July 03, 2007
Barf Story with a Bonus
Since telling my own story about barfing on the Indiana Skyway, and A's story about barfing out the window of his car, it seems that everyone wants to get in on the act. I've had so many people come up to me and tell me their barf stories, I haven't had much inclination to eat lately.
Which isn't a bad thing, so I'm going to relate the story that A's friend, Scott, told me. Now those weirdos searching for "barf stories" on Google will have something new to read.
Scott is in his mid-twenties, gay and very active in his church. He is especially popular with the thirty- and forty-something moms of the church. They're his hags, and he's their little pet. He calls them his "desperate housewives" because they're all rich, pretty and fancy-free.
Scott and his hags often go out drinking. They especially like karaoke. After one such evening, they were driving home, and Scott started to feel sick. Not wanting to barf out of the car window, like A, he told the housewives he would walk home from there and got out of the car.
But as soon as he got out, he felt even more sick and less like walking. So he laid down on some random lawn and very calmly and rationally decided he would spend the night there.
But Terry, one of the hags, was having none of that. She put Scott back in the car and assured him that he could spend the night at her house, on her couch. Now, Terry has three boys, ages four to ten, so there's a good example to set.
Actually, now that I think about it, maybe the boys did learn a couple lessons from seeing Scott in such a state. Lessons like: Friends don't let friends drive drunk. And: Drinking too much turns you into a pathetic, helpless retard.
Come morning, Scott discovered that he had, indeed, gotten up in the middle of the night to barf and it wasn't just a bad dream. He followed the smell to the kitchen garbage can, where he saw his dinner from the previous night all over the paper towels, coffee grounds and other things that normally reside in a kitchen garbage can.
And then he saw it. A large, dark yellow spot on the beige carpeting near the couch where he had spent the night. It could only be one thing.
Scott looked down at his pants. They were still dry. Some time in the night, he must have carefully and very purposefully undone his pants and peed on the carpet.
"Um, Terry?" Scott was forced to confess, "I think I may have... peed on your carpet. I'm so sorry!"
"Oh, that's okay!"
Terry was as non-chalant about the pee on her carpet and she was about the puke in her garbage can. Leading me to think that, in her younger days, Terry probably peed on a carpet or two herself.
There but for the grace of God go I. I find myself feeling quite smug that I have lived my life in such a way that I've never had to utter the words, "I peed on your carpet."
Real pirates can hold their rum.
Comments
And doesn't Scott sound like a total tool.
Posted by: Kelly Garret at July 3, 2007 05:10 PM