76 Comments

1. Comment by Terri | 02.16.2007 | 10:32 am

   When my older daughter was about 18months old, I heard the familiar noise heaving noise coming from her bedroom. I ran in hoping to shepherd her to the bathroom before catastrophe struck. I found her on her bed, her hand pressed over her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out like Louis Armstrong. Dear Lord! She was holding it in! I ran her to the bathroom and told her to spit it in the toilet. She refused! Her face growing redder and redder, her belly heaving. Her mouth could contain it no longer, so it began leaking out from between her fingers as she began screaming, “I AM FALLING APART!”. I felt terribly that she felt so ill, but I could not help but laugh. It was her first cognizant barf and she wasn’t sure what was happening. She actually thought she was falling apart and her first reaction was to hold it in. Needless to say, she got over it, and eventually was able to barf anywhere. Sigh.

2. Comment by sans auto | 02.16.2007 | 10:34 am

   Barfing? Well, pyloric stenosis runs in the family. That means that when my second son was about 6 weeks old the bottom of his stomach grew shut. He didn’t poop for a week (until after the surgery). Everything that went down came right back up. At first we were pretty good at clean up and got pretty fast. After hundreds of times being puked on, you eventually get used to it and just sort of rub it into your shirt and go on with your day. If you tried to change every time you would have to wash ALL of your clothes twice daily.

   I think my favorite was when he puked on you and you set him down so you could do a little wipe up and then as he was laying on his back he looked like a little fountain, spewing partially digested milk straight up into the air.

   Like I said, this runs in the family. Stories have it that when I was little, if you were burping me on one side of the room, I could projectile vomit and hit the wall on the opposite side of the room. From a 9 pound baby it was a pretty amazing accomplishment.

3. Comment by Mrs. Coach | 02.16.2007 | 10:50 am

   When I was a kid I don’t remember barfing much. Probably because my parents made us clean it up. Nope, not kidding. You could be sick as a dog, but it was your responsibility to barf in a bucket or you had rag duty.

   Other than that I think one of my best (not funny, just more embarrassing) barf stories is that when I was dating my husband I had made some peanut butter cookies (perfect, all chewy and delicious) to try to impress him with my domestic skills. He and a few friends were going mtbiking that day and his friend ate a ton of my cookies. (i told you they were delicious) He ended up puking all day on that ride. I was mortified.

   I also remember in HS having a party while my parents were away while babysitting my youngest brother who had just returned home from a baseball game where aparently he had eaten too many bratwursts. That was a fun night.

4. Comment by Lowrydr | 02.16.2007 | 10:54 am

   OK, as the father of three grown children and two grandchildren the storys could get long. So here is one on the bike side instead. Although my son still will not eat chocolate.(different long story)

   We here in Iowa have this little bike ride across the state every year.(RAGBRAI) A group of friends and myself were riding to the starting point one year. Which was three days from the capitol, in the center of the state. As we were traveling down a back country road in the early evening. When what do I see just up the road, well it’s a dead Skunk.

   We all lined up to pass by between the Skunk and the ditch, and alll was looking great. Then over the hill behind us came a big farm truck. It hit that Skunk right as I was on the other side of it. Talk about Barfing, it lasted for at least 10 minutes straight. (seems like anyway.)

   But I did find out that you can Barf on a recumbent trike without stopping. We were running in a good paceline about 25 mph when the odor hit hard. And I was just taking a breath of air when the stink hit full on in the face.

   This still comes to mind when ever I get a whiff of Skunk. Everyone else was glad that I was in the back of the line that night. The smell came off the bike with a quick trip through the car wash. Or so they told me the rest of the weeks ride.

5. Comment by Stan | 02.16.2007 | 10:58 am

   I saw a guy barf in a bike race once. It was a training race at Brookdale Park in New Jersey. There is a little hill on the course, and we were going hard up the hill. At the top, this guy just leaned over to the side and ralphed. And then he kept going. I was seriously impressed. I’ve driven myself to maximum effort, but I never managed to get to the barf-level of exertion. And if I did, I wouldn’t keep racing.

6. Comment by Mrs. Coach | 02.16.2007 | 11:09 am

   Bob says just about every time he races he feels like he’s going to barf.

7. Comment by BotchedExperiment | 02.16.2007 | 11:35 am

   Not since your (er, Bob’s) article on “How to pee whilst riding your bike” has my sense of decorum been so assaulted by you and the fatheads. I’m just apauled.

   Besides, I tend to have problems on the other end of things when it comes to biking. A couple years ago during the E100 I took a dump in someone’s yard while on the Tour de Homes trail. I can’t help but feel I owe them an apology: Uh, sorry, it couldn’t be helped. That was the first emergency stop during that race, but there was many more to come.

8. Comment by Conejita | 02.16.2007 | 11:36 am

   This story has been told to me and to my complete horror many of my (ex)boyfriends by my mother. I was only about a year old so some of the content may or may not be an accurate depiction of actual events.

   Anyways, when I was born we lived in Guam because my father worked on a government contract through Lockheed. Now, in order to fly to Guam you cant just get a direct flight, you have to fly through Tokyo to get anywhere else. So, my parents and I had gone to Seattle to visit my grandparents and on the return flight home is where disaster struck.

   Now I feel it is important before I continue to interject that on a flight from the united states to Tokyo, that most of the passengers are Japanese Business men in nice suits. And here are my parents, sitting in business class no less, with a one year old who they just introduced to solid foods. Anyways, about an hour after take off on a 12 hour flight, I puked green beans all over my dad and he spent the next 11 hours in close confines, smelling like puke and appologizing to everyone sitting next to us.

   To make matters worse, he still had to go through customs and spend a layover and another 3 hour flight to Guam smelling like puke. To this day he still packs and extra pair of clothes in his carry-on if we are flying somewhere together.

9. Comment by PedalGeek | 02.16.2007 | 12:00 pm

   There are a number of reasons I’m going to submit this story and there are equally as many reasons why I shouldn’t including my wife killing me. However, the main reason is that if I win my very own fatcyclist email account I can always claim that I’m in training for the next prize I will win.

   I exercise often, eat well most times and like most avid athleticish people that I have met greatly enjoy the fact the frequent excercise allows me to eat lots of food. The side effect of this large amount of food intake is that there is a lot of unpleasant gas generated from the processing of said food.

   I travel a lot for work and as such have a number of close friends in other cities. One friend had stopped by my hotel room before he and I headed out to supper at one of our fav restaurants on the patio. He was engrossed in a phone conversation with his boss about an upcoming contract that they had just won when I ventured over to the window to enjoy the view while I waited. As I’m standing by the A/C unit below the window, I relieved myself of some of this gas. Seconds later, I hear a familiar retching sound coming from behind me. I turn to see my buddy who is still on the phone in a full-on gag. He is trying to politely rush his boss off the phone, hold down his lunch and look for a recepticle to throw up in. As he yells “I’ll call you back”…he throws up all over my hotel room floor., barely missing his phone and not even coming close to the garbage can.
   While this may not be my proudest moment, winning an email addy would make this story even funnier, and of course I’d forward the link to my buddy.
   Some men never grow up. :-)

10. Comment by Tim Kimrey | 02.16.2007 | 12:39 pm

    I’ve got two, and I am gonna submit them as separate comments in case this becomes a numbers game.

    My younger brother had “been sick” and since he was feeling better, he decided to rehydrate with that wonderful space beverage, TANG. He loved TANG and drank lots of it.
    Later that morning, he and I are in the back of the Dodge Aries K heading off somewhere with my step-mother, who is driving and bitching at my dad, who is in the passenger seat. Jon, my brother, begins to look a bit discolored, and says weakly, “Mom, I need you to….” She says, “shut up, I am talking to your father.” He says, “But mom…” and she waves him off. At this point he brings his hand up to cover his mouth, which has the same affect as putting one’s thumb on the end of a water hose. A jet of orange sprays all over the place, but the majority sprays the back of my stepmother’s head ( I like to think of that as justice).
    An observation: TANG and bile have the same affect on vinyl as Armor All, so the car looked great after cleaning it out. But the smell was ungodly. When I inherited the car a few years later, I would look in my rear-view mirror expecting to see astronauts following me. And the TANG-mobile was not named so for all the reasons that men would think. In fact a Dodge Aries K that smells of synthetic citrus is one of the least seductive cars a high school boy could own.

11. Comment by KatieA | 02.16.2007 | 12:41 pm

    My brother and I once had a puke-fest on holiday – and we weren’t babies or toddlers, I was about 12, he was about 16.

    We’d been enjoying a lovely South Coast holiday, staying at a nice motel and swimming, surfing, etc – all the fun stuff. Parents decided to take us out to dinner at the local bowling club (lawn bowls – think people in their 90s).

    Being the yuppie kids that we were (or thought it was cool to try and be), we ordered prawn cocktail. You know what they are? Lettuce, prawns and some dressing. Now USUALLY people use fresh prawns for this, but being a bowlo, they tend to skimp on some things, like fresh, so we go those little, tiny tinned prawns.

    Went home after the rest of dinner, and about 9pm – Katie started puking. Then my brother. My parents spent the remainder of the night caring for two incredibly ill children who were repeatedly throwing up, in a motel room with one bathroom.

    “Katie, get out of the toilet, your brother needs to throw up.”

    “Simon, get out of the toilet, your sister needs to throw up.”

    We left there the next day to go home, usually a 2-3 hour drive. Except it took 5, because we had to stop every 5min for one of us to get out, throw up on the side of the road, and then restart the journey.

    I ended up in our local medical centre having to have an injection to try and keep anything in my system. I sat in the waiting room with my bucket, and tried not to gross people out. 30secs after I’d had the needle, I threw up on the doctor’s floor.

12. Comment by Heffalump | 02.16.2007 | 12:44 pm

    I have to say I love to adclicks for this post. Is your dog vomiting?
    I don’t have a good puke story involving a bike, and I by no means expect to win the prize.
    Almost two years ago we were just getting over some flu-like symptoms at our house. No one had puked since the day before and everyone seemed to be in good health. It was my birthday and I was going to go to Costco to get a few things. My three year old begged to go with me to the store. He seemed perfectly healthy, but I was nervous about taking him. My husband assured me it would be fine.
    So there we are going through Costco and having an occasional sample here and there. I was just making the last aisle before checkout (it was the bread aisle) when my son’s eyes got really big and he started to cry. “Mommy, I don’t feel goo….” There was nothing I could do…I tried to get to him, but I didn’t have a barf bag or anything…so I ended up with puke all down my front, and all over the floor. People in Costco quickly started to avoid that aisle while I sat there wondering what to do. Finally some poor Costco employee came with the stuff to soak up the puke and some towels for us. Needless to say, I didn’t make my purchase and I was afraid to go back later to get what I needed. Its a birthday I wish I could forget, but it still haunts me.

13. Comment by Steve | 02.16.2007 | 12:50 pm

    I’ll make it short (hard to say “and sweet” when referring to barf): My son was about 3 – 4 years old. He had never experienced the joy of barfing to this point in his life. He wasn’t really ever sick as I recall. He was sitting on the arm of an overstuff chair watching some inane show on TV. My wife and I were in the kitchen and then we heard the gurgling, convulsing sound that only a puking kid can make followed by the unmistakeable “SPLAT!” of puke on hardwood floor. He started yelling, “MOM! MOM! I’m a fountain!” He was LAUGHING! I watched as he marched through the kitchen, puking and laughing as he went. The craziest part was that it was a perfect tube shape spray flying from his mouth. He must have drank a gallon of juice. Did I mention it was grape juice.

14. Comment by SYJ | 02.16.2007 | 12:51 pm

    My best barf story is, at its heart, a tale of overindulgence typical of the children of midwest suburbia.

    When I was 17 or so, I went to the “Taste of Minnesota” with a group of my friends. The idea was to spread out a blanket, listen to the band that was playing (I no longer recall who it was…probably some third tier classic rock act relegated to the ‘fairs and festivals’ circuit), watch the fireworks, and head home. In true fattie fashion, each of these activities were to be punctuated with the ingestion of typical Minnesota fare – cheese curds, brats, and the like. Sadly, the Taste of Minnesota offered no hot dish (Minnesotans are laughing…the rest need an explanation).

    Upon arriving, we spread out our blanket, and a bottle of particularly nasty booze was produced, and passed around to all (but our driver). We drank, browsed the little hippie shops, drank some more, got our fill of midwest cuisine, drank some more, got some fresh lemonaid, and drank some more.

    Night fell, and the fireworks were about to begin. We sat captivated, and slightly buzzed, as the first explosions went up. Then, suddenly, something happened. It was like a grand finale, only on the ground. Fireworks were launching everywhere, exploding on and only slightly above ground level. It turns out that someone was a bit careless, and some sort of spark landed in the munitions stores.

    After hearing the wail of the ambulance, we came to the conclusion that the show was over. Suddenly, we realized that we were faced with a dramatically forshortened evening, and about 2/3 of a bottle of Southern Comfort (even typing it gives me the willies). Since we were kids with limited resources (both financial and ability to procure booze) who didn’t want to risk driving with an open bottle, the decision was made to consume the remaining spirits. Ha-ha…love those rational teenage thoughts. Two of the young ladies with us begged off, a third was driving, meaning that only two people finished off the bottle. I was, of course, one of them.

    It took us about 20 minutes to get to the car (during which the bottle was finished), and another 30 to negotiate traffic. Just enough time for all of that liquid sickness to take effect. I rolled my window down long before we made it to the freeway, and just hung my head out the window, breathing the fresh air. the more we drove, the worse I felt. Finally, my stomach’s revolution hit critical mass. I began to get sick. Violently, horrifically, disgustingly sick.

    Now, if you’ve ever seen someone throw up after eating nasty fried food and drinking large quantities of booze, you know just how forceful it can be. Take that force, and add the multiplier of a car doing 65 down the interstate, and you have carnage on a massive scale. Cars behind us came to a virtual stop as I deposited my lunch and dinner down 35 W. A few had to turn their windshield wipers on. Impressive, but the true wonder was yet to be revealed.

    By the time we made it home, I had largely recovered. I was lucky in that my stomach revolted before all of the alcohol could be absorbed. I say lucky because it both kept me from making an uplanned visit to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning, and it allowed me to examine my artwork with a reasonable degree of mental acuity.

    Artwork? Yes. Imagine Jackson Pollock working in a medium of cheese, bratwurst, mountain dew, lemonaid, and southern comfort. Now imagine that the canvas for such artwork was the side of a 1986 Chevy Cavalier (white, 4 door). Truly a thing of beauty.

    I made a quick detour to the car wash, and removed the bulk of my ‘project’. I then went home & slept the remainder off.

    Several months later, the owner of the car was involved in an accident (ironically, on that same stretch of I-35). She spun several times, and hit a pylon. The force of the accident, she informed me, was not sufficient to cause injury, or total the car. It was, however, severe enough to dislodge some of the clods of my effluent that had remained stubbornly affixed to her car, between some of the body panel gaps.

    Thus ends the story. I’ve never had so much as a drop of SoCo since.

    Once, my bro-in-law puked on a ride (the top of the Red Canyon portion of the Cottonwood Norba Course in Vegas), but that was mainly funny because he was my bro-in-law.

    SYJ

15. Comment by Tim Kimrey | 02.16.2007 | 12:54 pm

    My second submission, and perhaps favorite barf story ever.

    Some shipmates in Pensacola threw an enormous party in a two story condo. After being at the party for a while, I noticed that my friend Alex had vanished and I was a bit concerned because he had a bottle of the evil Wild Turkey. I grabbed a couple of friends and we started searching for him inside and outside. Eventually we found an upstairs closet with the door locked and banged on the door. “Go away” someone slurred from inside. I picked the lock and opened the door and was floored by the smell. It made my eyes and nose hurt. Alex was sitting on the floor with a trashcan between his cowboy boots. That trashcan was full of evil, awful, foul wild turkey bile and it had to go.
    My friend Bill grabbed the can, ran for the balcony and dumped it over the rail.
    –dramatic pause–
    From below we hear feminine screams “Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God” we all rush to the balcony to look over and see a gal flailing her arms, droplets of the barf are flying in all directions. She begins to throw up and a couple of folks nearby go into sympathetic heaving. It was chaos, and it was disgustingly hilarious.

16. Comment by Boz | 02.16.2007 | 12:56 pm

    While at the local indoor water park for daughter #1’s 13th birthday bash, I was sitting near the in/out door watching several of the party’s kids playing in the pool. I don’t like public pool/water parks due to the fact that the bathrooms don’t seem to get used very often, thou the kids consume lots of pop ect…
    When daughter #2 come out of the pool feeling queasy, I said to get to the nearby bathroom pronto. I was occupied, so I was going to take her back to the room. As I got out of my chair, what appeared to be a fire hydrant-like gusher spewed from her pie hole. I grabbed a towel for the inevitable round 2, but she pulled the trigger just to fast for even my cat like reflexes to catch. I signalled to the staff for clean-up assistance, but they weren’t too interested. People kept on walking thru the mess unaware of what was going on. I hustled her back to the room as mom was already back there in full mother mode. Returning to the scene of crime to watch the other kids, no clean-up had been forthcoming, people still tramping thu the contaminated area unaware. I took my seat to watch the kids, trying not to make eye contact with anyone nearby. Needless to say, I am not a water park fan. Never will be.
    BTW, the little kids area was closed off twice due to Baby Ruth incidents while we were there. Carl was prompt on the cleanup.

17. Comment by Ironmama | 02.16.2007 | 1:01 pm

    My husband and I have always been pretty competitive with one another. But in the physical realm, he had always had me beat.

    But then, I lost 60 pounds and he gained something like 35. So I got my first road bike and he wanted to take me out and show me some good routes – plus show off what a great cyclist he is. After all, he used to race bicycles – and win!

    Well, when I say he “used to” race bikes, I really mean “used to.” Like, 10 years ago. And he raced mountain bikes anyway – who knows whether he was ever a strong road cyclist.

    We started up a pretty significant climb, and I got ahead of him. I crested the hill and pulled over to wait.

    And wait, and wait.

    Eventually, he comes puffing up the hill, probably going 3 miles per hour. I didn’t even know a road bike would stay up at that pace. He looks like hell. I ask him if he’s okay, and instead, he hops off his bike, and pukes for the next five minutes.

    Needless to say, I WIN!!! And we have called that hill “The Puke Hill” ever since, and all my cycling friends (yeah, the hubby and I don’t ride together much anymore) know the exact spot where my husband lost his lunch – and his pride.

18. Comment by Boz | 02.16.2007 | 1:11 pm

    #2 – My little brother, who possesses a notoriously weak stomach for such a bruiser, was building a new house. I came over early on a saturday morrning to help. He was seated at the table of the old farm house he lived in at the time eating breakfast – bacon, eggs, toast. The night before was spent drinking beer and Jag. He finished breakfast, so we headed up to he building site. I had a case of the Blatz splatz, and let a nasty one rip. Sound and smell triggered the senses and he puked as if on cue. Finished, we walked on, him saying” I don’t know WHAT happened, but I feel better now”. I said “turn around and check that out” just as his dog was lapping up the breakfast barf. He hurled again, but with even greater force. What a mess. He didn’t look back again, I’m telling you. We got to work without further incident.

19. Comment by Uncadan8 | 02.16.2007 | 1:18 pm

    SYJ – I haven’t heard that term in years! Hot dish – the staple of the potluck dinner.

20. Comment by Boz | 02.16.2007 | 1:50 pm

    I suppose Bob will post another body function topic over at RR. Where is Al’s comment, and Barry’s, also ? Can’t wait, they should be epic.

21. Comment by Kerri | 02.16.2007 | 1:51 pm

    My story includes myself, my newlywed husband, a West Indian waiter, a very small cruise ship and seafood chowder. Did I mention it was our honeymoon? And to that point I had had limited experience with boats and didn’t have any idea that I’m prone to seasickness? Anyway, about 2 days after our wedding, my husband and I were on a Windjammer cruise ship in the dining room. I wasn’t used to the movement of the ship yet, and it was quite windy that day. We were sitting at our table having a perfectly nice salad when the waiter came to the table with some rather fragrant bowls of seafood chowder. Well, that was all my queasy stomach needed to touch off the vomiting. I spewed all over the tablecloth, splashed my husband of two days and made rather a spectacle of myself before my husband hustled me off to the top deck to get some air. We’re still together after 11 years, so I guess he didn’t mind it too much. Needless to say, though, it was a long time before I ate clam chowder again.

22. Comment by LMouse | 02.16.2007 | 2:02 pm

    One of the benefits of growing older is that you tend to forget things like this, especially about your darling children who were never (as far as I can remember) anything but perfect angels.

    The other benefit of growing older is grandchildren. Their parents handle unpleasant thigs like barf, and I get to play, bake cookies, and read stories. BTW, I have a new granddaughter–born last night. How adorable is that?
    You know, it’s funny–I was raised by a pack of boys, then I grew up and raised a pack of boys, and now the grandchildren are all girls! Am I lucky or what?

    So, gotta go. Got a big week”s vacation ahead with our precious tiny baby girl AND a great big awesome Tour. Life just doesn’t get any better than this!

    Love on those kids, Fatty. They grow up too fast. (Don’tcha just hate it when old folks say that? Especially after a night like you just had?)

    Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

23. Comment by Bob | 02.16.2007 | 2:07 pm

    Back when I was a Mormon missionary, I barfed all over a woman during a prayer. And then I barfed all over her couch and living room floor and front door (I couldn’t get it open fast enough) and gate (I couldn’t open that either). When I finally wrapped up my dry heaves, the whole family was throwing sand on the vomit as efficiently as a CTS Decon team. They stayed with Catholicism.

24. Comment by Rick S. | 02.16.2007 | 2:41 pm

    Goat Cheese Ravioli 1 hour before climbing Tibble Fork. Enough said.

25. Comment by kaos | 02.16.2007 | 2:48 pm

    My daughter is in the same category as your eldest. She is a barfing pro. If they had a draft for the barfing team she’d be the number one pick. Usually the times she barfs is when she’s in the middle of a head cold and asleep. Evidently snotty mucus triggers the events. Well one time she was sleeping on the sofa with me sitting next to her and she woke up with “that look”. Being a good parent, I understood what was going to happen and picked her up hoping to get to the kitchen sink. So I’m running across the den with my arms extended pointing her away from me when she explodes like a fire hose. I slipped as soon as I hit the slimy mess on the hardwood floors that she paved for me. I ended up on my backside sliding across the kitchen and into the dishwasher all the time I’m still holding on to her. Thankfully no one got hurt but I had barf everywhere. Ears, hair eyeballs, you name it and I had it.

26. Comment by Mrs. Coach | 02.16.2007 | 3:02 pm

    I have to say that as disgusting as all these posts are its going along perfectly with my gloomy mood today.

27. Comment by clydesdale | 02.16.2007 | 3:14 pm

    I will save reading all of the posts until later but I have 3 stories that need to be told.
    1. This is the funniest to me although for some reason not to my wife. So our newborn daughter wakes up hungry, since my wife had rusty pipe syndrom and couldn’t breast feed, or we decided not to feed our baby blood infused milk, I had the duty that morning. So my daughter, like her dad, loved to eat. She had a nice big bottle and I burped accordingly. As we hear Mommy stirring we go to say hello. Mommy was a little groggy but happy to see her little girl so I dutifully sat her on her and watched. Mommy was laying down and lifted her over her head in a playfull way and was talking to her. At the exact moment that she was saying some smoochy woochy words our daughter barfed and the whole projectile vomit went right into my wife’s mouth!! I couldn’t take the baby as I was rolling on the ground laughing so she couldn’t spit it out for a few minutes! You see how funny it was… right??!!

    2. Going for a nice hilly road loop with the guys and my brother in law, new to the road biking thing, decides he wants to come along. So after coffee and bananas for breakfast he joins us. Did I say it was a hilly ride? Anyway, he is being dropped on every hill and looks like death at the top of each and I could count his pulse by the dents being made in his chest by his heart. He is the type to refuse to give in or admit he is an anvil. So after the 3rd or 4th hill I drop back on the next one to ride and encourage him. I’m talking away and enjoying things when I look over to see a stream of vomit running down his cheek over his bike onto the ground. I look back and there is a slick about 30 ft. long!! He made it to the top, stopped and barfed for a good 5 minutes and finished the ride. I bought him a coffee and a bunch of bananas after the ride… we don’t talk much anymore?!

    The 3rd isn’t as funny and I’m tired of typing…

28. Comment by LanterneRouge | 02.16.2007 | 3:29 pm

    I think this is the longest sorry-about-not posting posts that I have ever read. It is definitely the most gut wrenching.

29. Comment by Sandie R. | 02.16.2007 | 3:46 pm

    http://facilitybikeclub.blogspot.com/2006/09/riding-with-ryan-is-hazardous-to-your.html

30. Comment by Born4Lycra | 02.16.2007 | 4:23 pm

    Botched you owe them more than an apology.

31. Comment by KeepYerBag | 02.16.2007 | 4:38 pm

    #1 I was about ten years old, sick in bed with the flu. I could tell I was going to hurl and made a mad dash for the bathroom. The lid was down on the toilet so I aimed for the bathtub, only to see my eight year old brother completely naked and crouched down in the tub with his hand on the faucet ready to turn on the water for a bath. It was too late for me to change course, though, and I did a Linda Blair that covered him from head to toe. Even though the cleanup was relatively easy, he cried for more than an hour.

    #2 I was having dinner at my cousin’s house. Both her and her (now ex) husband are large people who love to eat and eat and eat and they had a dog that they fed as though it were human–the mutt ate at least twice as much as I did that evening. After dinner we were sitting and talking in the living room, and that mangy animal jumped up between my legs and spewed a hefty load of vile, acrid vomit right into my lap. The stench was wonderful: a pungent bouquet of regurgitated steak, banana cream pie and Alpo infused with the aroma of raw sewage and rotting animal carcasses. No human’s vomitus could compare. My thoroughly embarrassed cousin cleaned up the solids and I promptly returned home (windows rolled down) to decontaminate. I didn’t even bother to try and save my clothes.

32. Comment by monkeywebb | 02.16.2007 | 5:33 pm

    Am I the first to blame Fatty himself for a bike related “reversal of fortune”? My first TT of the B7 resulted in a very mild case of bile bilge action. Needless to say I have since revised my “anything less than literal gut-wrentching is sandbagging” philosophy…

33. Comment by sans auto | 02.16.2007 | 6:30 pm

    OK, I’ve got another. I used to teach an Exercise Physiology lab in my master’s program. We did exercise tests. if you didn’t volunteer for one of the tests early in the year, you would have to do the Wingate test. The Wingate is only 30 seconds long, but it’s an all out sprint. Students thought it would be a piece of cake. For most it was, but every semester I would get a couple of students who would come to class hung over. I never had anyone throw up during the sprint, but if the student was hung over they would throw up within 5 minutes after the sprint… every time. So don’t mix alcohol and sprint workouts.

34. Comment by Andrew | 02.16.2007 | 7:14 pm

    Ok, no one said this had to be a HUMAN barfing story, but this was the most cosmically vile mess I have ever experienced, so here goes…

    Many years ago, my fiancée and I had adopted an elderly dog we named Satchmo.

    This 70lb wedge-headed brindle Boxer was a wonderful companion with soulful, seal-like eyes and a tremendous will to please, a once-in-a-lifetime caliber of dog.

    Satchmo’s only fault was he felt “hungry” all the time, so that when we would leave our apartment he would tear apart the kitchen in search of anything edible.

    We solved this problem neatly by shutting him in my office when we had to go out. It worked hundreds of times with no issues.

    One day, just before Christmas, I had purchased several pounds of organic coffee beans. My fiancée did not recognize the box they were in as something containing food, and put the box of beans in my office. Around 6pm, we went to a Christmas party & shut Satchmo in this room.

    We had one of those memorable, beautiful evenings full of friends, wine, and exceptional food. Only something that my fiancée ate did not agree with her, and she started feeling shaky & nauseous on the way home.

    We arrived back home at around midnight, opened the door, and a nightmarish smell hit us like a wall of toxic fog. Something was TERRIBLY wrong. We ran to the dog’s room and threw open the door.

    If we thought the smell in the house was bad… What we saw made our knees buckle from dual sledgehammers of visual and olfactory horrors.

    Poor Satchmo had eaten the coffee beans, thrown them up, and eaten them again! Eat-Puke-Eat-Puke-Eat-Puke-Eat-Puke-Eat-Puke-Eat-Puke!

    Caffeine is a laxative too. So he had experienced explosive diarrhea EVERYWHERE. I think he might have eaten and puked some of that as well.

    Vomit & shit blended via dog footprints into a sheet of liquid nightmare coating the furniture, carpet, walls.

    It…. Was….. Beyond… Comprehension…

    Also the poor dog was in a really bad way, desperate & shaking with a heart rate that would have made a Polar monitor read “TILT”.

    My fiancée was so sick & nauseated by the scene, she doubled over in pain & staggered off to bed, while I drove the stinking canine to the Vet Emergency hospital.

    After some wonderful care & many hours of worry, Satchmo would live, but he had to stay overnight.

    I drove home as dawn was breaking, relieved. But as I arrived at my fetid domicile I realized a horrid truth-

    We did not own the house, we were renting, and I had to clean up the vomit-crap dog-blender nightmare immediately, as it was crusting and soaking into the carpet.

    And I had to do it alone, my fiancée was so ill she could not help.

    As the adrenalin of near-dog-death wore off, I experienced some of the most exhausted, worn out, disgusting, horrid hours of my life scrubbing & scouring.

    My fiancée is now my wife, and went on to become a veterinarian.

    Satchmo died long ago & his ashes are in a small box next to the laptop I write this on.

    He was not the easiest dog, nor was this the only time his stomach got him in trouble (think birdseed, prunes, & my father-in-law’s expensive Cuban cigars) but I still miss Satch all the time.

35. Comment by flatlander | 02.16.2007 | 7:58 pm

    I see most of you folks had to look into the distant past to come up with your vomit comedy. Mine, like Fatty’s, occurred last night about 1:45am when my darling little 4-year old daughter woke me up by sitting on me in my bed and saying “Daddy!” As my eyes opened and consciousness returned, her projectile vomiting got me right in the face. Spitting out your own chunks is one thing, spitting out someone else’s is, well, something else.

    Anyway, she’d already left a large mess of quite interesting texture all over her own bed, had now totaled mine, and would later about 5:30am fill her 6-year old brother’s bed with vomit. Only my 8-year old son’s bed remained unscathed last night (and only because his bed is a loft bed I built over the 6-year old’s). Good thing we got that new huge front-loading washer that can apparently simultaneously wash all bedding east of the Mississippi at once.

    And even though my wife lost a lot of sleep cleaning up with me last night and then staying home from work today, she was for once very happy that my daughter is a “Daddy’s girl” and had come to me when she felt horrible in the middle of the night.

36. Comment by Ryan W | 02.16.2007 | 10:09 pm

    Last New Year’s Eve, I was with my family on a small island in Belize. We’re a famously disagreeable lot, and it had taken us months to settle on this locale. It seemed to offer everything we wanted. Shopping for Mom, fishing for my father and brother, and SCUBA for me.

    On my last day diving (thankfully, I suppose), I grew ill on the ride back in. I figured it for seasickness, though that would have been unusual for me. Pretty much, I held it down in a herculean effort for two hours. The boat dropped me at my hotel’s dock, and as soon as they were out of site, I went belly-down on the pier with only my face jutting out over the edge, looking down at the water. Using the planks of the dock for leverage, I heaved like never before. My entire lunch plummetted into the water before me. Mostly rice and beans and key lime pie. But something was horribly wrong. There was no liquid. And when I say no, I mean absolutely none. It was a testimony to my esophagus’ strength that it could force out this paste of undigested food. I knew that this was bad. What followed was worse.

    I made it back to my room where I was overcome with diarrhea. I say diarrhea only because it was coming out of that end. In actuality, it was all blood. Thinking “Hey, something is off with my normal bowel movement”, I crawled to the bed where I had my brother fetch my parents. By the time they arrived, I was in hypovolemic shock and couldn’t move due to complete contraction of all extremities. We rode our golf cart to the clinic on the island. I got an IV, but kept on hemorrhaging. By this time it was 10PM, so we had to wait 30 minutes for a charter plane. I got taken to the mainland. There, I got a central line, an endoscopy, a colonoscopy, and no conclusive results. But the bleeding stopped. I spent three nights in the ICU. And it all started with vomit.

37. Comment by John | 02.17.2007 | 2:07 am

    My barf story is about the time we discovered my son’s mango allergy.

    My friend Bill had returned home to Australia to visit after several years studying and working overseas. We (me, my wife and our three small children) took Bill into Sydney city by ferry, and walked to Chinatown for Yum Cha at a restaurant that had been recommended to me.

    The restaurant lived up to its reputation, and we adults stuffed ourselves silly on every kind of dim sum. The children, being small, weren’t so adventurous. The older girl (three) had some spring rolls. Her little sister (one) ate some steamed rice. Her twin brother didn’t like anything we offered, until the desserts came along. One of the dishes was mango custard. Number one son loved it, and ate almost a bowlful. Great, we thought, we’ll remember that – something he likes to eat.

    Finished up, paid the bill, and went for a walk around the Sydney CBD, and ended up at the ABC Shop in the Queen Victoria Building. The Queen Victoria Building is a nineteenth-century shopping arcade, restored in the 1980’s, and full of exclusive shops. The ABC Shop is a chain owned by the national broadcaster, and is the place to go for “thinking person’s” books, CDs and DVDs – a real treasure trove.

    My wife and I were each carrying one of the twins, and three-year-old sister was running madly around the shop, with Bill keeping an eye on her. We’d each wandered off to different parts of the store, when I heard a cry of alarm from my wife. I looked around to see my baby son launching a bright, mango-coloured stream of vomit across the floor, easily two or three metres. I ran over to help, but what can you do with a vomiting baby? We just had to wait until he had finished, my wife directing his mouth away from herself as much as possible, Bill and I just looking on helplessly while my son painted the floor orange. It seemed to go on for ages, if you hadn’t seen it you wouldn’t believe so much vomit could come out of a small child.

    We cleaned up my wife and son as much as possible with some spare nappies. A young lady who worked there was looking in horror at the spectacular pool of regurgitated mango custard in the middle of her formerly green carpet. We offered to help her clean it up, but she very kindly said, “No, that’s alrigt, we can handle it.”

    Any parent of baby twins will tell you that if someone offers to do something for you, you don’t argue. We said, “Well, if you’re sure…”, and beat a hasty retreat.

    The next time I visited the ABC Shop it was in a different location, so I don’t know if they ever got the stain out of the carpet. A couple of subsequent incidents confirmed that it is indeed mangoes that my son is allergic to. And my friend Bill returned to the US with a great story.

38. Comment by Terri | 02.17.2007 | 4:17 am

    After reading all these barf stories, I bet Fatty’s weight plummets below 160!

39. Comment by bikemike | 02.17.2007 | 8:21 am

    rolling around on the floor with my dogs. dog #1 jumps on top of my chest barking and laughing and proceeds to throw up on my face which in turn sets off the gag reflex in me and i throw up. my wife (at the time) did not like either one of us for quite some time. yep, gross would be a real good word.

40. Comment by Monty | 02.17.2007 | 9:02 am

    Maître d’ Ah, good afternoon, sir; and how are we today?
    Mr Creosote Better.
    Maître d’ Better?
    Mr Creosote Better get a bucket. I’m going to throw up.

41. Comment by dodger | 02.17.2007 | 9:27 am

    A few years I went out to a few bars with some friends. My girlfriend of the time went out with her friends to some other bars. She was not much of a drinker but she was determined to make me feel bad about my drinking by becoming completely trashed.
    She was drunk to the point that I had to come pick her up at whatever place she was at and heard the same story 3 times in the span of one hour. The poor girl began throwing up at home and woke up with an angry hangover.
    I decided to teach her about responsibility and drinking and made her come with my to my local bike shop. As soon as we got to the parking lot she threw open her door and barfed in the parking lot right in front of the entrance to the bike shop.
    She never went back there, and my new girlfriend got a job there. Bonus!

42. Comment by Caloi-Rider | 02.17.2007 | 10:30 am

    I’m pretty sure I have a barf story you don’t want to hear. But I’m gonna tell it.
    You’ve been warned.
    By now, the whole world knows I broke my jaw a few years ago–I tell people that much more often than I should. The story I don’t tell nearly as often is about getting my jaw wired shut the next morning. Let’s skip the unimportant details to when I woke up: I could feel my jaw being pulled from side to side and when I finally coaxed my eyes open I the doctor and his assistant were trying to get the tension right on one of the wires between the frames. Fortunately, it was the last thing they needed to do before calling it good. They saw I was awake and moved me to a wheelchair so I could get an X-ray taken.
    As the assistant and I entered the X-ray room, and despite not having eaten anything for probably 14 hours, I couldn’t help it and I doubled over in the chair and let it out. The trouble was that my mouth was wired shut.
    Ever heard the expression, “I just thew up in my mouth!”? Yeah, I’ve done that.
    So I started blowing the puked out through my teeth by inhaling through my nose. But that wasn’t the grossest part. I then saw, on the sterile hospital floor, what I was puking … are you ready for this?
    It was a big pool of blood. During the operation, a bunch of blood from my gums (where they were wiring my teeth) and the rest of my mouth (where they’d needled me with numbing medication) had drained into my throat and therefore stomach.
    Sorry, not a funny story, but my best puking story nonetheless. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

43. Comment by Born4Lycra | 02.17.2007 | 10:43 am

    I hope the young ladies that generated this topic are now feeling better or at least on the improve.

44. Comment by barry1021 | 02.17.2007 | 10:49 am

    So hey, what’s for lunch??

    B21

45. Comment by dad2bjm | 02.17.2007 | 9:01 pm

    Okay, I have two stories to share one is a vomit story and the other is not. When my oldest was just over one year old, he loved string cheese – so for dinner he had little discs of cheese, hot dog bites and fruit cocktail. During the night he started to vomit, filled his crib. Like many have mentioned above, he were a crack team, one cleaning the kid the other cleaning the bed. Just a little side not for those of you not yet parents – food chunks do not dissolve in the washer, and they can take a long time to work through the washer. Sadly by the end of the night he had covered every sheet for his bed and every sheet for ours. By morning we were all sleeping on our bed covered with towels because there was nothing left.

    I submit that if alarm clock manufacturers could record the sound of kids barfing – no parent would be able to sleep though it, you would hear the noise, and spring from the bed with your hand cupped in front of you looking for the source of the sound.

    The second story involve the same son, and his little sister. I like a good young husband decided to (okay I was told to, but I like to get some credit) take the kids to McDonalds while my wife hosted a pampered chef party at home. So, we are doing fine, me, the 18 month old baby girl and the 4 year old boy. They eat their food like troupers and we go to the play area. Now, I let him take his sister in the tubes – with just a hint of anxiety, I am a large man, climbing through the tubes to chase the girl not a good option. They are playing along, the baby is having fun when all of the sudden, all of the other kids start streaming out of the tubes saying something about diarhea. Naturally I start to worry about the baby and a leaky diaper. Um, no. It was the four year old. Down the legs in the shoes, up the shirt. So now, the real quandry – the baby is still stuck in the tube and I have a screaming 4 year old with poop all over. Luckily, a 10 or 11 year old girl got the baby for me and there I am trying to carry an active 18 month old, all of our paraphenalia and the screaming 4 year old. I was prepared for any eventuallity with the baby, but not the boy. My solution was to remove all clothing and stuff it in the diaper bag, use every wipey in the bag to clean him, out a diaper on him and haul us all out of the place. Still, 8 years later I refuse to go to that McDonalds for fear they have my picture hanging up. I still remember the look on the employees face when I saw her wheeling in the mop bucket and mop…..

    By the way, please do not tell my son about this story, he hates it when I tell it – can’t wait till he starts dating!!

46. Comment by vertigo | 02.17.2007 | 9:15 pm

    My wife cannot deal with barf. While she was pregnant with both our kids, she was nauseous 24/7 for about 7 months. The slightest change in smell in the atmosphere would send her into fits of gagging that would take about 5 minutes to calm down. It is understood that I am the one who deals with barf. Last week it was my son, yesterday it was my daughter’s friend.

    Several years ago I was walking through Costco with my 2 year old daughter on my shoulders because she was tired. If it had been one of those projectile episodes that children are so adept at, then I wouldn’t have much of a story.
    This was that gurgling sound that parents know and fear, followed by partially digested hard-boiled eggs being deposited onto my head and from there, down the back of my shirt where it settled, nice and warm and goopy.

47. Comment by Fatty's Mom | 02.17.2007 | 9:39 pm

    And do you remember when you were 5, the same as your darling twins? All I could think of to say was, “Get in the bathroom!” You didn’t quite make it and you left quite the trail all the way down the hall, carpet, walls & all. Tell your girls that G-ma will be over to take care of them next week.

48. Comment by Dan | 02.18.2007 | 6:09 am

    Until the age of 3, my daughter only barfed on me. When she was bottle feeding, while eating lunch, while being carried, while sleeping, and even when she was somewhere else. The last time it happened, she was across the room. The look on her face changed from confusion to fear as she realized what was about to happen. She ran over to me for protection, but lost her lunch about six feet away, projectile vomiting all over me and the chair I was in. My wife couldn’t stop laughing. (She got to clean the chair and carpet while I did laundry and showered.)

    Luckily, at age 12, she no longer targets me.

49. Comment by liketobike | 02.18.2007 | 7:53 am

    You must be sick of reading about barf stories, but here’s one more. It’s a little projectile vomiting story courtesy of my eldest daughter who was around 3 at the time. She’s 20 now, so it’s funny what events stick in your mind. Waking up to her cries I ran into her room. She was sitting up in her bed with this terrified look in her eyes. In true Linda Blair fashion she turned her head and spewed the entire contents of her stomach. Beside her bed was one of those 4 foot high Little Tykes doll houses. Right through the living room of that doll house it went, to the back of the house and out the window and onto our walls. High marks were given for that one…

50. Comment by VA Biker | 02.18.2007 | 9:03 am

    I find all of these stories incredibly funny, in a laugh out loud kinda way. Interestingly though, I find I can only read about 4 in a row before I get overwhelmed by my visualization of each respective scene. It’s taking awhile to get through them all…

51. Comment by BotchedExperiment | 02.18.2007 | 9:21 am

    dad2bjm – The alarm clock idea is absolutely fantastic!

52. Comment by TimK | 02.18.2007 | 1:50 pm

    I really hope Dr. Lammler comes back to visit from time to time. I am sure that he would be impressed with the quality of this thread.

    I don’t envy you. I can imagine some friends asking if you want to head out dinner and you replying, “No, I have to read about 50 barf stories to see which one of my fans deserves an @fatty addy.” You should have just had a poll for worst food to vomit. I think the ugliest is Oreos, but at least they don’t taste too bad. And hey, you get to taste the same Oreo twice!

    I have one more since someone brought up animal vomit. My wife brought a Lesser Sulfur Crested Cockatoo into my life about 8 years ago. The bird bonded with me, so it is my bird and I pretty much treat it like the dog that I want.
    My wife spoon feeds the thing warm tea with milk, and has done so almost every morning since she’s had it. One morning she brought the bird to me while I was still in bed. I held it up off my chest, arms at fully extended and began to swing it down towards my face for a big kiss on the head. My wife had given the bird a nice amount of tea. As, the bird descended towards my face, and I was in the middle of mouthing some stupid thing that we tend to say to animals, a stream of warm tea streamed from the birds beak onto my face and into my mouth.
    As Clydesdale mentioned above, one person thought it was hysterical and one person did not. Clydesdale, I hope that your wife gets revenge!
    My wife now warns me when the bird is full.
    I have to say that, after reading Andrews story, I am not so sure I want a dog anymore. I think I would have skipped town rather than clean that mess up! I’m glad that the dog survived the incident.

53. Comment by Jacques Anquetil | 02.18.2007 | 2:12 pm

    Hey FC. You might remember Keith Richards from the VN phorum. He tells a great tale about bike-related barfing. He was watching vids of one of the northern european race classics, Het Volk or Tour of Flanders or the like. This one guy, i think it was Rik Verbrugge. Anyway, he is on a solo break, about 40km from the finish. Hammering like the euro pro hardman that he is. Then strangely, apparently it looks like he’s spraying water out his mouth, y’know, like we all do when givin’ er and then take a swig of water only to have half of it spill out all over your jersey. Thing is, KR rewinds the tape only to see that he hadn’t, in fact, taken a drink of water at all. He was puking! Tossing chunks from the effort! Totally amazing stuff think he ended up winning the stage anyway.

54. Comment by KL | 02.18.2007 | 4:48 pm

    1. My parents went for dinner, leaving me (12 years old at the time) to supervise my younger siblings. They graciously left behind a large pizza and 4 litres of ice cream. We all pigged out, watched a movie, and went to bed. Half an hour later I head a gagging sound coming from my 7 year old brother’s room. I got there just in time to see him retch all over his sheets. Over the next four hours he proceeded to throw up all down the hall, over my bed, down the stairs, and on the bathroom floor with the occassional hit in the toilet. In the meantime I was running around frantically trying to clean him up, clean the house up, and call my parents (whose cell phone battery had died) as my sister looked on in disgust. Then, just as my parents opened the door, the diarhea started. That night still haunts me.
    2. When I was 15 I went down with my class to work in an orphanage in Mexico. Exhausted after spending two days in a bus on the way down we stopped at a local taco joint to celebrate our arrival. Apparently one of the girls had a few to many tacos with guacamole because that night the dorm room woke up to see a waterfall of puke coming from over the side of one of the top bunks. The room and most of the luggage was covered in puke and took a day to clean up.
    3. On thursday, I has just woken up and was getting ready for class when I felt that familiar rising nausea. I ran to the bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time to save some clean up. The flu persisted until Saturday, when I caught a head cold. I officially hate my life.

55. Comment by Al | 02.18.2007 | 7:24 pm

    Oh but I love a good spew story.

    I’ve only two from the bike. One was the last ever MTB race that I did. National Champs, 1996. There was a long, paved section before the technical stuff started. Went off the start from about 10 rows back, straight to the front. Straight off the front. Pulled a solid lead into the rocks. Went straight over the bars. Whole pack passed me. Flat out to catch them. Pulled some back when it was smoother. Got more technical. Crashed. This went on for the first lap, by which time I was spewing up each hill, and realised that 95kg of crash through or crash is never going to be that competitive against 60kg whippets with skills.

    The other one: last year. What was supposed to be an easy road ride with the boys was made a lot harder by an insistence upon no sleep and a whole bunch of alcohol after an unwanted breakup. Brekky was coffee. Strong. Coke in the bottle. Went through the first 10k or so OK, then those horrible alcohol sweats started. Led the pack up a hill, then it started. Coffee grounds. Rum. Coke. Dark beer. I did tell people to get off my arse, but they didn’t listen. They do now.

    Now my sport’s rowing. This involves a lot of puking. A lot. Not through hangovers, just pushing yourself insanely hard and not needing to worry about running into parked cars andc. The sight of me throwing up off the balcony of our club post test is now so regular as to arouse no comment. Except with the annual crop of impressionable 13 or 14 year old schoolkids.

    Welcome to the world of elite sport, kiddies.

56. Comment by cheapie | 02.18.2007 | 8:37 pm

    i have no stories…yet. but my kids are young. but i just thought i’d say this is one of the funniest pages i’ve ever read.

57. Comment by william | 02.19.2007 | 2:32 am

    When I was about 18 I took my younger brother out for what I suspect was his first ever night of heavy beer drinking. (that is heavy drinking, not heay beer) This was perfectly legal as we are brits and drinking is legal over 18 (well 16 ish) Anyway, I was driving so no been for me, but my brother had a skin full. On the way home we had to drop of my girlfriend at her house so brother was in the back seat where he stayed lying down groning for half of the journey, this is where the magic began. It was a pretty od car with no head rests, so when he reached up and grabbed the top of my seat back, he got my sweater as well. His next great move was to pull himself up by the seat and my sweater and vomit into the vacant space, that is down the inside of my clothes. I stopped the car pretty quickly and sort of threw him out of it whilst he continued vomitting. When he had finished, we got back into the car in cold, wet vomit covered clothes and drove home. His punishment was to clean the car in the morning with a mother of a hangover and I did forgive him pretty quickly.

58. Comment by Al Maviva | 02.19.2007 | 8:26 am

    I was in stationed in an [undisclosed country] back in the 1980s with [undisclosed military unit designation.] I wasn’t one of those guys, but I sure drank like I was.

    One night, we were out boozing in a local bar. It may have been midday, actually. Back then, I was known to spend a couple rotations of the earth in bars, consecutively. It should be an endurance sport, really.

    Anyhow, we had a tab that ran to around 140 beers. For four of us. Yes, it was a long drinking session. There were also some shots on the tab, but because we were regulars, the bartender had left a lot of stuff off the tab. Thank goodness, because I’d still be paying today, if I’d had to pay for everything I drank back then.

    Towards the end of the evening – or the day, I’m not sure – the no-account waiter who is getting sick of bringing us 8 beers at a time – says he’d like to buy us a shot. So he comes back with four double shots of this liquorice/anise smelling liquor. It doesn’t smell bad. So we hoist the shotglasses, give a toast to our new best friend, the no-account waiter, and toss them back.

    That’s when the world ended. The stuff was definitely whisky-strength, and had a palate that fell somewhere between broken glass, Drano, and battery acid. It didn’t taste much better, and it strikes me now that the comparison could be made to hot sauce which, after a certain point, doesn’t have flavor, it only has “hot” and it adds very little to the dish at that point.

    The shots pretty much ended any conversation and a couple of the guys started getting hiccups, the kind you get right before you throw up. One headed for the bathroom, one for the street. I had enough sense left to ask the no-account waiter what it was he had just fed us, and he told me. Loosely translated, the locals called it “rat’s urine,” and I didn’t quite catch what the formal name was.

    So me and the guy who is still conscious and not throwing up, we head for the street. We may or may not have paid, I don’t recall, though I still have the bar tab somewhere in a box of sleeping bags, entrenchment tools and other gear I stole when I left the service.

    My partner gets about halfway down the street, just past the lovely little place that does Italian pizzas. He throws up, then sits down in it, and then decides to take a nap sitting against the side of the building. I go in to get a pizza. It was a wonderful wood-fired oven, traditional thin crust Italian pizza. I got the mushrooms. The top was slathered with these thick cut, slimy, soaked, fried mushrooms, a layer two or three times as thick as the crust. I wolfed it down, rousted my friend out of his vomit puddle, and we headed for the taxi queue. When we got to the pickup spot, a taxi pulls up. My boy then starts a fistfight with me over who gets the taxi, which was a little odd since we were going to the same place and would be riding together. After we beat each other up pretty bad, I decided I would stop fighting and take the next taxi. So I shove him into the taxi – the driver warned me “your friend throw up, I come after you” – and they shoved off. I hopped in the next taxi, gave directions, and we took off. I sat in the front seat, I don’t know why. I was congratulating myself on not having thrown up, for being made of sterner stuff than my friends. About halfway home on the twenty minute ride, I started to feel a bit woozy. It must have been obvious because the driver said “if you’re going to throw up, tell me, I’ll let you get out and throw up.” With a dismissive hand wave (my traditional gesture, deployed right before I get a bad beatdown) I told him not to worry. As we approached where I lived, I asked him to slow down. As he did, a wave of nausea overcame me, and I rolled down the window as fast as I could., and leaned over towards it. I then suffered the worst projectile vomiting I have ever suffered, the contents of my stomach emptying completely in perhaps 5 seconds. My clearest memory of the whole thing was the whole mushroom slices pelting my tongue like little machine gun bullets as they shot out.

    The only problem was, I had been riding with the window down, and when I feverishly worked the hand crank, I was rolling it up. Fortunately, my barf flew out with such velocity that it mostly hit the window, riccocheted off it, across the windshield, and all over the driver. I barely had any barf on me, but the whole front of that taxi was destroyed.

    The driver stamped on the brakes and started screaming at me in his native tongue, which I think was angrygibberinese. He was also punching me, but I felt nothing.

    So I did the only thing I could. I opened the door and ran like hell, and hopped the fence into my apartment complex, all the while with a vomit soaked taxi driver running after me, screaming bloody murder.

59. Comment by KL | 02.19.2007 | 10:20 am

    Did I forget to mention the time I threw up in church? Yeah, all over the head usher in the middle of the sermon.

60. Comment by Mike | 02.19.2007 | 12:59 pm

    I used to work with a gut who could barf on command. We once had a work dinner where he proved he could by barfing into a large glass. He then drank it back down . Eeerrrkkk !!

61. Comment by Dave | 02.19.2007 | 1:03 pm

    Well I have a couple of barf stories. One bike related and two kid related.

    The bike related: I was racing beginner class mtn. bike in 1997 and a Norba National came to Snoqualmie Pass. A cross country race on a ski slope usually means the organizers have you race up the slopes. On my second lap about 3/4 of the way up my stomach was not feeling good. I stopped, barfed, a guy passed me, I got back on the bike feeling much better I then passed the guy back and finished 4th in the race. Apparently the orange powerade didn’t agree with me in 90 degree heat and 100% effort. I think the guys who took 1st, 2nd and 3rd were sandbagging a bit b/c they beat me by over 12 minutes. That’s another story…

    Along came my daughter, she was 2 years old, we were sitting in the back of church and she was figity, up, down, sit, stand, lay down etc…finally she stood in front of me and said “up” and as soon as I bent down to pick her up she barfed all down the front of my shirt, from collar to belt, and left a big puddle on the carpet. My father in law was sitting next to me and he said I’ll clean that up. I went in to the nursery and told my wife we need to leave, Now! I was totally grossed out for weeks after that. Being drenched in barf is something you never forget.

    Same daughter Christmas ‘06, 2 months ago, caught the flu from her little brother. Having spent some time cleaning up barf from him the day before I figured one of the other 3 kids would end up with it. So it’s christmas day, we are sitting around the living room with presents piled up all around us, we have opened a few. And our daughter is acting funny. We kept asking her are getting sick? 7yo: no Us: are you getting sick? 7yo: no, well after we had taken a picture or two she starts barfing all over herself, her presents, her little sister, the “good” couch, it was shooting out of her mouth a mile a minute. We were so mad. We asked and asked and asked…So last Christmas I spent most of the afternoon with the shop vac and hosing down her clothes and shampooing carpets and cleaning couches. Gross.

    Thanks for bringing it up. (Slight pun intended)

    Dave

62. Pingback by Fat Cyclist » Blog Archive » Story Time | 02.19.2007 | 1:34 pm

    [...] Wow, you people really like your barf stories, don’t you? [...]

63. Comment by MTB W | 02.19.2007 | 1:39 pm

    Dave, yeah, I hate sandbaggers. I am also a beginner and hate it when “beginners” have times that are in the upper part of sport division times. Anyway, that is for another story.

    FC, thanks for posting all of the Epic rides. I read one of those this morning instead of all these comments about barfing – it was making me nauseous! I suppose that is one way to keep me from feeling hungry.

64. Comment by fat_yooper | 02.20.2007 | 11:47 am

    One afternoon I had some canned spaghetti sauce. It apparently didn’t agree with me, but didn’t bother my wife. This is strange since usually my wife gets sick from something and then leaves it for me to eat. Anyway, I went to bed with a bucket. I finally started puking. When I puke it is an entire body experience. Invariably some “stuff” ends up in my nose. When there was a break I moved to the bathroom to finish. After all was said and done I went to clear my nose (snot rocket) and a 3 inch noodle came flying out. I felt good after getting rid of the spaghetti.

65. Comment by Chris | 02.20.2007 | 1:50 pm

    I didn’t know I would find barf stories to be so funny. Especially the stories where someone barfs all over someone else. I have learned something about myself today.

66. Comment by nollij | 02.21.2007 | 3:29 am

    Wow. Where to start? All the stories here remind me of all my puke stories. Probably the most memorable was when my wife was pregnant. We were in Maui having dinner at a Thai place… she had this big bowl of Tom Kar Gai (huge bowl btw). Wait, a little backstoryh: this is the woman who had JUST stopped throwing up 2-3 times a day from the morning sickness. She’d had it solid for the first 3 months and we later found out that she had a hormone imbalance that had been causing it (which had eventually fixed itself). So she’s starving, wolfs down the bowl of soup along with some Phad Thai… and then, not 20 seconds later, proceeds to projectile vomit (completely silently) the entire undigested contents of her stomach back into her empty soup, filling it neatly to the very top, no oversplash, no overspray.. just like it was poured from a widemouth nalgene right back into the bowl. I was… flabbergasted…speechless… my own mouth was hanging open in awe. She looked at me, we looked around… I didn’t see it, but she said one guy’s eyes were huge and he immediately looked back down at his food, but evidently, no one else noticed. How, I don’t know. She took her napkin, placed it over the bowl and the waitress came back not 2 seconds later. “You didn’t like your soup” she inquired? “No, it was quite good, but I’m rather full. Can we have the check please?”. We payed as fast as we could and beat a hasty retreat. To this day it was the single most amazing feat of human vomiting I’ve seen (and I managed a nearly 20ft projectile vomit stream of green jello while in the hospital after having my tonsils removed; I hit the wall on the other side of the room and left a green stripe between it and me nearly a foot wide) .

    I’ve only puked once while riding. I was riding the Fairfax/Bolinas ridge from the Olema side up about 10 years ago and pushing hard. It was raining, the traction was non-existant, and I was pushing hard just to keep the wheels moving forward. I was operating on little sleep and little breakfast. I felt light headed and my heart was threatening to pound it’s way out of my chest. My breathing was so ragged I was gasping. Finally I pulled over with white spots in my eyes and proceeded to mainly dry heave, but throw up a considerable amount of bile and stomach acid, which triggered off more dry-heaves. I felt better finally, but my buddy caught up to me in the meantime, and was kind enough to stop and check on me. I was mortified; my status as tough guy biker was shattered. Now days, if I start feeling ill like that, I pull over and rest before I get to that state.

    Ok, one more. The first time my last GF before I met my wife stayed at my place, she drank a little too much , and at about 5:00am she woke up, leaned over the side of the bed and blew chunks all over the floor and all over a teddy bear a friend had just given me. We did stay together for almost a year and a half, but it was a funny conclusion to our first night together. She was mortified, but I just laughed it off: I felt bad for her.

    Oh oh oh.. one more. about 4 year ago, shortly before my son was born, I went to Tahoe to snowboard with my buddy. We stayed at this group rental with a bunch of his friends who were renting the place for the winter. Our contribution to the dinner was my family famous Sangria. Well… it got pretty ugly. I made roughly 4 gallons of Sangria, which was mostly polished off by about 12 people. I put a sizeable dent in it myself. I bedded down on the floor with my pillow and sleeping bag around 3:00am, feeling pretty drunk, but not nauseous. Some time later I vaguely remember lifting my head and then putting my head back down to wetness under my face. My buddy was crashed next to me, and my vomiting had woken him, but not me. He shook me awake and I sobered up rather quickly. I had managed to completely fill the hollow of my pillow with regurgitated vegetable stir fry and copious amounts of red wine/brandy soaked fruit sangria, but none of it had hit the floor or my sleeping bag. I quickly carried my pillow out the front door and threw it in the snowdrift. I went back inside and all hell was breaking loose. One of the other heavy sangria drinkers has passed out in one of the bedrooms with a couple of females sleeping on either side of him. He had woken up, pulled down his pants and proceeded to fountain himself and the girls with urine: he “came to” with them screaming bloody murder. Another guy had about 30 minutes before nearly passed out in the hottub, leaned over the side and threw up. There were 4 other people in the tub at the tub. They were not amused. He then proceeded to wet the bed that he dragged himself off to after the vomit incident. No one blamed me, but everyone was rather wary of me the following morning (none but my buddy knew about my own vomiting as I’d managed a stealthy cleanup and no one was the wiser), as I was the one who’d made the demon brew. There were a LOT of bad hangovers the following morning, and we also managed to awaken to the news of the second shuttle disaster… we bagged snowboarding, needless to say, and the two bedwetters never lived it down. I got off relatively unscathed.

67. Comment by jt | 02.21.2007 | 8:06 am

    Ok, ok, here is my biking / barfing story: When I really got into mountain biking heavily, racing etc, I still had several good friends who rode a little, but not enough to be in good shape. On an off weekend, I wanted a recovery ride and asked several to join and have some fun. So my old college room mate and a couple others want to go, and we headed out to the trailhead. On the 40 minute drive, ‘college roommate’ drinks a huge fountain coke for energy. Bad idea. Ride starts, and about 20 minutes in, there is a short but very steep climb – granny all the way. I get to the top and wait, wait, wait more. I have to pee, so relax and relieve myself on side of trail. My buddy comes up eventually – pushing the bike, vomits violently all over the place, and before I can say anything, lies down in my puddle of urine. Priceless!

68. Comment by nollij | 03.28.2007 | 1:09 am

    Well, I’ve got another to add to the list, mainly b/c it happened just a couple of days ago. Now mind you, all the incidents I mentioned in my previous post are pretty old history (the one about my wife is over 3 years old at this point, and the one about me with the Sangria is… well, a little over 4 years ago. I came home the other day from work, and my sweet wife had made dinner fit for a king: filet mignon, broccolli, artichoke and the tastiest almond-meal-banana-&-dried-cherry bread I’d ever eaten. The filet was a little too rare for my taste (i.e. uncooked), but I was starving and it TASTED fine. She even warned me that they might not be cooked enough (she’d already eater hers) I don’t know what got us, but I suspect the undercooked steak was the culprit. We retired early that evening (around 10pm) and around 2 am she woke up and ran to the bathroom and puked, then turned around and had diarrhea. I missed all that completely. At 6:45am, I woke up feeling quite ill, headed to the bathroom and TRIED to throw up. I thought puking wasn’t supposed to be difficult (well, at least I thought your body was just supposed to… kind of DO it. That’s the way I remembered it at least from the Sangria incident). Not this time. It took 3 visits, roughly 20-30 minutes apart before anything would come up. It hurt. There was little fluid and way too much solid, and the color… oh the color. It felt like the alien foetus coming out of me, but instead of breaking through the walls of my stomach, it was clawing it’s way back up my throat dragging bits of my entrails with it in it’s claws. It didn’t stop until about 3pm, so just over 9 hours of intermittent puking and diarrhea. More than once I wondered whether I was screaming or vomiting, as the sounds coming from my throat were leaving my throat hoarse, and not from the stomach acids, more like when you scream your head off at a rock concert for 2 hours and then walk out, ears ringing, voice sounding like Lin Shaye (Roy’s Landlady) from KingPin (1996). When it was all done I swore that I’d been trampled by an elephant herd. My back and neck were badly thrown out and every joint in my body hurt like they’d been filled with battery acid. My head felt like someone had filled it with napalm and sand and I wasn’t sure which feeling was worse; the vomiting or the aftermath. I swore several times that day never to eat meat again, but today was Tuesday, that was Friday and the chicken tonight was delicious…

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71. Comment by M. S. | 11.11.2008 | 1:41 pm

    I have a story that is so unbelievable! Once my best friends were at my house sleeping over with two of the guys girlfriends. We were only 12 so we were dumb little kids so we stuffed ourselves well. Way past well. My parents had a lot of money so we had 47 garbage cans, 4 dumpsters outside, 3 bathtubs and 2 showers. We had a few buckets in the garage.
    I ate 2 waffles, 7 hotdogs, an entire salmon, one box of mozzarella sticks, 78 cookies, an huge apple, 3 bowls of applesauce, and drank one glass of milk, water, and orange, apple, and cranberry juice. Some of my buddies ate double.
    Suddenly I felt dizzy and dazed so I went to sit down. Halfway there I passed out. My friends were not looking, still eating. A few minutes later I woke up, remembering my parents were out for the weekend. I got up and felt like I was going to puke, so I ran to one garbage can and stood there. I zoned out and almost lost consciousness again. The thing that stopped me was when I barfed for an entire 10 minutes straight. Halfway finished my friend saw me and threw up inside another garbage can. When I saw him I puked again 4 more times. One kid walked up to his girlfriend and was about to kiss her but tossed his cookies and chicken and waffles and everything else on her. She fainted and threw up sleeping. Soon everyone was puking everywhere! I filled up 7 trash cans and ran outside to one dumpster. Then, I filled it up! I ran to another and filled up two more. With one left, I filled it about three quarters way, then fainted. The nauseous feeling woke me and I filled up the other quarter way of the last dumpster. I did not know I could puke so much! I received another lovely package of nausea and hurled until my stomach ached. I got knocked out onto the chair and woke up an hour later. The smell was putrid. One kid puked for 45 minutes at least. I dashed to the bathtub and filled it up. I overflowed it and it came to my kneecaps. Then my stomach heaved when a fat pickle floated by. I felt horrible and knew this was the last vomit I was going to do. My mouth opened and I ran outside before anything was going to spill out. When I got to my steps I watched as vomit squirted out of me. I watched all of the chunks fly out down the road. I did not stop for at least seven hours and finally stopped. Then I ate a cookie by accident and threw up 12 more times. I managed to get everyone out of the house. We took the blankets that were dry and clean and pillows too. We camped out on the porch, some in the basement and some slept outside in a tent. I left the empty garbage cans, 10 in each room or place to sleep. I got up twice to use a trash can and hurled 34 more times. After the 34th time, I collapsed onto my sleeping bag and had dry heaves all the next morning.

72. Comment by M. S. | 11.11.2008 | 1:43 pm

    I puked 500 times after re-reading my story.

73. Comment by alex | 06.16.2009 | 5:24 pm

    m.s if u puked that many times u would hav dehydrated and died that happend to my friend

74. Comment by gabriella | 06.27.2009 | 9:19 pm

    bbbbbbbbblllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeggggggggggggghbhhhhhh!
    i was just about to write my story and burped and barfed out mucus!

75. Comment by barfluvr | 10.22.2009 | 2:59 pm

    ok, i was in kindergarten, and we were reviewing all our letters, right? and all of a sudden, my head gets all heavy, and i start to feel really hot. I start to raise my hand to tell my teacher, but then i remember that, just the day before, the teacher had told us if we felt sick just before lunch, we were probably just hungry. (its just before lunch. like 5 minutes till) so i don’t say anything. i’m sitting there wanting to die, when suddenly my stomach goes from hurting and feeling like it weighs 900 lbs to all light and swimmy. before i know it, i’ve thrown up all over my desk! i can’t stop puking, so i can’t breathe and i’m turning bright red. all the other kids are staring at me, and i finally stop hurling. by then, the nurse is there. and, of course, just as she’s bending down to clean me up, the feeling comes back and next thing i knw, more of my pancakes are on her shoes!

76. Comment by M.S. | 01.7.2010 | 4:21 pm

    Yeah I was exaggerating throughout the whole story though I did puke about 7 times after re-reading it and there was a lot of vomit in my story though most of it was exaggeration one kid really did vomit for about 30 minutes straight. He had a VERY weak stomach….

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