Tuesday, February 10, 2009


I went for an awesome Chinese feed with some of my former fave co-workers in the old area. It was grouse catching up. They're the sort of people you could shoot the shit with about anything and everything for hours.

Only Mikey got a stuck food attack. The honey chicken was a tad shard like and should have been well chewed. But I was as hungry as all fuck and failed to heed this should have learned by now consumption technique that is medically mandated for moi.

So I went for an Oatsie, what I call my 'may be some time' where I wander around outside coughing and gobbing up spittle and food. I started in the alley way, went up behind the petrol station, then did a circuit around to the tree near the road. I had a dozen or so micro retches - nothing really coming up. The pain and pressure of the stuck food was pretty bad.

A couple of hot girls started walking towards me. I'm ashamed to admit it but even though I don't know them and will likely never ever see them again I didn't want them to see what I was doing. So I fished out my phone and pretended to text.

Finally I reached what I thought was a reasonable level of bearable discomfort and went back. I knew eating the rest of my food was a no go but I figured I could at least hang with the lads while they finished off theirs.

I coughed. Alas the cough turned into disgorging of food down onto my Falstaffian stomach. There was a great snail trail of spittle and goo covered Asian food crested on my gut which I quickly pinched off - cat vom style - but it was highly embarrassing. The lads, bless 'em were cool. In the end I had to depart for some more retching.

On the way back to the office I had to stop every 10 minutes for retching. Still the pain was there. We finally got back to their building and I went and hogged the foyer shitter for 20 minute of quality me time. In the end I pulled out a book and read it in between attempts.

I managed to bring up what I thought was the stuck piece. Well, one of them. And felt it was okay to attempt to catch the bus.

Yeah ... not a good call. It took a lot of willpower not to get off early and go heave. Because if you have something stuck nature's spittle (you drink 2-3 litres of it in a day) builds up and eventually reaches your no no place and you have to heave. I don't know how I did it but I succeeded in making it to my building's toilets - the end stall with the kewl Jesus paddles available.

Another forty minutes went past. Still felt awful. Fortunately theWife had a day off work and was nearby. She came and got me. Wisely she grabbed the plastic ring and tube travel vom thing from the boot in case I needed it.

Yeah ... I needed it.

Alas for me the ring was fine but the tube sprung a leak. So bile vom pooled onto my pants leg. Fortunately when you have a baby man you tend to pack a serious back up arsenal for these sorts of events and it was able to be padded up. We pulled over to the side of the road so I could clean.

At that point everything came up. And thank fuck too. But I'd done some damage to the inside of me and spent another 30 minutes at home on a little red chair before the toilet and partially heaving. Suspecting I was now free of the contraction I gulped down a fat glass of blue cordial.

Which was ralphed up minutes later.

It wasn't until after another two hours I was game enough to try even sipping something.

It's all good now. But for a while there I was pretty fucking miserable. And I feel a bit bad for voiding my guts on the side of the highway and leaving my punctured travel vom kit by the side of the road. I'd like to apologise to the poor community service order fucker that has to nail on a stick that into a garbo bag.

I hate these episodes. I've largely learned to be careful. But now and then, like Bart and the electrified cupcake, I don't remember this lesson and pay the price.

ZZZZZT ... ow ... ZZZZZT ... ow ... ZZZZZT.

And so forth ...

Kids, stay in school.

PS In addition to my spare undies I will now keep a spare shirt at work. Because there was a clearly identifiable vom stain from the in cafe chuck.


  1. Bloody hell. Glad you're ok now but.

  2. Thanks man. It sucked arse biscuits.

  3. Geez what an ordeal...

    I have to ask though- blue cordial? I didn't know anyone drank cordial any more, but blue cordial... what does it taste like (on the way down)?

    I imagine all that retching would leave you feeling pretty crappy for quite a while after... I hope you feel better soon (and never be struck with another incident like this again!).


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