - the one where you're not allowed to bend your knees. I imagine that I wasn't actually keeping balance myself, more likely I was just buoyed on the swaying dancefloor by my fellow drunkards.

Anyway, they threw me out the back door onto Mary Street, so I made my way around to Eglinton Street, to the main entrance, where I flopped on the ground outside the video store which was directly opposite the club's entrance. I figured, it's about 1.30am, I'll just wait for the lads to come out. We usually left just before the club closed at 2am so we could beat the fast food queues.

Being at that stage of absolute inebriation where instinctive reactions are nothing more than a preposterous theory, I knew I was going to puke on myself around about the same time as I observed the puke covering my chest and flowing down the slope to my right. I was so fluthered that all I could do was watch and smile a little as thick rivulets of tequila-flavour vomitus rolled down the path, slithering into cracks and gaining pace as they passed a particularly steep part of the pavement.

From across the road, Doug appeared, gimped out of his fucking box as usual. "Alright cunt, what happened to you?" he asked, referring to me getting thrown out. I watched as Doug sat down next to me. I'd forgotten, and he was too fucked to notice. Oops.


"What? Man, you're fucked."

"Doug. Doug."

"What is it, ya mong?"

"Puke. Watch."

"Puke? What are you-?"

"Watch out for the puke" I finally managed, feebly gesturing to where he was sitting.

"Wha? Ah ya dirty cunt! For fuck's sake!"

Oh how we laughed.


That's enough for now. I have at least three more decent puke stories, but this is taking me too fucking long. I have work to be doing.

Feel free to share your vomitous tales.


Thumper blathered this crap:

lurker alert

The Swearing Lady blathered this crap:

Drinking in the gpo? What kind of lightweight are you at all? The only thing that's socially acceptable in the gpo is overdosing! Good LORD, kav.

Kav blathered this crap:

Thumper - weren't you Bambi's pal?

Kav blathered this crap:

TSL: Simultaneous post alert. Yeah, I was never as into that scene as some of the lads. I must tell you about the time I did speed in there sometime. I really don't need drugs, I jitter about the place enough as it is.

Old Knudsen blathered this crap:

100th post and they said you'd burn out at 4, well I said that, ah boak and beer stories, so many fond memories, well just fuzzy flashes of memories and how did I end up on the sofa covered in puke? questions.

Kav blathered this crap:

old knudsen: I'd be less worried about puke than the fact that your trousers were around your ankles. Christ.

fyrchk blathered this crap:

I shall post my puking story on my blog. You're an inspiration!

Marika blathered this crap:

Urg...this brings up horrible memories. I was once on a date with a guy and were were both really anxious to impress one another - his nerves manifested themselves in a trip to the bar at least every 15 minutes, mine in feeling obliged to quickly knock back every single glass of white wine he put in front of me. My the time we'd been there for 4 or 5 hours I could barely speak (neither could he) and I knew the make or break moment of our relationship was fast approaching. I bolted to the ladies an managed managed to be discreet, then decided I needed some fresh air to sober up. Headed outside and was so relieved to be there I just went home - left the poor guy semi-comatose in the bar on his own. The messy part follows - I threw up again another two times - once in the tube station and once in our neighbour's yard (oh , the shame).

Incidentally, I got a phone call from the guy the next day to apologise for leaving me at the bar - he had taken off a few minutes after me because he knew he was too pissed to go looking for me. We went out for a while but I dumped him when he cheated on me with a shop assistant called Jessica.

Presumably she could hold her drink better than I.

Tom Gaylord blathered this crap:

You are a catch Kav!

freshairlover blathered this crap:

Ah shit, I puked off of a top bunk of a set of bunk beds. There were about 10 people sleeping under on the floor. It was my friend's dorm room. Everyone was so fucked that nobody noticed until the next morning.

Fat Sparrow blathered this crap:

Jeez, I've never puked due to drinking. I hold my alcohol really well, and pace myself. I suppose I'm far too sensible.

I have puked a lot due to my bleeding ulcers, though. Does that count? Unfortunately it's not nearly as entertaining.

Oh, oh, I just remembered a funny story about my best friend puking....

We were about 20, and she was house-sitting at a mutual friend's of ours, and we were getting shitfaced in the front room, and having those really, really deep conversations that you have while you're drinking, you know. And then, in the midst of the conversation, she says "Excuse me, please," and walks over to the front door, opens it up, and proceeds to spew vomit all over the front steps. Then she turns to me and says "I'll just be a moment," and gets the hose from the front yard and hoses down the steps. Then she calmly returned, and picked up the conversation where she left off.

I was speechless. Then I laughed so hard I almost pissed myself.

Steph blathered this crap:

You are a cunny funt and no mistake!
I have billions of vomit stories, you knew i would. Trouble is i've shared most of em on my blog. I can't be arsed.

Loved yours though.
You make vomit sound like the new black.

Old Knudsen blathered this crap:

Freshairlover told a lovely story about puking from a top bunk over several people, in my youth I too did the same, but only into my shoes below, yes I did have to wear them the next day.

Kav blathered this crap:

fyrchk: I look forward to it. Will there be sex in it?

marika: Quality story. I was hoping for more sex though.

tom: I know. The gay community held a minute's silence the day I got married.

debbie: An excellent tale, marred only by the lack of sex.

fat sparrow: I feel obligated to point out that my drinking to puking ratio is probably about 150:1, and I can generally manage myself not too badly...

Again, I thoroughly enjoyed your story, but was disappointed to find you and your best friend did not get naked.

steph: Cheers, yes I have come across (heh) one or two of yours in the past. They've all been funny reads, albeit lacking in sex.

old knudsen: I would expect nothing less from a salty old sea dog such as yourself.

Laurie blathered this crap:

One New Year's Eve, I played a drinking game. And lost. I had eaten ranch dip with broccoli all night.

Towards the end of the game, I had to pee...

I go to the bathroom...

I piss....

I stand up...

Look in the mirror....

And projectile vomited half digested broccoli/ranch dip all over my friend's mirror.

Covered the ENTIRE fucking thing.

So I used my forearms as squeegees/wipers and I sprayed orange scented crap and no one EVER found out.

Fat Sparrow blathered this crap:

"I thoroughly enjoyed your story, but was disappointed to find you and your best friend did not get naked."

I'll try harder next time, just for you.

Anonymous blathered this crap: