Denial
- is in his mid 20's - is a taurus male(all you perverts can leave now) - always craves for good music - will never put up naked pictures of himself here(all you perverts who are still here can finally get lost now) - will realise his dream of travelling around the world - will own properties and one of which is a resort by a beautiful beach - hopes to strike 1st division lottery someday so that he can bum professionally - is currently brain dead and will continue some other timeFriday, October 22, 2004
Cramps and churns.
Current track: Climie Fisher - Rise to the occasion
Current mood: Can I get anymore "higher" than this?
Warning: I didn't post any picture this time 'cause after, and if you choose to read this post, it'll give you "images" in your head which are adequate. If you can't take imaginative visuals or its aftermaths inducing from the written descriptives of my morning hangover experience below, I strongly advice you to skip this entry and go fly kite.
______________
So I suddenly woke up, still feeling high from last night. Mind-numbing music still stomping within me from last night's drinking session at O Bar. Still burping and feeling the alcohol within, I dragged myself to wash up. Never did I expect what's to come in the next 2 hours; a pukefest.
______________
First time round, so fast and furious that I was totally unprepared, standing there in the living room(toilet's in the kitchen) stunned for a few seconds while clenching my mouth tightly to prevent more from spilling out. I rushed to the toilet bowl while dirtying the floor and parts of my shirt and shorts. End result, brownish liquid along with assorted seaweed-and-jelly-like substance.
Feeling a lil' better, I took a glassful of water and cleaned up the plentiful spurts of mess on the floor. I then booted up the com and started playing Monopoly online(Don't even bother asking why 'cause I don't myself) and I thought it was the end of it...
I was so wrong.
______________
Second one, out came the water I just downed. Silly me thinking that water isn't good enough, I took a small cheese bread bun. Crix called and we talk cock a bit. I told him about the vomitting, the water and bread and as he enlightened me that I shouldn't even take anything 'cause the body's rejecting whatever I put in, my face emerged this ultra-horrified look while the other hand drifted to my tummy. Fuck, what have I done!
Turn on the television, Jaime's Kitchen was showing the cook preparing food. "Yes, yes, rub it in, asshole.", I said to it. I had just taken my rendition of the Last Supper and anticipating another throwing-up. Jesus and the rest of his disciples would have just look at me briefly and shake their heads, then continue watching TV.
______________
Third came, the pastry as expected. I love anything that goes with cheese and for a moment there was a tinge of sadness that my body's rejecting it. Having once bitten, I shy-ed away from mouthfuls even and took sips of water to wash down the icky acidic bits stuck in my throat, then proceeded to clear up the fucking-gross residue in the basin.
For some strange reason, I found the puking-feelbetter-feelbad-puke cycle kinda... good, especially after the first two. There’s something nice about knowing exactly how much something is going to suck, you know what I mean?
______________
Apparently it's like an offer; puke 3 get 1 free. The last one was greenish, like bile juice or something. Similar sight to the time which I got so drunk at Henry's place, waking up in the middle of the night filling the toilet bowl with an even greener grostesque than this, then hugged the toilet bowl to sleep.
______________
Having puked 4 times within the morning since 9 am, I still feel high and hungry, but intentionally waiting till later to munch on something light. It must be the world's worst hangover, ever. I bet I could make it into the Guinness fucking Book of Records if there was a chance any of the authorities saw this.
There’s sensory overload. Today was Nonsense-ory OverUnload (I unnecessarily capitalized the three letters in the hopes that you’d get the joke. If not, may Allah strike you down with a panadol tablet.)
______________
Note to self: Never, ever take Whiskey coke in large quantities 'cause you, can't, take, it.
Current mood: Can I get anymore "higher" than this?
Warning: I didn't post any picture this time 'cause after, and if you choose to read this post, it'll give you "images" in your head which are adequate. If you can't take imaginative visuals or its aftermaths inducing from the written descriptives of my morning hangover experience below, I strongly advice you to skip this entry and go fly kite.
______________
So I suddenly woke up, still feeling high from last night. Mind-numbing music still stomping within me from last night's drinking session at O Bar. Still burping and feeling the alcohol within, I dragged myself to wash up. Never did I expect what's to come in the next 2 hours; a pukefest.
______________
First time round, so fast and furious that I was totally unprepared, standing there in the living room(toilet's in the kitchen) stunned for a few seconds while clenching my mouth tightly to prevent more from spilling out. I rushed to the toilet bowl while dirtying the floor and parts of my shirt and shorts. End result, brownish liquid along with assorted seaweed-and-jelly-like substance.
Feeling a lil' better, I took a glassful of water and cleaned up the plentiful spurts of mess on the floor. I then booted up the com and started playing Monopoly online(Don't even bother asking why 'cause I don't myself) and I thought it was the end of it...
I was so wrong.
______________
Second one, out came the water I just downed. Silly me thinking that water isn't good enough, I took a small cheese bread bun. Crix called and we talk cock a bit. I told him about the vomitting, the water and bread and as he enlightened me that I shouldn't even take anything 'cause the body's rejecting whatever I put in, my face emerged this ultra-horrified look while the other hand drifted to my tummy. Fuck, what have I done!
Turn on the television, Jaime's Kitchen was showing the cook preparing food. "Yes, yes, rub it in, asshole.", I said to it. I had just taken my rendition of the Last Supper and anticipating another throwing-up. Jesus and the rest of his disciples would have just look at me briefly and shake their heads, then continue watching TV.
______________
Third came, the pastry as expected. I love anything that goes with cheese and for a moment there was a tinge of sadness that my body's rejecting it. Having once bitten, I shy-ed away from mouthfuls even and took sips of water to wash down the icky acidic bits stuck in my throat, then proceeded to clear up the fucking-gross residue in the basin.
For some strange reason, I found the puking-feelbetter-feelbad-puke cycle kinda... good, especially after the first two. There’s something nice about knowing exactly how much something is going to suck, you know what I mean?
______________
Apparently it's like an offer; puke 3 get 1 free. The last one was greenish, like bile juice or something. Similar sight to the time which I got so drunk at Henry's place, waking up in the middle of the night filling the toilet bowl with an even greener grostesque than this, then hugged the toilet bowl to sleep.
______________
Having puked 4 times within the morning since 9 am, I still feel high and hungry, but intentionally waiting till later to munch on something light. It must be the world's worst hangover, ever. I bet I could make it into the Guinness fucking Book of Records if there was a chance any of the authorities saw this.
There’s sensory overload. Today was Nonsense-ory OverUnload (I unnecessarily capitalized the three letters in the hopes that you’d get the joke. If not, may Allah strike you down with a panadol tablet.)
______________
Note to self: Never, ever take Whiskey coke in large quantities 'cause you, can't, take, it.
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