h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

One night at the end of a very wicked kegger, I was sitting on the couch talking to some girls when I suddenly felt like I was in a snow globe being vigorously shaken. This was followed by a sudden urge to hurl out a lung. I quickly stood up and went running up the stairs to the only bathroom in the place. When I got there someone else was in there doing the technicolor yawn.
I turned around and bolted down the stairs trying to get out the front door at the bottom of the stairs. Now shaking up all the alcohol that was in my stomach, by running down the stairs did not help things at all. When i got to the bottom of the stairs my need to vomit was very urgent. I turned the handel of the door and pulled. Unfortunatly for me the door was locked, and I could no longer hold it. I looked up to see the latch on the top of the door when I let loose. After three or four heaves the whole door was covered and I was feeling much better. I looked to my left and saw the two girls that I was talking to standing there. They were not impressed.

I'm infamous in my home town due to a particular instance
of vomiting in curious places... After a long day and night
of consuming tons of intoxicants, I seriously felt the urge
to horf, and proceeded to do so several times in the toilet,
like any decent lad would. Then I stumbled down the stairs
to the basement and passed out on the couch.

this isn't the end. Oh, no.

I woke up after an indeterminate period of time and felt
the urge to spew yet again, so I bounded up the stairs
as fast as my wiggly body would allow.

I didn't make it.

The thing is, the stairs were the kind that bend 90 degrees,
and have a little landing at the bend.

Positioned strategically on this landing was a cat box...

Into which I proceeded to lose the already waning content of my stomach.

I then fell down the stairs and rolled conveniently back
onto the couch, also positioned strategically for just
such an occurance, and promptly blacked out for 3 hours.

I was awoken by my host with exhortations to "clean that s**te
up! Smells like hell!"

Luckily, it was clumping litter...

I'm infamous in my home town due to a particular instance
of vomiting in curious places... After a long day and night
of consuming tons of intoxicants, I seriously felt the urge
to horf, and proceeded to do so several times in the toilet,
like any decent lad would. Then I stumbled down the stairs
to the basement and passed out on the couch.

this isn't the end. Oh, no.

I woke up after an indeterminate period of time and felt
the urge to spew yet again, so I bounded up the stairs
as fast as my wiggly body would allow.

I didn't make it.

The thing is, the stairs were the kind that bend 90 degrees,
and have a little landing at the bend.

Positioned strategically on this landing was a cat box...

Into which I proceeded to lose the already waning content of my stomach.

I then fell down the stairs and rolled conveniently back
onto the couch, also positioned strategically for just
such an occurance, and promptly blacked out for 3 hours.

I was awoken by my host with exhortations to "clean that shite
up! Smells like hell!"

Luckily, it was clumping litter...

Postscript to previous:

I shouldn't touch forums when braindead.
I profusely apologize for the double-post.

I was partaking in a game of quarters in Barts bar in the early hours of one morning (this was about 6 years ago and I'm soooo much more grown-up now).
I completely miffed my shot, the coin fell off the bar, and I had to drink a glass of Bailey's and tomato juice (technically you have to eat this as it curdles) in one. Not surprisingly my beer-distended stomach wasn't keen on keeping hold of this tincture, and I new I would hurl in the not too distant future. Puking at the bar was in those days a reasonable thing to do, but the rules of the game meant an instant fine. So of I trotted to the toilets. I got to the door, realised I had no time left so hurriedly open the door. Into my face.
I split my head open and puked all over the door handle.
Being a little plastered I returned to the game with renewed empty-stomached vigour, and was made to drink a rum and pinapple juice forfeit for bleeding on the bar.
Ah great days.

Your life is, by the way, in their hands. Ever wondered why the NHS is going down the pan?

- Adam

Back in 1981, I drank 5 double GargleBlasters (Approx. 2 pints of Spirits with 3 pints of Babycham), and found myself lying flat on my back on the students' union toilet floor, with the urge to vomit. I wasn't fit to stand up, so I just did my best to make sure I fired it as far from me as possible. I've never been accused of having a weak stomach since then - the cleaners complained I managed to splatter the ceiling...

A year earlier, I managed to hit the ceiling in my landlord's living room, by the simple action of "Baying at the moon" while vomiting explosively. Straightening the gullet at the appropriate moment reduced the chance of doing myself an injury, and at least it forced him to have the dreadful flaky brown ceiling tiles removed...