This is probably the worst experience of my life:

Several years ago, when I was still in high school, I was spending the evening at my buddy's (Aaron) house. We would always steal liquor from his parents' liquor cabinet and dump it into a flask and roam the neighborhood while drinking. We would steal a little bit of all the liquor we could find, instead of a whole bunch of one kind, so it wasn't as conspicuous. Little whiskey, little rum, little vodka, little gin, etcetera, all into one flask. We'd roam, we'd drink it down, and sneak back into his house when it was all gone so we could pass out in the comfort of his room.Well, I started to feel ill as I was getting ready for bed. Then, I felt it. The unmistakable feeling that I was going to vomit. The feeling that comes when your stomach tells your brain that no matter what happens in this world in the next 10 seconds or so, I am still going to vomit. It is inevitable.

So, I get up and bolt toward the bathroom. Halfway there, it comes out. So, I slam my hand against my mouth, covering it completely with all my might. Knowing where the toilet is in the bathroom, I decide that I am going to let it all go as I rush into the bathroom door and aim for the toilet. So, the moment of truth comes. Vomit seeping through my fingers as I turn into the bathroom. I aim at the spot where I know the toilet rests, waiting for my sick, and let loose.

Then, time froze. A thick trail of stomach grease froze in midair and everything around me stopped as I realized that the toilet seat and cover were down. The puke landed on the seat cover and splattered onto everything within a 5-foot radius. Again, I covered my mouth with my gross hand as I lifted the toilet seat up. By the time I got it up, the tidal wave of vomit blasted through both of my nostrils and onto everything else that wasn't previously covered by the first wave.

I puked for about 5 minutes until I finally gained my composure and could sit back to survey the damage left behind by the firestorm of vomit. I literally could not believe it. I spent the next two hours dry heaving and gagging while cleaning up the most sickening and disturbing mess I have ever seen. Not only was I covered in vomit, but my nose was thick with it. Every breath yielded more heaving and more gagging from the most rancidly pungent smell to ever pass through my nostrils.

I had Aaron come look at what had just happened. He couldn't believe it, either. But no one ever found out about it, so I guess I cleaned it up well. That night and that smell will haunt me forever and beyond. So now, every time I vomit and tell myself how much it sucks, I just think of that one fateful night. Nothing seems even remotely bad when compared to that.

It was kindergarten. Our lunch bitch lady, Big Ethel (yes, we were told to call her that), served pork & beans one day. As she placed plates of the slop in front of each of us at our little wooden tables, I shyly whispered to her, "I don't like beans."

Big Ethel leaned her significant bulk down to my level, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Well, if you don't eat them, then Santa won't bring you any toys."

What could I do? I was four years old, and she played the Santa card. I forced the foul mess down.

I had the last laugh, though, as I puked the whole thing up not five minutes after I cleaned my plate. Big Ethel had to clean it up.

Ha! Eat that, Big Ethel.

In Korea they have these karaoke type rooms that are open seemingly 24 hours a day; you don't enter them until about 5:30, and you don't leave until well into the morning. It's typical when at these places of business to take shots of Soju, a nasty Korean drink that tastes and smells like isopropyl alcohol: rubbing alcohol. I attended one of these bars once, and I had my fill.

I had been on a twelve hour binge and really didn't need to take shots, but alas, I did. The room was full of my friends, Korean and foreigners alike. I wasn't feeling well, and I knew I was going to vomit soon. I just had to find a graceful way to exit. Unfortunately that graceful moment never came and I had to scuttle out right after a shot of Soju. It didn't go down right, and it was on it's way back up. I stood up on the couch, walked over a girl, stumbled off the arm of the couch and plowed through the door like an ether inflicted addict. The vomit was bubbling up as I tried to swallow it down and make it out the door of the complex. I couldn't just boot on shiny black tile floors. Sadly my gag reflex is slightly stronger than my stomach and a few drops shot out of my mouth projectile style spraying the floor.

Thankfully it was a short walk out of the building. The moment I walked outside I wretched all over the sidewalk. It was then that I realized it was about eight in the morning and people were going to work. There I was: a disrespectful foreigner vomiting on the sidewalk as suits strode by with their leather breifcases and tacky square toed shoes giving me the evil eye. Quickly I tried to hold it and ran into the slummiest apartment building I could find where I continued booting in their stairwell until I heard someone coming down the steps at which point I simply ran out of the building, sucked it up, and got in a cab. I woke up later that afternoon to find that my pants and shoes had been spattered with a coating of bile and booze.

For my ex's birthday we went out to dinner. I had a Chinese Chicken Salad. Afterwards we went back to his place where I decided it would be a good idea to drink half a bottle of Vanilla Stoli splashed with some Coke. Natch, that lead to sex and passing out naked.

I woke up in the middle of the night because I booted in my own mouth. Panties were nowhere to be found and he had roommates so I grabbed a shirt and wrapped it around my body like a towel and sprinted to the toilet. When I threw open the door to the bathroom my ex was taking a crap and looked at me, shocked, and exclaimed, "What are you doing!?!?" So I turned and barfed in his bathroom sink, clogging it with cabbage. I had to go back the next day with Drano. The End.