Punk Rock Vomit Hair

Scotch is the nectar of the gods. Drink it slow at room temperature with no ice and chase every other sip with a mouthful of flavorful lager or ale. Genius.

But if you start guzzling the stuff, you're in trouble. I can tell you from experience. You just might end up in a New Orleans dive bar with a tab of acid floating in your beer and your nuts hanging out of your shorts, begging strangers to take a peek.

Don't just take my word for it. The English Guy has a similar Puke Week warning.

I'd had a row with my gf, she was going out on an all girls night, and told me I was not welcome. I decided to go out with one of my best friends, and we went on a bender.

Needless to say we saw my gf all night and I ignored her, no matter what. Yes, very stupid of me, but I was young... After a few hours at the Uni bar, downing several beers, we went to a club, and proceeded to drink an entire bottle of scotch each. On the way home we danced in the University tulip bed, ruining it all.

The next morning I awoke to a strange smell in my room. I got up, went down for breakfast. I wondered why everyone was staring at me. They asked if I was doing some kind of practical joke. Why? said I. They told me to go upstairs and look in the bathroom mirror.

So there I am, naked except for skivvies, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. Vomit caked in my hair and I look like some kind of punk rocker. The tulips mixed in with the vomit and hair make it look something surreal. The vomit all over my bed, pillow, and duvet however, was not surreal...

I didn't drink scotch again for several years.

Piss Ass Wasted at 8pm

JuicyA is a real trooper. She went above and beyond the Puke Week call proving her true dedication to The Churning. She submitted three stories, each one worse than the one before.

3. Know how there are sneeze guards? Luckily in Italy there are also puke guards. Well, sort of. After celebrating my 25th Bday in Florence and getting maybe 2 hours of sleep, I had to board a bus to Rome. A very rocky bus. For the first hour of the trip i was fine-- likely still drunk is all-- but then as we travelled along i started feeling greener and greener. When we stopped for lunch in Chianti [yes, the town famous for wine] I wasnt feeling so hot. I went up to a pizza counter to order a slice...and while bending over to see what kinds were in the deli case, I felt a little woozy...and it smelled so strong of pepperoni...and i really needed to....yeah. All over the front of the glass. I couldnt eat pizza for quite some time.

2. I used to know where to drink in Edmonton so that you could basically spend 4 hours drinking $1 drinks, it just started really early. What this would mean is that you would be piss ass wasted at 8 pm. One night I wanted to see how many Martinis i could drink in 4 hours, especially the blue ones-- the answer was 12...and these were 3 oz. ones too. So its 830 at night. Its still light out...and Im standing on a corner of Whyte Ave in Edmonton so wasted that I have started to speak in a Scottish accent. And in between yelling at people that they are "full of shite" I am puking streams of blue liquor. I ended up at home by 9 pm from a guy who worked with my then -boyfriend and saw me while driving home and thought it better that i yell and scream about people being cunts and puking in my own home insead of looking like a crazed wino. When I woke up at 3 pm the next day, my room [especially my bed], was blue and sticky and I left myself a note reminding myself that i dont like blue martinis.

1. My sister's wedding I am the maid of honour...or should i say dishonor. After drinking for 15 hours, throughout getting our hair done, photos, a reception and a dance, my sister decides to have the gift opening. I was now so drunk that i had tried starting fights with some of the groomsmen and threw a bottle at the mother of the groom [yeah, like that didnt cause some tension between the families...]. So while my sister is opening her toaster ovens, towels, and china sets, I am supposed to be writing down who bought her which gift. What i really was doing was trying to 1. Stop from passing out, 2. Not puke, and 3. of course, finish another glass of champagne. However, I was a little unsuccessful: I passed out at the head table...my mouth agape and with the pen still in my hand. Another bridesmaid came over to wake me up and I came to...looked right at her...and projectile vomited all over the floor, narrowly missing the train of my sister's dress.

Yeah. All class here.

Smells Like Puke and Tar in Here

Next time you're out with friends and you drink way too much, you may want to puke up some of that alcohol so you can keep drinking. I know sticking your fingers down your throat can be kind of tricky. You gotta hit the right spot, and sometimes you end up puking on your hand.

Mel's got the perfect solution: a bucketful of tar.

It's not really embarrassing, just the one I'll never forget. I was a teenager, very drunk, walking home from a party in the middle of the night with a couple of friends. Suddenly I was overcome with the strongest urge to throw up, but when I stopped walking and sat down on the curb, the vomit would not come up.Not only could I not vomit, I couldn't seem to get up and keep walking, either. My friends were telling me to hurry up, come on, puke and let's go... but I told them I just couldn't move again until I puked and it just wasn't coming out.

The curb I was sitting on was in front of someone's house... I was at the edge of their yard. One of my friends wandered into the yard and to the back of their house. She came back with a bucket of tar. Why they had a bucket of tar, I don't know.

She put the bucket in front of me between my legs and pushed my head down and my face right inside the bucket and held it there. The smell was overwhelming. She wouldn't let go of my head until I blew chunks into the tar, but with that smell it only took a minute. I don't think I've ever thrown up that much or that violently.

My friend, being so considerate, put the vomit-topped tar back where she found it, on their back porch. Afterwards I was fine and made my way home. But to this day, everytime I pass a roof or a road being freshly tarred, my stomach HURTS LIKE HELL! I once quit a job because they were getting their roof retarred and you could smell it through the entire building, and it was taking way too long. After the 1st week of strong tar-smell I just said screw it, I can't work here another minute.

Backstreet Boys and a Furby

Certain critics are suggesting that Puke Week is immature, repetitive, and stupid. To that I say yes, yes and yes. Thanks for the advice, Oliver Obvious. Now with that out of the way...

Today's headliner is Jillian. She's a sporadic contributor to The Churning who, like many young ladies growing up in the 90's, had a huge crush on The Backstreet Boys. The obsession was so serious that it tied her stomach in knots.

I think this is my most traumatic vomit story to date:
When I was in 6th grade, my mom surprised me on Christmas with skybox new years backstreet boys tickets and a furby. My life was complete. The thing is, I've always had a thing about getting way too excited about pretty much everything, so the night of the backstreet boys concert, I got so excited I made myself sick. Literally.

We were standing in line for the skybox with all of these other young girls and teenagers and everyone was so super excited. When we were walking up the narrow stairs to the arena, I was so excited that I kept jumping up and down. Somehow that movement upset my little belly and I spewed all over the stairs, the feet of the people in front of me, and the entire path that people had to walk over to get to the backstreet boys.

It was lucky that we had a skybox with its own bathroom because I continued to puke the entire night (and nobody would talk to me). I still relate traumatic vomit with BSB.

Pony Car Rule #1: You do NOT Puke in a ’67 Fastback

Loyal reader Diane from Diane's Stuff broke my heart with her Puke Week entry. It involves defiling an American classic and I swear I shed a tear when I read it.

My mother was in the hospital in Michigan and my brother, his wife, his two kids, my daughter and I all went up to visit her from Texas. In my brother's 1967 Mustang Fastback. Talk about crowded.

On the way home we stopped somewhere outside of the Texas state line and the kids loaded up on YooHoo and chips and not ten miles inside of Texas with about 75 miles left to go to reach home, my brother's son puked all over everybody in the back seat. YooHoo and chips and that stench for 75 miles.

So not only did we get to enjoy that aroma for an hour or so but we had to listen to my brother bitch about the puke smell he was never going to get out of the car, which, LMAO, he'd just had new carpet put in.