That's the most contrived and outrageous reason I've ever heard a guy use to explain why he won't go down on a girl.

Awesome story.

For me, it was Keebler iced animal crackers. I once ate a bag, puked up the bag, and could never look at an animal cracker the same way again.

Hey man, are you going to eat the rest of that?

Undies, wouldn't that be more true if the guy said he couldn't eat bread anymore?

Funny story, Thud...

Undies, wouldn't that be more true if the guy said he couldn't eat bread anymore?

What kind of Poe have you been eating?...
Unless you're talking about sourdough, but uhg, now I'm gonna puke too.

Watermelon. Can't stand the smell even. And I love melon.

But one bad melon and the rest of your life carries a stain.

Microwave WhiteCastle Burgers.

Power Bars.

Several years ago, some friends and I went out to Washington state to climb Mt. Rainier. We signed up for a five day climb and instructional seminar with the guide service. Since this was a "big mountain", I decided I better eat what I thought Real climbers ate, so in addition to some gross hippie granola crap we bought in a Seattle co-op, I also packed a bunch of Power Bars. I'd never eaten one before.

The first day, while we were still at low altitude, I ate one and commented about how good they were. One of the guides laughed and said "Wait until you try them higher up on the mountain." Somewhere off in the distance, a crow squawked.

Sure enough, summit day came. We woke up at 2:00AM, got out of our tents, and begin the climb to the top. I started out feeling fine, ready to go.

Around 12,000 feet, altitude sickness started to affect me. I had a headache, I was nauseous, and I was coughing like I had a three pack-a-day habit. None of the food I brought with me, none of the dry bagels or dry granola, appealed to me. I would have killed for a Snickers bar. Add to that the melted snow we were drinking wasn't too appealing either.

Then I took out a Powerbar. The guide watched me as I unwrapped it.

Cont...

First off, it was frozen solid. This was July, but we were on a glacier climbing to over 14,000 feet and the sun wasn't even up yet. I managed to chip a piece off with my ice axe.

I brought the frozen hunk of Powerbar to my tongue and immediately started to dry heave. I hadn't eaten more than some Pop Tarts at breakfast and a few bites of a bagel. I was doubled over, heaving into the snow, trying to bring up some non-existent food. All because I simply touched a Powerbar to my tongue. We were roped up so I couldn't even go off to do it in private.

"I told you so.", said the guide.

I managed to make the summit, but to this day I cannot even look at a Powerbar because it reminds me of throwing up.

if I happened to sit on the other side of the lunch table that day in kindergarten, I might have even grown into a person who actually likes it

never before have i seen a real-world application of chaos theory transcribed in to layman's terms so beautifully.

Thousand Island Salad Dressing.

My freshman year of highschool, there was no un-sanctioned initiations of people. There was the school endorsed initiation, which I was ensured by the vice principal herself was always fun for the students. It was supposedly mostly just games for the students so they can get to know new people. So me & a few friends signed up. We were split into groups, I wasn't with any friends. My group got the harshest seniors as our 'leaders'. We were sprayed with mustard & Ketchup, had eggs broken on us (I got a shell in my eye), got covered in flour, sprayed with sour milk, and had thousand island salad dressing thrown at us.

Now, the way it worked was each group was lead to a different 'station' where they would do something awful to you. One station will always stick out in my mind...

From the goal posts, they had pieces of paper tied by string, blowing in the wind. They then had garbage cans full of this weird bluish green goo, with sponges in it. You had to throw the sponge at the piece of paper blowing in the wind. If you hit it, you had to go, get your sponge, and come back. If you missed, you had to do that too, but everyone else was allowed to throw a sponge at you while you did it.

At this station, one guy got fed up of having thousand island salad dressing thrown at him, they had a huge jar of it. So when one of the 'leaders' was distracted, he ran up, grabbed it from them, and took off with it. Everyone else was instructed to hit him with sponges. But that wasn't the worst part. When the leaders caught him, they took the entire, full jar of thousand island dressing, and dumped the entire jar down the back of his pants.

I can't even look at the stuff, or smell it without gagging.

Seventeen beers and nine shots of vodka.









Not really, but i wanted play along, too.

You crazy Canadians and your antics!

I've got better, but one of them is likely gunna have to be a 5-6 part article.

I was on the road with various rock bands for two years. I pledged a fraternity. I was drunk or high every day for fifteen years. I have three kids. I've lived most of my life in New York City. Declan is my brother.



So, no. I'm pretty good with just about anything.

One time I was in a park eating a ham sandwich for lunch. I was sitting under a tree because it offered some nice shade. As I was eating, some white goop landed on my hand (the one holding the sandwich). I thought, "I didn't think I put that much mayonnaise on my sandwich." I wiped it off and continued to eat.

Then it dawned on me that the goop was not quite the same consistency as the mayonnaise on my sandwich. I looked above me and noticed the birds twittering in the tree. I'm pretty sure they were laughing at me for having eaten a poo-covered sandwich.

This incident did not turn me off of either mayonnaise or ham sandwiches. It takes a lot more than that to make a fat guy not eat food.

I looked above me and noticed the birds twittering in the tree.



RockinRobin @meowmeowthecat LOL I flew away and u didn't catch me.
about 18 hours ago from web

RockinRobin I'm totally crapping on some dude's porch lol
about 19 hours ago from web

RockinRobin Eatin' worms for breakfast. I hate getting up this early.
about 21 hours ago from web

This thread is making me hungry.

A story about puking makes you hungry?

A story about puking makes you hungry?

Pretty much anything about mayonnaise makes me hungry. Some folks call it a condiment, but I think it tastes just fine by itself.

um... okay then...

...and it's been available in a convenient snack-size far longer than GO-Gurt.

Gag.

Dear Pooper:

I lust you.

Less than three,
Lobsta

I just noticed there's new buttons on the text editor thingy. I still think we should be allowed to edit previous posts for up to 24 hours after we post.

Some of us, me included, say a lot of stupid Shakespeare that we immediately regret the second that we push the submit button.

That's me!

This incident did not turn me off of either mayonnaise or ham sandwiches bird Shakespeare. It takes a lot more than that to make a fat guy not eat food.

Seventeen beers and nine shots of vodka.

Yeah, that's about what it would take for me to have sex with most of you.



Not really--I actually get bitchier and less horny when I'm drunk. Ha!


For me, it's anything with curry. Once, my (now ex-)husband and I drove to visit his stupid ass brother. It was about a two hour drive. We were doing some other things in that area that day, and I felt a migraine coming on, but I didn't have any medication and I ignored it.

I started to get the headache just as we decided to get something to eat. The idiot brother insisted we get Indian food, and my husband stupidly said he'd pay for it. So the brother ordered all sorts of crap from the menu.

I was pretty hungry, despite the migraine lurking in my head, and ate quite a bit.

By the time we left, my head was about to split open. As we started driving home, my husband had to keep stopping so I could throw up. After a few times, it was just dry heaves, so he just kept driving in order to get me home.

I had to put my head in his lap because there was no comfortable position and I was miserable. And, no, he wasn't turned on, sickos.

He kept stroking my hair and telling me to think good thoughts until I told him to shut the Frost up.

Since then, I cannot eat any kind of Indian food or anything that has curry in it.

White rice!! I was on my 3rd date with a guy who I thought was "the one". We were on one of those evening cruise ships. It was my parents 25th wedding anniversary and they had rented to ship for their party. My date and I had just filled our plates with all types of goodies and made our way downstairs to one of the rooms so we could eat out dinner in peace. We were sitting across form each other and giving each other googlie eyes. I had just taken a large bite full of white rice. Just then...I felt a sneeze wanting to come out. Since I didn't want to spew rice all over the man of my dreams, I tried to hold in my sneeze. Well...if you have ever tried to do this, it doesn't work. Since I was trying so hard to not sneeze rice all over my date, I instead let out one of the largest farts ever! I was totally mortified and even in my attempts to not sneeze, I did anyway and rice went flying across the table all over my date and to top it off, the rice also found it's way out through my nose! So...there I was sitting in a small room with a man who I thought could have become the father of my future children in a very strong odor (from the rice fart I could not contain) cover in snot rice looking at my date who was also covered in my g-force sneeze rice wondering when he was going to get up and leave in terror. As I sat there waiting, he just bust out laughing and now 20 years later, we are married with two wonderful children. So I guess if you do find the "one", he will stick with you just like my sneeze rice stuck to him!!! So needless to say, I am a bit shy about eating white rice!!

I actually kind of have a story.

One time, many years ago, I was a scout. Well, a cub scout to be precise.

It was a cool spring night around the campfire, and my (cub) scout leader offered me a 'chocolate cricket'. I accepted, assuming it was just a milk chocolate in the shape of a cricket. When I heard the wing crunch, I realised my mistake.

We shared our tent compartments with 2 other boys each (3 in each), and when I awoke the net morning, there was puke everywhere. I mean everywhere. My hair, my clothes, my sleeping bag, my 'neighbours' sleeping bag, his bag. Seriously it was bad.

I remember I awoke first, saw the puke, and went 'erghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh', which awoke my neighbour, who repeated 'erghhhhhhhhhhhhhh'. This finally awoke the third lucky scout to have shared my compartment, who woke saying ''what's the matter you bunch of gir... OMG... erghhhhhhhhhhhh'', almost puking over the puke himself.

Ah... the good times.

I can eat pretty much anything ... and unfortunately I think I did.
In college I was enjoying a seemingly harmless burger and fries combo and reading the USA Today Monday sports section , filled with all kinds of info from over the weekend. It must have been a big weekend in sports because I was tossing fries in my mouth without looking at them.
You've all seen the soggy, undercooked french fry, or the occasional brown, dried-up fry, or the bizarre green one. You just push them to the side and stick to the normal ones. No harm, no foul.
Well, I can't be sure which one I ate, or even if it was a lost cockroach crawling across my trey. Whatever it was was crunchy, bitter and made me spit out everything in my mouth and eventually everything in my stomach. For years to come, I couldn't eat a fry, or even think about one. The innocent question ``Would you like fries with that?'' would make me queasy. To this day I wonder what the hell kind of satan-spawned fry I ate that day. I can eat them now, but every once in a while I get a batch with the stray brown or green or wormy fry and lose my appetite. Damn you, devil fry, wherever you are!!!

My brother once up-chucked after eating too much popcorn. It would be the end for him.

I've ordered a big bowl every time we're in the cinema ever since.

Hog'shead cheese, coon and nutria gumbo, never been the same since I got ahold of a bad bowl.

For me, Mcdonalds shamrock shakes.

When I was young, my mom seemed to think I'd enjoy a peanut butter, butter and celery sandwich.

I didn't like it going down, or coming back up & don't choose to eat peanut butter or celery willingly these days.

The part of my brain that evaluates the pleasures bourn from tasting something enjoyable far override the consequences such temporary pleasures might have in the long run.

For example, due to an hereditary gastroenterological complaint, cucumbers are nigh unto poisonous to my physiological make-up. I still love to eat them. I just minimize such encounters (also, vinegar helps) and enjoy them in a semblance of moderation.

I've suffered tremendously terrible food-poisonings from both rancid cheese and bad shell-fish. I've endured... though I still enjoy both with wanton delight.

There are so many aspects in which I lack self-discipline, and yet... the stigma I place upon foods which have harmed me in the past is not as great as that of others.

But I ate a crappy scone once and I'm certain that all scones are completely awful.

Hog'shead cheese, coon and nutria gumbo, never been the same since I got ahold of a bad bowl.


So there's ever a good bowl?!?

Oh wait. Toilet. My bad.

Hot dogs. Former housemate of mine came back rather inebriated from a party, at which some Shakespearehead told him that since he was almost passing out, eating a bunch of hot dogs after the fact would put protein on his stomach and sober him up a bit. Chyah!

He comes in at 2:00 AM and passes out in the hallway, knocking open my door as he crumples in a meaty thump on my floor. Drunk guy on my floor. Got to get up at 6. Hall light glaring into my eyes. Woo hoo.

Having pity on him, I step on his ribs on my way into the hall to shut off the light, and trip over his head on the way back in. His visceral grunt and moaning assure me of his deep gratitude.

Roughly an hour later, he crawls into the unused half of my bed. I get out. He's making some sort of swimming or rooting motion which has me so perplexed that I didn't recognize it as his ineffective attempt at a mad dash to a secluded location. That all-to familiar retroperistalsis sound fills the room. Moments later, so does the smell of raw hot dogs, SoCo, and bile. I'd have thought it to be funny at the time if I didn't have to wake up in 3 hours, and if I didn't see the line of rancid fluid advancing on the edge of my bed and threatening to escape to the welcome shelter of my carpet. Reflexively, I pull up the corners of the fitted sheet, forcing the puke to retreat back toward his senseless form. It took a few moments of holding the sheet, watching the fluid seep into my mattress pad, before I do what any reasonable person would do. I pull up the other corners of the fitted sheet, clothespin it closed around him like a body bag, and dragged his ass over to the bathroom.

Again full of pity, I undo the clothespin over his face to allow him to breathe. Unwittingly, I have allowed the rancid smell to travel unobstructed up my nostrils. And the sound is louder, too, because he hasn't stopped puking the whole time I dragged him. That familiar feeling, a cross between a yawn and something tugging the back of my tongue down into my throat builds. Froster's gonna make me puke. I'm pissed off. So I do what any reasonable person would do. I position my mouth above his head and let it out. I am dismayed that my stomach was not as full as his, as he is still bringing up plenty of contents with each heave. But I am pleased enough with my work that I take a picture, being careful to line up the half of a hot dog (doesn't the Froster CHEW?!?) that is resting on his shoulder with his open retching mouth. When I am done cleaning up, I have roughly half an hour before I have to get up for work, So I use the time constructively, setting the image as his desktop background with the caption "Uncool! You bit off someone's DICK!" and send copies to a dozen of his friends.

But, alas, the revenge was not as sweet as the puke was rancid. When I got to work, I realized that I had become a bit used to the smell. My coworkers informed me that I needed to take a third shower, and even then, I was rather funky. And I unwittingly gave my housemate a higher standing among his friends, as he somehow parlayed the sheer volume of puke in the picture into a badge of his masculinity, even though it looked like he had a bitten-off dick in his mouth.

Wow Ammo, you write funny stuff.

I have a thing with cottage cheese. When I was younger, I had to share a room with my little sister who would get up in the middle of the night and get these little Dixie cups of milk. She'd take a few sips then put the cup under her bed. In a mother induced room cleaning day I found all of these cups of spoiled milk under her bed. It looked like green cottage cheese! I dry heaved for probably 30 min.

"Mom," I said after leaving the bathroom, "It looked like cottage cheese but green!"

"Well," my mother replied, "Where do you think cottage cheese comes from?"

That sent me back to the bathroom! I am now a lot older and still have an issue with cottage cheese. It doesn't send me running for the bathroom anymore but I can't sit near it. And if the milk expiration date is near to being up, I have to dump it start with a new jug. And, lol, DO NOT leave it out of the fridge for more than 2 min, I'll have to go to the store and get a new one.

I don't necessarily have a problem with foods; I am a human garbage disposal. I once pizza that sat out on the counter for 6 days and aside from tasting like wood, it was edible and I didn't get sick.

For me, I can't even smell Absinthe. It's got that black-licorice taste and smell and I had one of my best/worst experiences with it. My friend had brought some back from France and we all decided to try some. We had just eaten a big helping of mashed potatoes and molasses cookies and washed it down with a whole lot of vodka, so this seemed like a good idea. A little bit turned into splitting a 500ml between 4 people. Soon, while everyone was having a major naked gropefest, I started to feel sick. I jumped up, ran into the hallway and vomited BLACK, everywhere, from the bedroom to the bathroom.

My girlfriend (who is still with me after 3.5 years somehow) helped clean up the mess, much to her disgust and disappointment. I meanwhile, cried over a toilet and forced myself to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up drunk, got driven home, and vomited from a moving car. The car behind us, being driven by two sweet-looking old ladies, gave me the most sympathetic look I have ever gotten.

Needless to say, if I even smell licorice I get Vietnam flashbacks.

"Wow Ammo, you write funny stuff."


Dear Bill,

I feel I must apologize for my post. I agree it was an unfunny, rambling mess induced by insomnia. Its choppy syntax fragmented the flow of the entire article, rendering it wholly unfunny, except of course for the clicks it has received.

I also apologize for making light of subjects which are a bit of a sensitive area for you. The events described occurred back in the days when biting off someone's dick was considered rather rude, but as you know, times have changed to the point that biting off dicks, in certain circumstances, can be a valued skill and a cherished service. You yourself, with your selfless dedication and countless man-hours of pioneering research in the field, have paved the way for society at large to eschew the stigma previously given to dick biting.

In addition, I feel I must apologize for not clarifying my use of the word "dick" in my post. By it, I meant "penis" and not "private detective". I really did not realize until I read some of your other posts quite how much of a fondness you have for private investigators, the invaluable services they perform, and the appreciation they have shown you after you have bitten off their dicks. Truly I did not intend to open up this raw nerve for you and your beloved private investigators.

I must confess that I am but a lowly n00b, whose comedic powers can never hope to rival your own. Please excuse any inadvertent slight I may have made toward you or your hobbies of oral penectomy and orchiectomy.


By the way, you may find it easier to speak more clearly if you take that goddamned dick out of your mouth.

Cinnamon Buns. I got sick many Thanksgivings ago, when I was but a wee lass, and ended up throwing my guts up on the side of the road on the way to my aunt's house. Must have been when I was 7 or so, so it's been ...13 years. Still can't stand the evil things. :P That's some nasty Shakespeare.

Say, this The X in Y n00b ain't too bad. Don't nobody kill her.

OMG, I'm going to have to add coconut, at least for the next few months. So if you buy two coconuts because you found a really cool-looking recipe for Thai coconut and mango chicken, but your significant other just really isn't in the mood for Thai, like for two months solid, don't just assume that the coconut will remain safely sealed in "nature's tupperware". The result looks like something like this:


And it smells like a dead possum tried to sing Escape (Pina Colada) by Rupert Holmes.

In the picture. none of the white stuff you see is actual coconut flesh.



PS Thanks, Dogs

PS Thanks, Dogs

What I actually meant was, Don't nobody else kill her.

...until she finishes making the coconut mango chicken.

Mine is honeydew. I don't mind if others eat it, but I don't want to smell it or touch it.

This is due to a party I attended where Midori slushes were made. Midori, vodka and honeydew were blended together and made a delicious beverage. I think I had 3 before taking a dirt nap until morning.

No honeydew!

Honeydew? More like honeydon't!

One time, back in the 70's. A product called "Slim Pickens' Chili Fixins". Think "The Exorcist" but with Chili. So painful and horrible and awesome all at the same time. Plus Mom had to clean it up. Listen, you feed that Shakespeare to anyone and you pretty much get what you deserve.