I stayed in Dublin a year ago for a few weeks and went out drinking one night with my friend Gerry. The evening started out pretty tame in his local pub, drinking ale. After two pints of that I switched to Guinness. I was getting the munchies and really craved fries in curry sauce, so I excused myself from the pub to go next door and scarf some down. We then went to a different pub. Gerry suggested that I try a Jemmy and Red, which is Jameson's with red lemonade--yummy!! Gerry kept ordering me two drinks at a time; a pint and a mixed drink.

After four more rounds of double drinks, I drunkenly followed him back to his place. He was probably expecting a night of drunken sex, but what a lame-ass date I turned out to be! Gerry rolled a huge hash and tobacco spliff and halfway through smoking it everything began to spin. I ran to the bathroom, sat on the tub and laid my head in the sink (waiting, waiting) and passed out, I guess.

The next thing I knew Gerry popped his head in to see if I was OK and I yelled,"Leave me alone!! I'm going to be ill!!" Then I began to puke my guts out in the sink, filling it up nearly half way until I realized it wasn't going down the drain. Gerry came in again to offer his help and before I could stop him, he rolled up his sleeve and plunged right in, scooping up the chunks and tossing them into the toilet! Blech, I wouldn't even do that shit for my mom! "GET OFF MY PUKE!! LEAVE IT!! I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT!" I yelled. What a fucking gross-out! I shoved him out the door and started puking again, clogging up the drain with my curried potato chunks. Then it was my turn to plunge my arm in to clean out the mess.

I eventually passed out in bed with him, feeling quite un-sexy. I haven't drunk Jameson's nor eaten curry chips since.

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