Barf-O-Rama: Vomitus Maximus

V o m i t u s   M a x i m u s

Sun Splat
When I was in 7th grade, I went to St. Croix with my parents and older brother. On the last day I decided stay in the sun ALL day to be sure I had a good tan when I returned. That was the day I discovered the term "sun poisoning."

On the plane home, A gentleman sat in the window seat, me in the middle, my brother in the aisle. I began to feel extremely ill, but managed to hold on for a while. Until dinner, that is. The man next to me began his meal, and the smell of the airline food proved to be to much. I had a "hurl on deck," but managed to hold it down with a very loud, "HOOP!" My brother didn't know what was going on, and finding my loud exclamation incredibly funny, repeated it several times himself, "HOOP! HOOP! HOOP!" That's when my real hoop came, and I blew into the airline bag several times. That sure showed HIM, didn't it! Can you imagine just how much the man "trapped" next to me enjoyed his airline meal as I hurled into a bag immediately next to him? Katherine M.

That's What Friends Are For
One night in first year university, some schoolmates decided it was time to get me drunk just to enjoy the spectacle. After six beers I was doing reasonably well. Then they bought me a drink called a "Prairie Fire." One particularly determined "friend" threatened to pour the drink over my head if I didn't down it, so I prudently swallowed my pride and drank the brew from Satan's kitchen.

Back at my dorm three hours later, half-asleep over the battle-scarred toilet bowl, I was more violently ill than ever. Suddenly, the stall door slammed into my back as some knucklehead determined to use MY stall, forced me against the wall. I groaned and looked up just in time to see the "friend" who had threatened to pour the drink on me, poke his head in the stall. Then he started to puke in an arc, just barely above my head and into (sort of, anyways) the toilet. The sight, sound and smell were overwhelming, and almost immediately I found myself joining my spray with his. All in all, a night to forget. I was sick for three days. Michael B.

Good Clean Camp Fun
"It was the summer of 1971 at Camp Hemlock, South Salem, NY. I made quite a mess in the mess hall, where inmates from Sing Sing were bused in daily to cook. One morning after cruising the buffet carousel which was the length of an aircraft carrier, I blew lunch, tossed cookies, did the old technicolor yawn -- on about 450 underprivileged kids. Hans, a stoic counselor from West Germany, picked me up under his arm and ran to the outhouse. The sight of dead bats in the pit-toilet had me barf everything since Christmas dinner 1968. I was 9, and it was a veritable barf-o-rama extraordinaire."
Dave S., Elmsford, NY

Clueless Parents Leave Teenages Home Alone
"Once, when I was 14, young and impressionable, my friend Robin and I decided to take advantage of the fact that her parents weren't home. Neither of us had ever really drank before, so we went for the gusto: a 750 ml bottle of Jack Daniels followed by a large extra cheese pepperoni pizza. Less than 15 minutes later, while sitting on the hood of her father's Cadillac, trying to look cool, I began to toss my cookies (& pepperoni) all over the car, myself and Robin. Robin joined in shortly after. The rest of the night was a barfola blur. Somehow we survived. Robin is still my friend. J.D. never was!"
Joclyn F., Willingboro, NJ

Teacher Learns a Lesson
"In the 3rd grade, I had a tummy ache in class one day. I knew if I complained to my teacher, she wouldn't believe the old 'tummy ache story.' So I told her I had an ear ache. She didn't believe that either, and sent me back to my desk which happened to be connected to the next person's, which happened to be connected to the next person's, and so on. No more than 2 seconds after I got back to my desk and put my head down, I screamed a stomach full of vomit across 5 desks, totally covering notes, drawings, pens, pencils and hands. The teacher then sent me to the nurse."
Tom B., Ridgefield, CT

Airline Acts Like a Barf Bag
"When I was visiting my family in Chicago last spring, I caught a stomach flu from my niece. I woke up in the middle of the night with bad cramps and knew I wouldn't make my 9 a.m. flight. So at 6 a.m. I took a bucket to the phone and called American Airlines to reschedule. In the middle of the conversation, I had to say `hold on a minute' while I proceeded to deposit the previous day's lasagna in the bucket. AA then asked if I could get a doctor's note so they wouldn't have to charge me for changing flights. `Didn't you just hear that?' I asked. `I really don't think you want me on your plane right now!'"
Harley M., Ossining, NY

Belgian Beer Barf
The night before I was scheduled to catch a plane out of Belgium, my friends took me out to say good-bye. Before we left, I ate 4 bowls of rice and vegetables soup, along with 4 belgian beers. (About twice the alcohol as US beer). The next thing I knew, I woke up sitting in some bar at 2 a.m. As I got up to walk to men's room, I erupted a plethoric bowkatory: tomatoes, rice, carrots, mushrooms, celery -- the entire garden. I was upset to have wasted so much beer. Horrendously hung over, I amazingly woke up without an alarm clock in time to catch my flight at 8. Needless to say, I didn't want breakfast on the flight.
Rob, Maryland

This Test Blows
"Everone gets a little anxious before taking the Texas Assessment of Basic Skills, the test required to graduate from a Texas High School. Sitting in the huge auditorium, the bubbles on my Scan-Tron answer sheet began to dance. Lurching forward, I vomited pancakes, sausage and orange juice (Mom's pre-test "success" breakfast) all over the test and my new velour jumper. As I got up to run to the bathroom, the proctor shouted "sit down," and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sick," I said, all vomity.

"I'm sorry, but no one is allowed to leave the room after the test starts."

Ignoring him, I headed to the infirmary chased by two more proctors demanding to know what I was up to. My upchucky front was met with looks of repugnance, rather than sympathy. It turns out my stomach distress was caused by Hepatitis. Oh, and you really can leave the room after the test starts...but only if you vomit."
Ellen A.Thornwood, NY

Busload 'O Barf
I was a member of the University of Illinois Jazz Band the year we went to the Notre Dame college Jazz Festival. The whole weekend was of course one big party with lots of drinking and questionable dietary practices. We played our set and then because our work was done we began to sample the local fare: cheap beer and junk food. After an evening of feasting it was time to get back on the bus and go to the hotel.

We piled on and took our seats on the greyhound style bus. A few of us were talking when we noticed that Glenn, our bass player, who was sitting ahead of us, wasn't saying much. So of course we bagan to tease him relentlessly, saying he was probably about to barf from too much beer. Lo and behold he slapped his right hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop the rising torrent. He held his hand firmly over his mouth, but a thin stream of yellow puke shot out from between his index and ring finger. The fine golden stream shot with force enough to hit the back of the blue velvet seat back in front of him. Realizing he could not stop the inevitable, he sprang from his seat and lurched towards us, in the direction of the lavatory at the back of the bus. Seeing this I yelled as loud as I could - "Glenn's barfing!" and everybody dove towards the window seats to avoid being hit by the shower that was by now eminating from all around his hand, like the corona effect observed during a total solar eclipse.

Well, Glenn made it to the can and finished his business, then limped back to his dripping seat, humiliated. We tormented him mercilessly for the rest of his college career, and it made him REALLY angry.
Mike S., the Earl King

Third Grade Apocalypse.
The class was all fidgety, awaiting the end of another boring music lesson with the relentlessly out-of-tune squealings of Miss DeCross, our teacher and amateur musician.

Up went my friend Gary's hand, frantically waving it to no avail. Most of the kids retreated from the dangerously pale and weaving Gary, as he tried to cover his mouth with one hand and flag the teacher with the other. He stamped his feet out of time to get her attention, then ran off.

Suddenly, a gush of hot and highly acrid chumm shot through Gary's tiny fingers, coating Amy (my secret love), Chuck (the class tough) and I with gouts of reheated Quaker Oats, fermented milk and what might have been raisins (or was it bugs?). Pandemonium broke loose, and Chuck hit the floor retching.

Amy let forth a rush of her own pink chunkage, and some new kid from Cape Cod let out a horrific yellowish-clear yelp. I dashed towards the exit, as did most of the class, bottlenecking hopelessly at the narrow doorway while several barfing children helplessly endured their undigested fate behind us. The smell was incredible. Worse than a stick rubbed in doggy doo. Miss DeCross was helpless to stop the stampede. My breakfast was rising. I felt hot and dizzy, like after a rollercoaster.

Once out in the hall, two more kids expelled bodily biliousities until the stench was inescapable. I ran towards the end of the long beige-and-lime hall into the boy's room, crashing into Mr. Johnson, our friendly janitor, who merely said, "whassamattah? some kid pukin' agin?"

Lotsa kids had puked, I replied, as I ran past. Poised in front of the sink , I somehow managed NOT to puke! I thanked God silently, and went into a stall to sit and escape the mayhem. Classmates Philip, Bobby and Arnie blasted in, laughing really hard. That calmed me down. So I sat in the stall and read some cool jokes on the wall, wishing I had a pen to contribute one of my own. One about stupid Gary The Puker.

About ten minutes later, an announcement over the speakers ordered us back to the classroom. There we found poor Mr. Johnson with his mop and that strangely efficient school-grade green disinfecting powder carefully corralling a lumpy pile of SOMETHING REALLY GROSS towards the step bucket. Mr. Johnson was muttering something like "them damn fuckin' spoilt kids..." as he wiped his mop in figure-eights on the shiny gray floor. The room smelled mostly of Lysol, puke and fear. I secretly hated Gary The Puker for along time.

When I got home from school that day, I proudly told my older sister Nancy about Gary's chain-vomit spectacle in detail. She screamed at me and promptly threw up upon our newly-covered red-plaid sofa, my mom's white knitted Afghan and one of my best animal drawings. She cried and told on me immediately. I got scolded, dragged into the bathroom, and had my mouth washed out with Ivory soap. Still shaking, angry and alone in the upstairs bathroom, I tried to brush the soapy taste out of my mouth. It was at that instant that I realized the toothbrush I had just used was Nancy's, and I gagged and puked. I wasn't invincible after all!
David J., Seattle, Washington

Janitor to the Unconscious
A couple of buddies and myself got together over at this guy's house. His parents were away and they had a huge stash of liquor, so, of course, we instantly went for it. After consuming about 6 shots of some mixture, my friends and I decided to take a walk.

3 hours later when we got back, we drank some more to lengthen the buzz. By now his parents had gotten home and it was around 12 o-clock.

We were down in the basement, and while my friends and I watched TV, the guy who lived there passed out without us knowing about it. About half an hour later he suddenly exploded, spewing 2 meals worth of crap onto the floor.

We knew if we didn't get the place cleaned up, his parents would go ape. So we found all the tools of the trade (Lysol, paper towels, brooms) and washed. It took about 2 hours, while the guy who lived there was out cold. Even though the whole basement smelled like puke, his parents never found out!
Shawn G., Toronto, Ontario.

Girlfriend in a Coma
When you get to a party after work, and the first thing you hear is that your girlfriend is outside throwing up, you're already a little steamed that your night is probably ruined. Being a kind, caring gentleman, I took it upon myself to go comfort her. She was so happy to see me that she raised herself off the ground enough to smile at me. As I bent down to comfort her, she regurgitated her screwdrivers onto my jeans. Alright, now I'm really pissed, but I've been in her state before, so I can understand. I decided I would take her home where she could pass out and not get raped my some maniac. (Maybe I should mention that at this time, I still lived with my parents, and was NOT 21!)

In my car, less than a mile from my house, she puts her head between her legs, and just lets it fly. Puke everywhere. On the dashboard, the window, the windshield, the door handles, the shifter, the seat, EVERYWHERE! I couldn't believe anyone her size could have so much to vomit. We get to my house, I drag her inside and lay her down on an old ratty rug that I didn’t care if she puked on.

So I go back out in the cold to my car with a bucket of soapy water and a towel. An hour later, I head back in. She's still passed out, so I turn on the TV. Suddenly, she wakes up, SCREAMS, "WHERE AM I!??" pulls back the old rug, and vomits on my parents white carpet. Then, like nothing happened, she lays the rug back down on the vomit, and passes out again. I took her home around 4 AM, and she stumbled inside. I went back home and polished off the night with my soapy water and towel, and a much needed bottle of Captain Morgans Coconut Rum.
Nick Wyse