This is a true story by Allen Wintermute.  The names have not been 
changed and the events occured late in the summer of '94.  It was 
originally a posting to alt.tasteless.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Where to begin... I have a feeling you guys are really REALLY gonna like 
this post.  You better.  Otherwise all this shit happened to me for no 
good reason:

  Saturday my ExGirlfriend returns from her vacation to Mexico.  I tell her 
that if she fucked anything but tourists while there I'm never touching 
her again.  (In Mexico, antibiotics are as available as candy, meaning all 
the diseases down there are totally resistant to anything we might throw 
at them.)  Turns out my Ex (A French girl) spent the first half of her 
vacation drinking like a fish and then spent the second half of her 
vacation puking her very underaged guts out.  I spend the day poking at 
and teasing her and saying things like "You just need some food in your 
stomach!  How about a nice, greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray?"
   My Ex feels better the next day and I can't torture her anymore.  =(  
   On Wednesday I fully disassemble every single part of my motorcycle 
that ever so much as squeaked funny.  About the time I'm ready to start 
putting it back together I realize if I stay in the sun any longer my 
flesh is going to bubble up into a greasy splattering mess, much like 
frying bacon.  I decide to wait until dusk to finish reassembly.
   Dusk comes.  Being the genius I am, I soon deduce that it is very hard 
to insert fork seals and reconnect a wiring harness in the near total 
darkness of an unlit carport.  It's still real hot too.  This sucks.  I 
can't go out looking for 14 year olds to molest when my car is in the 
shop and my motorcycle is in pieces.... what to do?
   A stroke of genius hits like Albert Einstein jerking off: I'll invite 
over two friends of mine who just broke up (not telling either that the 
other will be there) watch them attempt to be civil to each other in 
front of me and then get them drunk enough to start fighting.  This'll be 
fun to watch.
   My (friend?) Sean shows up first, followed by his ex-spooge-recipient, 
Ninette.  Ninette is looking better than I remembered her.  Maybe I 
should drink too.  She could look damned tasty after 3 or 4 shots of 
Absolut.  I offer both of them screwdrivers.  Actually, they aren't real 
screwdrivers because instead of Orange Juice I accidently bought some 
fake-Orange-Juice crap called "Sunny Delight".  Sunny Delight is less 
than 5% juice.  The rest is water, corn syrup and (I shit you not) 
propylene glycol.  (That's right: ANTIFREEZE!)
   Ninette gets quite buzzed and informs Sean, rather matter-of-factly 
that she faked all but one orgasm she ever had with him.  This is getting 
fucking good.  I finish off my screwdriver and get out some cheese-puffs 
to munch as I watch the sparks fly.  Sean soon wimps out and mentions he 
should get home soon.  Puss.  I offer Ninette the fold-away bed in my 
couch to sleep on and then complain about the fact that there's only one 
pillow, and would she mind sharing?  I don't make any moves.  I'm not 
feeling up to it.  Something uneasy in my stomach.
  Early the next morning I wake up and find that my stomach is really 
complaining badly even though it's many hours later.  My mouth suddenly 
gets that dry sticky feeling and I realize what's happening.  I stumble 
to the bathroom and close the door hoping not to wake Ninette.
  The vomit is like a volcanic eruption.  Hot.  Acidic.  Violent.  It 
pours out of me at pressures I still cannot believe the human body is 
capable of producing.  My mouth can't output it fast enough and it begins 
coming out my nose in two tiny streams, with the huge torrent still 
pouring forth from my mouth.
   At this point the alert reader must stop and recount my diet over the 
last 10 hours or so:  Vodka (clear), Fake OJ (disgustingly bright neon 
orange), and Cheese Puffs (also disgustingly bright neon orange).
   Yes, friends and neighbors, this three-stream tsunami of chunder was 
bright flaming orange.
  Just days previously I had thrown one of those blue-disks into my 
potty.  The water I was hurling into was a deep blue color.  Imagine if 
you will: bright orange vomit spilling into deep azure toilet water.  The 
result was a tie-dyed swirl of shades of a color I believe is called 
puce.  As fate would have it, I got my new Polaroid in the mail just the 
day before.  I was also much too exhausted to go get it.  (Sorry.  I know 
you all wanted a 24-bit full-color Jpeg!)
   I took one look at the blue and orange soup staring up at me, faintly 
showing the reflection of my own unshaven face with trickles of orange 
tinted stomach acid running down my chin and lips and...."HURRRRRRRGHHHHH!!!"
   An encore performance ensued.  When I finished, I looked at my face in 
the mirror.  Vomit wasn't just leaking from my nostrils and mouth, but 
from my eyes as well, in tiny burning tears.  I didn't realize it was 
physically possible to puke from ones eyes, but I sure as hell managed 
somehow.  I think the vomit somehow travelled up my sinuses and 
overflowed my lower eyelids.
   I brushed my teeth as thoroughly as possible and slipped back into bed 
with Ninette.  How could ONE measly drink make me heave?  And hours later 
as well?  I'm SCOTTISH for Bob Christ's sake!  Ninette wasn't asleep.  
her first comment was "Shit, Allen, We didn't DO anything.  You didn't 
need to puke quite so hard when you woke up next to me!"
   Ninette got up and started calling her friends in hopes of finding a 
ride home.  I tried to tell her I was okay and that she didn't need to 
leave.  I'm just fine now.  I offered her some M'n'Ms from the candy dish 
and grabbed a few myself.  Immediately after swallowing the second M'n'M 
I felt myself overcome by a bubbling tide of... uhh.... uhhh... uh-oh!
   Our hero goes sprinting for his porcelain idol to once again bow down 
before.... Ninette lets herself out, apparently deciding she could just 
run to a nearby payphone and call for a ride from where she didn't have 
to hear the constant garbage-disposal-backup-up-esque-noises echoing from 
the john.
   I felt much as if a gang of Hell's Angels had each rode their hawgs 
over my abdomen one at a time.  My entire digestive tract was so 
exhausted that it could just... just... uh-oh!
   Throughout the next 30 hours or so, I attempted to consume a small sip 
of gatorade... BLEAURRRGH... Later I found some anti-nausea medication 
which I just dry-swallowed in an attempt to prevent me from...from... 
uh-oh!  (HURRRRLLLLGH!)  What fucking genius invented orally-administered 
anti-nausea medication?  If you could keep it down, you probably didn't 
need it.  Later I tried two Ibuprofen tablets with some Coca-Cola that I 
stirred till it was flat.  The coke came spewing back up so quickly that 
it was still cold on the return trip.
   The entire period from Thursday morning until Friday evening was one 
long fever-clouded, foodless, sleepless, dehydrated, lose 12 pounds FAST, 
stupor of lying passed out for hours on the floor and occasionally waking 
up to vomit with such prowess it would have impressed Karen Carpenter.
   I think I remember somewhere in my agony trying to mold some of the 
vomit into a crude voodoo doll of my ex-girly who cursed me with this 
horrible south-of-the-border plague.
   The thing you need to remember here is that never during this entire 
period did I ever attempt to eat anything, aside from those M'n'Ms I 
mentioned before.  So what was the ammo for all this regurgitation?  
Nothing.  My stomach didn't care.  I would just keep heaving and choking 
until finally I managed to hork up some stomach-acid and mucous.  I was 
quite dehydrated from all this hurling without attempting to drink in 
between so some times I would ralph and ralph and ralph before anything 
showed up.  Not that I stopped after finally getting up a little burning 
hot glob of HCl.  I keep horking for a while until my stomach was REALLY 
sure.
   Late afternoon I wake up realizing I have work today.  Good thing God 
invented taxis.  I actually made it into work on time, still not having 
eaten in over a day.  I wondered if I was REALLY better, so for dinner I 
ordered up an italian sausage submarine sandwich.  I'm still at work now 
and waiting to see if the sub resurfaces...