It’s Thursday and that means a few things. Some weeks it means payday (not this one sadly), here I usually bust out a Thankful Thursday, but for many it is TMI Thursday. Ah hell I’ll just rip the intro off of LiLu too:
Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
So after reading the wonderful Lilu’s TMI Thursday faithfully for a while now I’ve decided to
toss my saladhat into the ring too. I let my coworker decide which one it would be, by virtue of them asking me about a certain drink that will show up in the story. It’s from my childhood and truly not very good (though my wife loves to laugh at me cus of it). Enjoy:
When I was much younger (dunno maybe
20 8 or 10 or something like that) I had a couple friends from a summer program. I want to say one of their names were Kenny but I think I just have a desire to name them Kenny and Spenny or some other rhyme like Garp and Carp. Yeah I like that let’s go with Garp and Carp. Anyhooo they lived in Port St. Lucie—a place that I’ve slowly come to picture as Florida’s version of the town in Deliverance. No this story will not involve being told to squeal piggy, but something pink will make an appearance. So one time I accompanied Garp and Carp and fam to their place in Deliverance FLA and end up on a boat trolling a canal. That had nothing to do with anything but I wanted to mention the “fun” involved cruising a fucking canal on a boat! Okay done with that. Eventually we headed back to their homestead for the day. I don’t remember what we ate for lunch but it was of the sammich variety, and we washed it down with some strawberry quick. Now these fine people went all out and didn’t skimp with the quick. Oh no there was fucking bucket of it (or a pitcher made for King Kong).With lunch I had 2 glasses of the pink crack. It remained outside on the table with us as we proceeded to play flag football. Now back then I was thin and quick, as opposed to the roly poly jimi of today. So we play and play and I flash up and down the field with surgeon like precision. I had game bitches! I of course stopped to slurp down some more of the warming strawberry goodness.
Let us flash forward to like 5 cups, three hours of football later. We begin our drive home. I’ve provided a map showing the distance, which would soon feel like a transatlantic flight.
Okay got it. Sometime early in the drive I began to feel queasy and there was a rumbling down in my stomach. Soon there was a strawberry themed volcanic activity. I felt it push up into my throat and I threw up. It was a tiny amount and as the country music clanged away I decided to just swallow it. I closed my mouth and swallowed it which seemed like a good idea but backfired. I gagged and it tasted like no other piece of nasty I had ever experienced. A second wave came up, a larger wave. So I told them to pull over right? Nope. I threw up all over the truck? Nope. I closed my mouth and held my hands to it, all the while pink puke seeping into my hands. I cupped the vomit in my hands and mouth and tried to swallow more and threw up a bit more, for like 20 minutes. Finally as the puke cooled in my tiny hands either Garp or Carp asked me something and I of course didn’t answer. Their dad noticed then and pulled my hand away from my mouth. There was an avalanche of quick sliding down me and onto his hands. I then proceeded to throw up again (did I mention I was in the middle seat?) and with precision that Rambo would’ve been proud of nailed both Garp and Carp. The rest of the drive I was made fun of by Garth and Carp but at least I had my own throw up on me.