Usually Friday nights consist of my friends coming over to the house and consuming mass quantities of beer, and last Friday was no exception. About 2 AM, a couple guys said they were hungry and decided to go to Krystals. I opted not to go, but had them bring me back a couple cheeseburgers. This was Mistake Number Three.

Mistake Number One happened the night before. I generally subsist off of a Meat and Taters diet, but I felt like some pasta. I had gone to a favorite bar and had the chicken and shrimp fettucini alfredo. The alfredo sauce was mighty rich. It went down well enough, no issues...

Mistake Number Two was Friday's dinner, a shrimp poboy and lots of beer. This was good beer, mind you, all locally brewed in Atlanta. I drink this kind of beer all the time so it usually doesn't affect me in bad ways.

I had stopped drinking around one on Friday night. After the 2 AM Krystals, I crashed.

Fast forward three hours to 5:30. I awoke with the most tremendous sickening pain in my gut. I lay in bed for a few minutes, trying to decipher which end of me was unhappy. Overwhelmingly, it felt like my lower GI was going to explode, so I decided that pooping was the culprit.

I stumbled in the dark to the bathroom. I hit the fan and the light and sat down on the throne. Almost immediately a rush of poop stormed from my bowels. The combination of rich food and the hops from the beer made for a most acrid stench... and this, of course, really set off my stomach.

I sat there for what seemed to be an eternity. As I sat, my stomach grew bound and determined to release the dogs of war. The churning and gagging had started already, and my mouth watered in anticipation of the coming flood.

I could not decide where to place this angry tide. I thought about turning around and puking on top of my poop, but I ranked that as a last resort since the stench would surely consume me and I might pass out right into a load of buttjuice. The shower was beside me to my right, a large inviting space, but I imagined that the evils within would be too much for the drain to handle. I reached to my left, behind the toilet, looking for the garbage can. DAMN! Where is it!?! Turning further to my left, I spied the sink. This was the moment of truth... reckoning day. I got up, leaned towards the sink and let it go.

It's a good thing my aim is keen when it comes to such matters. I convulsed and ejected a most heinous stream of beer, water, Krystals, and whatever else had been hanging around. But Round 3 was beginning... I quickly had to sit back down on the can and released yet another putrid load of swill. I couldn't take the scent. I reached around and gave myself a courtesy flush, but it was much too late, so I commenced to fill the sink some more.

Before long I was spent. I was dry heaving into a sink full of puke, and my sphincter was crying for quarter. I wiped my ass some more and attended to the sink. I'm not usually all that squeemish about many things, but the sink was clogged with my puke. I had one choice. I reached down and pulled up the stopper as I turned on the water.

Luckily it all went down, chunks and all. I cleaned up the remnants around the sink bowl and washed my hands, then washed my face and flushed the toilet a final time.

Washing my hands again and splashing some water on my face once more for good measure, I pulled up my boxers and wearily opened the bathroom door. I looked at the clock and it was 6:15. WOW, that was a quick 45 minutes. I dragged myself to bed, shivering, feverish and worn out.