YOU DISCUSSED ME
So what? I like the taste of vomit… My own, other people’s. Shit,
I have even eaten dog vomit. Cat’s as well. So, what of it? You’re not the
one tasting it… feeling it work its way down your throat, triggering your
gag reflex and churning your own stomach juices, to rise up and meet the
foreign spew, dragging it down to the pit of your gut, to sit and simmer.
No, you’re not, so shut up. I know you’ve been telling people. I see them
whispering to each other, casting furtive glances my way. You’re the only
person who’s ever seen me chow down on a chunder, so it had to be you.
Don’t even insult me by trying to deny it.
Of all the times to finally get busted as well! You would most
definitely disagree, but I consider you very fortunate indeed, to have
walked in on me at that particular time. Y’see, I have eaten ten hells of a
lot of spew, but this was the first time I had tried such an interesting and
exotic blend. It was a vomcoction of spew that could never be replicated,
with the price of it literally being my life. Ok, OK! I will tell you about it,
but you have to stop spreading rumours about me and divulging to folks
about my unorthodox eating habits.
Deal? Ok. What you are about to hear, nobody will believe you
anyway. Now, you pay attention. I had to go through Hell to be able to tell
you this tale.
I first got the idea way back. I used to go ‘n’ hang around in
places where a decent chuck-pile was most likely to be found. Places such
as pubs, pub toilets, the alleyway behind the pub - y’know, places like
that. Just hang around, waiting for someone to disengage their dinner,
bring up their brunch or whatnot, and then swoop in like a ninja with
spatula and jar in hand. I would then take my spew sample home with me
and add it to my growing collection. More often than not, my jar would
make it home with anywhere up to five or even six different pukes,
mingling with each other and swappin’ uglies.
Oh, come on! I’ve barely even started and already you can’t keep
your breakfast down! Here, use this bucket… Anyway…
The first time I downed a mixed jar, I knew I was in love.
Regular, single-serve pukes lost all their appeal and suddenly tasted bland
in comparison. Still, I decided to isolate one puke to one small jar, twelve
of which fit snugly into a small briefcase. More than enough for a night on the heave hunt. So I began to experiment by blending different
regurgitations. Each blend had a magnificent flavour, with something
special to offer, each different from all other blends I concocted. I became
quite adept at identifying the scents and textures, sights and tastes of an
enormous catalogue of chunder.
Then, one day, a possum left a gift on my front porch that would
change my life forever… and I mean forever.
I had pretty much exhausted my limit of blends. Of a multitude, I
had several favourites, but this possum coming to my front door, heaving
his guts up and then casually strolling off into the night; that was both a
blessing and a curse. Possum vomit, added in one dessertspoon to my
batch of my favourite- ‘Vine Alley blend’-gave me a surge of great
strength which lasted for around fourteen hours. I was able to do things
that no man of my size and puny physique can do. Lift the front end of a
car with one hand; punch a hole in a brick wall without hurting my hand
or breaking any bones, you name it. I thought that I was invincible… but I
was very wrong.
About a week later and with my possum enhanced supply starting
to dwindle, who should come trudging across my front lawn? He wasn’t
heading towards the porch though, so, with my spatula and jar, I followed
him across my lawn, through the shrubbery and into the neighbour’s yard.
Then he was heading back out towards the road, so I stalked close behind,
silent and in the shadows. The cheeky li’l fucker was onto me, I reckon. I
was focusing so much on my target and trying to remain as quiet as a
subdued fart, that I didn’t realise the nonchalant possum had wandered
casually into the road. He didn’t alter his lazy pace, nor did he look to
either side, he just carried on and so did I.
Are you throwing up again? Oh dear. I am in for a treat when this
story is over!
Bubbles churned and I felt a vurp rising. It stopped me in my
tracks as it always does. This is one of my most sacred moments. The
stench of my vomit-soaked burps has been known to make people close by
pass out. To me, it’s just the same as lovin’ the smell of your own farts, no
matter how much they might make you gag. Only, the stench and the taste
of these ‘vurps’ give me orgasmic shivers and a violent burst of
adrenaline. Since rationing out the sizable chunder my possum friend left
me on varying experimental blends, the concoctions I’ve imbibed have
added a particularly nasty-or shall we even say toxic?-quality to the odour
released by these burps of mine. But, just like farts, I could easily get lost
in the heavenly aroma forever. And then it hit me.
That’s right, a car hit me. A fucking car! The driver didn’t even
slow down and stupid ol’ me, all pumped up on the last of my possum
power, wallowing in vurp vapour, walked straight out in front of him. The
collision was horrific, or so I heard at least. To me, it all happened so
quick. One moment; possum, next moment; BAM! My legs snapped and flipped and my head hit the bonnet, my cheek painfully squished against
the metal as my body continued over and into the windshield. It didn’t
matter that my broken body was sent flying forward for several feet, to
tumble and roll several feet more and come to a stop in a warped, twisted
heap. No, I was pretty much dead on impact.
Massive head trauma and the broken neck were probably what
did it, but anyway… I died.
Oooh! Nice! Was that stomach lining?
No sooner had I lost consciousness, a swirling, dark vortex of
heat opened up before me. It felt like my body had no weight to it and I
could offer no resistance. The heat engulfed me, screaming my supreme
torture on my behalf. Dragged slowly through a frenzied, chaotic
darkness, my entire being alive with searing agony to the intensity of a
thousand fires, I couldn’t move or even call out. I didn’t exist, yet there I
was, suffering the torment of the damned while Old Father Time
slumbered. It could have only been but a moment, but it may as well have
lasted an eternity. Even eternity it seemed however, eventually ceases, and
I found myself in a tidy looking office of some sort. The place seemed
empty and there was a door across the room, standing ajar. Naturally, as
there was nobody here to tell me where I was, I made a beeline for the
A street ran outside the door. It was lit sporadically by
streetlamps, reminiscent of the early twentieth century. Many were broken
or otherwise not working, sinking the majority of the street into
malevolent darkness. The buildings, which were crammed in together,
along both sides of the road, spanned every era and locale. In the dimly lit
areas, the buildings looked like they were just sitting idle, but could at any
moment get up and start walking around.
Against my better judgement, I was just about to step out the
door, when a voice from inside the room behind me made me nearly jump
outta my skin, and almost drop my spatula and glass jar too. That
would’ve been a game changer. The voice asked me if I was ready, so I
asked it, “ready for what?” The voice just replied, “Your induction.”
When I turned around, I nearly shit my pants and burst my zipper at the
same time. The hottest pair of legs that disappeared into a high-cut skirt,
which in turn tightly hugged the most impossible curves of the most
perfect body I have ever seen.
Ever heard the expression, “She’s a prawn”? Y’know, delicious
body, disregard the head. Prawn. Well, this was a three headed prawn and
she very nearly succeeded in evoking a potential projectile from me by the
sight of her alone. I won’t even begin to describe what made her so fugly;
just the very thought of it still traumatises me, so we’ll just move along,
shall we? Ok.
To cut a long scenario short, I was bombarded with questions
regarding my former life and once I realised where I was, I straight away began demanding I be allowed to speak to the ‘Man in Charge’. The
prawn started abusing me with the bitter tongues of all three hideous
heads, pulling out a small card and telling me with one mouth that this
pass was the only way I would gain audience with the Dark Lord. The
other two heads continued to tell me what a disgusting and pathetic shit
stain on humanity I was. That was it; I’d had enough. I leaned across the
table to be sure all three yammering traps gave me their undivided attention.
Once they all had shut up and now looked at me with a docile gaze, I
opened my mouth and released the foulest vurp I had ever expelled. A
faint odour of decay added to the overall assault.
The prawn keeled over and hit the desk with a quick succession
of three thumps. I took the pass from its limp hand and hastily left the
From the doorway, the street looked deserted but as I stepped out,
the place came instantly alive, shocking me considerably. I was right
about the buildings too. As people darted and zigzagged their way through
the chaos, attempting to get wherever they were going in one piece, they
were targeted by the buildings which surrounded them. Hurling roof tiles
and even slamming front doors onto the footpath and road, these
monstrous dwellings celebrated each direct hit with explosions of
fragmented house bricks and a macabre shuffle/dance on their
I stood where I had first stepped and surveyed the madness that
presented itself to my disbelieving eyes. This is Hell? I guess it could be,
what with murderous houses and quite a few pretty damn scary lookin’
folks wandering around, yeah. I guess it must be, just not what I was
expecting. Where was the fire? Not to mention, I was yet to hear that oh so
famous wailing and gnashing of teeth the preacher man liked to rave on
about back on earth.
Earth… yeah, that’s what I was doing. Where in Hell was this
Satan bloke? I had a bone to pick with him. Apart from my passion for
puke, I led a pretty decent life. What the fuck was I doing here then? And
where are all the gluttons kept? I could have really gone with a good
chunder feast at that point, and the gluttony zone seemed like the most
appropriate place to get some.
This dodgy lookin’ bloke came sidling up to me, his eyes darting
this way ‘n’ that, as if talking to me was some big no-no, and said,
“Welcome to Hell, buddy. What can I getcha?”
I just straight out told him what no doubt ninety nine percent of
people finding themselves here probably said, that there was some mistake
and I shouldn’t be here. The dodgy bloke just laughed and started to walk
away. I stopped him and showed him the pass I’d swiped from the prawn
inside, and asked the man where I would be able to find Satan. At this
request, the dodgy bloke’s eyes widened then narrowed to slits, and a
leering smile broke open his wretched face. He told me that this here was just the sorting area and we weren’t actually in Hell proper just yet. He
motioned for me to follow him and warned me to be alert. This may have
not been Hell itself, but it was still a deceptively treacherous place.
So I followed the fella; turns out his name was Stu. Damn his
eyes, that name just triggered my fixation. Stu… spew. Close enough
anyways. I asked him where they kept the gluttons, and he told me we’d
have to wait until we made it across Styx and into Hell itself. He also told
me that Satan himself spent a lot of time frequenting that circle, as
gluttony was one of his favourite vices and he had a sort of fondness for
the souls who dwelt there. Slightly disappointed as I was, not being able to
find that instant gratification I desired, it pleased me that I wouldn’t have
to venture too far to get what I was after on all counts.
Now, Stu was an avaricious fellow and I could tell by his face
when he saw the pass I showed him, that he had just found his ticket out of
limbo. Why anyone would actually want to get to Hell was beyond me,
but I s’pose I had just not spent enough time in this transitory place to
realise how soul-crushingly tedious it was. Good ol’ Stu was just lookin’
for a change of scenery I guess. I really didn’t care what his reasons were.
If he was willing to take me to the Big BossMan, then I was more than
happy to take the fool to Hell. Not that this place could be any better.
Stu had obviously been here for a while. He was a real social
butterfly and seemed to know everyone there, as well as everything there
was to know about the place. After an eternity of walkin’ the dead carpet,
stopping to exchange pleasantries with all and sundry, finally we reached
the end of the road, where we stood before a desolate, expansive
landscape. Stu told me the river Styx lay on the other side of this
wasteland and this was the shortest route to our destination, so without
further ado, we made the trek.
The finite nature of eternity was becoming a common theme for
me since my abrupt death. How many more times was I to spend an
eternity doing something or going somewhere? This trek across the
wasteland seemed once again to take forever, but just as before, the
journey came to an eventual end. Stu fished around in his pockets as we
stood on the shore of Styx. A look of concern on his face turned to a smile
after some moments, as he pulled out a coin, holding it up proudly. It was
an obolos coin, taken from the mouth of a corpse, which would be our fare
to the Ferryman. What Stu failed to mention was the ‘one coin, one
passenger’ part, and to be honest, that never even crossed my mind. He
was pretty adamant about getting off this shore and into Hell itself. I too,
was determined to gain audience with the Devil and get the Hell out of
there – pardon the pun.
A boat emerged from the darkness across the putrid waters and
slowly approached. Stu looked nervous. He kept shifting glances between
me and the nearing vessel. Once it reached the shore, Stu motioned for me
to hurry and we quickly ran over to where it had docked. A tall, old man; ugly, with a straggly beard and ridiculous looking cone-shaped hat stood
silently on the boat. Stu held the coin out to him, which he accepted and
Stu boarded. The ferryman turned and looked straight through me, while I
stood there feeling both foolish and a little ill. I realised I had no coin to
offer in payment, and at this realisation, a look of knowing appeared on
the visage of the tall boatman. He started to turn his head back to the front
and I remembered the card I had swiped. My pass!
I called, “Wait!” and he turned back around to face me. Holding
the pass up for him to see, the old man nodded and motioned for me to
board. We set out across the river in silence. That fucker, Stu had tried to
doublecross me and he knew it…and he knew I knew he knew it. The
silence was both awkward and absolute for the entire journey to the other
When we got there, Stu was first to jump to shore. He stood
anxiously as I disembarked; avoiding eye contact and shuffling his feet in
the ashen soil. He pointed off to the South and told me with eyes
downcast, that is where I would find the Dark Lord, and where I would
find the gluttons’ designated home. Then he ran off in the opposite
direction, leaving me to figure the rest out for myself. Would ya believe
it? Another fucking eternity awaited me. That’s what? Four eternities I
had spent so far since my life on earth ended? For fucks sake, I had only
just entered Hell too! This was really starting to get on my nerves. Four
eternities without a single mouthful of spew didn’t sit well with me, that’s
The stench in this place was overpowering and the heat was
unbearable. Although it was dark as a starless night, my skin burned as
though I were in the middle of the Sahara desert, at Midday, on
Midsummers day. And damn I was hungry for a barf buffet, so I decided
to start walking in the direction indicated by Stu. You guessed it; another
bloody eternity came and went before I made it to the realm of gluttony.
Mm mm! Bile! You really have been emptying yourself! That
bucket is nearly full. Never seen so much spew from one person before!
Nearly, but not quite. Shall I continue? Ok.
But there it was. The smell preceded it and hit me like a wave
before it even came into view. Food, of every description; an
intermingling of sweets and sours, salties and the unmistakeable aroma of
yes… Vomit. Hell, my dribbling arsehole! This place was Heaven, and I
wasted no time in making myself right at home. I gorged on the
regurgitations of the most vulgar patrons of this place. Nothing on earth
compared to these exquisite flavours and scents. This was a place I would
have gladly spent infinite eternities in. Unfortunately, I was to find that I
was actually an uninvited guest here. My place was among those who
were deemed lustful. I mean, what the Hell? Lustful? My libido in life was
practically non-existent. My desires revolved solely around vomit; its consumption, the experimentation, whatever. If there was any place I was
meant to be, it was right where I was at that moment.
Satan didn’t see it that way however. The Devil himself sat down
beside me, as I devoured a gushing spew stream direct from the mouth of
some slovenly oaf. He asked me what I was doing here and how I had
managed to get here, and I was compelled to tell him everything. I knew
what I was saying would damn me to an eternal misery just outside of
here, within sight and scent of what I considered Heaven, yet unable to
indulge, but the words just spilled from me like the vomit of tens of
thousands of gluttonous souls surrounding us.
You don’t look so well. Please, don’t drop on me just yet. Nearly
done, I promise.
Satan was nothing like the Hollywood, or even biblical image of
him, has us believing. He was actually a charming fellow-attractive even
(though I am not that way inclined). He spoke with a soft voice, yet it
carried undeniable authority, and he told me I was going to have to come
with him because I couldn’t stay here. Fearful of what fate would await
me, I began to plead with him to let me stay. He assured me that was not
possible, but I was very insistent. It was then, out of sheer desperation,
that I offered up a challenge.
He was well aware of my vomit obsession. He even said he
admired my efforts, and was especially impressed with my discovery
following the possum spew incident. However, rules were rules and he
had this place running just how he demanded it be. To be challenged
though, and by a mere mortal such as myself? That was too much for ol’
Lucifer to resist. I put it to him that should I succeed in making him empty
his stomach, he must allow me to remain here in what I considered
Heaven. Confident that I would fail, he accepted. Partially. He told me
that even if I were to win this little wager, it would still be impossible for
me to remain here, but he would grant me another chance at life, back on
earth. If I were to fail in my audacious challenge, I would be cast into the
river Styx, where I would remain for time without end.
After negotiations and some rules of engagement, proceedings
were brought underway. Satan told me I was allowed one request.
Anything conceivable to aid me, he would provide. Such was his self-confidence.
I knew exactly what I wanted and that was a nice, cold beer.
My simple request was met with a raised eyebrow and a table, two chairs
and one frosty looking glass of liquid amber, topped with a perfect head of
We took our seats each side of the small table and faced off for
the contest. Our eyes locked, and then I lifted the glass to my mouth and
skolled the beer down in three large gulps. The ice cold fluid raced down
my throat and bubbled in my guts, as I felt that all too familiar sensation
rush through me like pure, orgasmic bliss. I opened my mouth and leaned
across the table, expelling the most disgusting vurp my body had ever produced. Satan turned a horrid shade of green instantly, and began to
heave. The look of surprise, and even embarrassment, in his eyes was
priceless. Eventually, he was unable to contain himself and out it poured;
all over the table, all over me and into the beer glass I had put back down.
Straight away, I produced the spatula and jar, scraping the
vomitous chunks from the table. I picked up the glass and was bringing it
to my mouth, when I found myself standing right here in my kitchen, glass
of Satan’s spew still in my hand. Of course, my very first action upon my
return was to down the chunder and use my finger to wipe the interior of
the glass clean. The taste was, for want of a better word, divine. It refused
to stay down though and before I regurgitated my prize, I managed to
reach the sink and put the plug in the hole. There was no way I was letting
this go to waste.
Oh look. You’ve gone and died on me. That’s not very sporting
of ya. You didn’t make it to the part where I tell you what Satan’s ulterior
motive was in sending me back here.
Y’see, with this new blend of my own creation, combining just a
teaspoon of Satanic chunder to any and every concoction I make, the
previous owners of the stomach contents I consume are doomed to an
eternity in Hell. Yes, that’s right. I have been granted the ability to make
people vomit their souls and I devour them for Satan.
Pleasant journey, ya big-mouthed fucker.