Chuck's Chuck Ups

For almost ten years now, I've been asking visitors to this site if they've got a story to tell. Now people are asking me, what my story? 

Maybe one day I'll get around to putting more of it on here, but for now here are a listing of some of my personal vomitings. 
More to come one day soon...

Check these stories:

The Stag Night Spew.
Arnold Schwarzenegger made me vomit.
The Sydney Souvlaki.
The Mystery of the Vanishing Vomit.
Caravan Carnage.
My First Time.

Got a story to tell? Click here to mail it in to us at The Vomitorium and who knows, you might get to puke on the web!


The Stag Night Spew.

I remember going to a friend's stag night. He doesn't drink too often and so it didn't take much for the best man to get him totally wasted before we even got there. We watched a couple of "educational movies" and then decided we should get something to eat before before heading out to see some "live entertainment".

I don't know how we even got into the restaurant, as we had to almost carry him to the table. He was looking pretty green around the gills and so we quickly started up a pool to guess what time he would actually puke.

Being a close friend I had a bit of faith in the lad and I took midnight as his ETV (estimated time of vomit). By the time he had a bit of food shovelled into his mouth he started to pick up a bit and it looked like it was going to be a dry run, as he refused all attempts to get any more alcohol into him. Finally around 11:40 someone gave him a glass of lemonade, which he figured was harmless enough, but after a couple of minutes the bubbles started doing their stuff.

He ran off to the bathroom around 11:45, but it was a false alarm. We were getting bored by this time and started a food fight with the girls on the table next to us, then all of a sudden he let out a big burp and flood of barf came sprawling across the table like hot molten lava - right on midnight, so not only did I have a good laugh, but I made some money too!

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Arnold Schwarzenegger made me vomit.

Believe it or not it's true. It was a cold rainy Thursday night in Sydney. A few schooners of VB were required to get the blood pumping and raise the body temperature. After about 6 or 8 the decision was made to get some food into our stomachs and stop the head from spinning, but where does a group of sophisticated Melbournites eat when in Sydney? Planet Hollywood of course. After being informed that there was a 50 minute table wait we were told that we were welcome to wait at the bar. Well after 2 or 3 more schooners, some idiot came up with the bright idea of: "Let's get some shooters!" Let me tell you a devoid of food, beer-lined stomach is not a good resting place for a Black Russian or a B-52, let alone 2 or 3 of each in quick succession. It wasn't too long before we gave up waiting for a table in disgust and bid farewell to Arnie, but by then the damage was done.

By the time we reached our next port of call I had to make a beeline for the big white telephone and thus my 16.5 month vomit-free streak came to an end and it's all Arnie's fault, for the following reasons:

1. If we had of gotten a table and had something to eat, I would have been okay.
2. If they didn't sell shooters at the bar I still would probably been okay.
3. If Arnie and I didn't look so much alike (from the neck down obviously), then I wouldn't have identified with him so much and thus wouldn't have been interested in going there in the first place.
4. If they hadn't of built Planet Hollywood in Sydney I would have gone somewhere else and gotten something to eat and been okay.
5. Just because, okay.

I had a meeting at 11am on the next day and I didn't feel too good at 8:30am when I was in my hotel room, sponging the vomit stains off my pants before I could go to work. The stench was pretty bad, so I sprayed deodorant all over my pants before I left the hotel in an effort to kill the vomit smells. I guess after 16.5 vommie-free months I was a bit out of practice, which explains my misfire into the big white telephone and why my pants copped the dribble.

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The Sydney Souvlaki.

I won a trip to Sydney at our cricket club. I flew out on a Friday night, but I should have known what was in store for me before I left. I had lunch with some friends from the office and we managed to break our all time record by downing 6 pots in a single sitting.

I was met at Sydney Airport by a friend who proceeded to take me to the nearest pub for a couple of schooners. We then went back to his place to drop my bags off and headed to his local pub for more beers. We staggered back to his place sometime after midnight, having stopped off for a souvlaki on the way. We sat in the lounge intending to watch the late night movie. Within minutes he had passed out on the lounge chair, so I decided to make myself comfortable on the couch, but as soon as I laid down the room started spinning, so I tried to sit up for a while, but I was exhausted and couldn't keep my eyes open. The only trouble was as soon as I closed my eyes the room would start to spin again.

Eventually I decided to face to inevitable. The bathroom was upstairs and the flat had new white/cream carpet, so I made a dash for the kitchen sink and I almost made it. 85% of the chunder landed in the sink about 5% on the cupboard door under the sink, 5% on the kitchen tiles and the 5% ended up down the front of my jumper.

 I thought I had a done a pretty good job of cleaning up the mess, so I took off my jumper and hung it on the balcony outside and went back to the couch to pass out. I woke the next morning and couldn't believe the stench. I walked into the kitchen and discovered that I had missed a big chunk of puke on the sink and there was a dribble of vomit on the cupboard door. A million ants had come in no doubt attracted by the wondrous aroma that filled the room. Furthermore there were chunks of souvlaki (I don't remember there being any carrots in it when I ate it !!!) blocking the plug hole of the sink. I was pretty embarrassed, so I quickly cleaned up the remainder of the mess, including the ants and was just walking back into the lounge as my mate woke up. It was at that instant that we both noticed the tiny but tell tale spew stain on the edge of the carpet near the kitchen.

Damn!!! I had almost gotten away with it too. My mate looked at me and then said "I had a bit of a spew during the night, I didn't quite make it to the sink." It seemed that I had just spent the last half hour cleaning up his chunder.

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The Mystery of the Vanishing Vomit.

I went straight to the pub after work one Tuesday night and got absolutely spastic. I don't really remember too much about the evening, including how I got home, but I distinctly remember hurling big time, shortly before I passed out.

The alarm woke me next morning to get up for work and I lay in a haze for a few minutes when the memory of me heaving my guts up returned. I tentatively lifted the sheets... thank goodness I hadn't barfed in the bed ... next I looked on the floor on both sides of the bed - still no signs of chunder. I sniffed around but that familiar puke scent was not present at all in the bedroom, so I moved on to the bathroom.

Carefully I opened the door and peered inside ... it was clean! I began to relax and decided that I had only dreamt that I puked, so I had a shower and got dressed. By now I was running late, so I grabbed my keys and jumped into the car. As I backed out of the driveway I saw it - a big pile of barf on the grass, just inside the gate. Suddenly it all came back to me - I'd caught the train in to work that day and took a taxi home from the pub. As soon as I got into the taxi I knew I had to puke, so I kept my mouth shut all the way. The driver kept looking at me with a worried look on his face and as soon as he pulled into my driveway I opened the door and let rip with a projectile vomit onto the lawn - Mystery solved!!!

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Caravan Carnage

At the end of my second year at University, me and about 5 other guys piled into two cars and headed up to Surfer's Paradise on the Gold Coast. We were staying in a caravan that belonged to a friend of a friend. We spent our days on the beach, then each night we'd all squeeze into one car and with our designated driver at the wheel we would go into town to get pissed.

On about the third night I go horribly drunk, I vaugely remember drinking beer through a straw and talking to a dental nurse, but for the most part, the evening was a blur. When we got back to the caravan, I had the munchies, so I found a packet of salt and vinegar chips and proceeded to scoff the lot. I got into bed, but the van started spinning, so i had to get up again. Eventually I found a bucket and spewed my guts out, before passing into unconsciousness.

I woke up the next morning and the guys were sniffing around trying to find the source of a very funky odour that had invaded our living space. The further I got from my bed the less I could smell it. Then I realised that I had left the bucket under my bed. I casually picked it up and dumped it outside, leaving the others to blame the foul stench on one of Scotty's farts!

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My First Time.

My first alcohol related vommie was at my brother's 21st party. I was 11 years old. My cousin (who was about 9 at the time) and I were loitering in the vicinity of the keg when we noticed it was temporarily unattended. We proceeded to pour ourselves a beer each and then sculled. I suffered from the rubber stomach syndrome - it bounced straight back up bringing the remainder of the contents of my stomach with it. My cousin was worse, he had obviously eaten a lot more than I had and chundered a total of 5 times compared to my 2. I have a vivid recollection of my other cousin (aged 13) standing there with tears in his eyes because he laughed so hard at the two of us heaving our guts out on the patio.

It was little embarrassing having to go inside and tell Mum that we had just been sick outside, I said it must have been something we ate.

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