Tuesday, 3 December 2013

Word from the bathroom floor

Earlier today:

I barfed so hard, that in the aftermath, while little cartoon stars were circling my head, I thought I saw Jesus.
I barfed so hard, I considered becoming a football fan.

I barfed so hard, I had a Ren and Stimpy 6-years-past-the-expiry cocktail weenie hallucination.

I barfed so hard, the elderly lady coming out of the adjoining ladies washroom (divided by a solid concrete wall) looked concerned for me as she followed me out of the exit.

I barfed so hard, I began to understand multidimensional String Theory and its practical applications; just for a minute, though.

I barfed so hard that my mobile phone became sentient and self-aware, realized it was worried about me, and tried dialing 911 for help.

I barfed so hard, I started re-thinking my opinion of Tom Cruise's sanity.

I barfed so hard, I started to write my last will and testament, only to realize it was the toilet trying to unduly influence me to name it my sole beneficiary.

I barfed so hard, I briefly entertained the idea of a Mexican holiday.

I barfed so hard, I grew a third kidney.

I barfed so hard, a nearby Labrador retriever nearly went insane from not being able to help. He found a local kid and pushed him down a well so he could rescue him and not feel so overwhelmingly helpless any more.

I barfed so hard that the ship jumped to warp 6.5 and then abruptly stopped inside a nearby nebula, stumping the Romulans and saving the Enterprise so we can conduct repairs to the starboard nacelle!
Seriously. This sucks.