The Art of Projectile Vomiting

I have a skill very few people on this earth possess. If you take into account volume and speed, I am perhaps the greatest projectile vomiter in world history. I mean, we’re talking a fire hose, here. You ever see people do that half-assed barf, that kind of dribbles down the chin and only advances slightly forward? That’s weak. I can nail the opposite wall with a gallon of Drew Soup. People who witness the aftermath are never really the same, frightened both for their welfare and my own. Even if I make it to the toilet and have good aim, the periphery still gets hit. It’s a talent.

When Mrs. Drew and I were first dating, I went out to watch the World Wrestling Federation at the Meadowlands with a friend one night. On the way, we split four 40’s of Olde English (which gets ye shitfaced). At the arena, I drank so much beer that it began to replace the fluid in my eyeballs. When I came back to Mrs. Drew’s place, she and some friends we watching “The Way We Were”. I came in, told everyone the movie was for gay Jewish men, said Barbara Streisand looked like a dead ferret, and passed out upstairs.

Mrs. Drew lived in a duplex at the time. To get to the bathroom, you had to go downstairs. At 4AM that night, my stomach geared up for a gold medal hammer throw. I barfed in the bed, on the staircase and walls heading down to the first floor, in the kitchen, and everywhere in the bathroom but the toilet. Mrs. Drew cleaned all of it, with it being understood that I was now obligated to marry her and worship the ground she walks on from here to eternity.

And I tell you that to tell you this. The baby is due one week from now. This talent is a lifetime trait of mine. My mom said that, as a baby, all I did was eat and barf. And as a kid, too. In 1989, my mom took us to Leeann Chin’s in the Minneapolis Galleria, where they have an all-you-can-eat buffet. I ate so much I ended up barfing over the mall balcony onto the Atrium floor below, in an attack I called “General Tso’s Last Stand”. We moved from Minnesota shortly thereafter.

Now, the baby is almost certain to have acquired my gift. And I’d just like to say to anyone who has had to encounter my churn in unexpected places – sinks, showers, basements, bar seats, urinals, trash cans, shoes, mittens, China cabinets, etc. – you are about to be karmically repaid in full.

I’m ready with the Pine Sol.