Tuesday, 19th September,2006

A vile cloud of gastro has permeated the otherwise clear and pure (apart from all the bloody wood burning heaters) Tasmanian air.
It’s contaminated fingers reached through my ears and pulled my stomach out through my mouth.

I won’t go into any further detail because, unlike a football field sized collage made of puree’d fruit, chunky vegetable tined soup and parmesean cheese, mere words, simply cannot do it justice.

Driver Dick and some friends who have also recently fallen victim would say that I didn’t have the full blown man size version of it because I only vomited once.

I have attributed this to a fairly efficient digestive process.
In the one vomit I saw the green of my lunchtime cheese salad, the white of my midmorning yoghurt and the red of the strawberries on my breakfast porridge.

Green, white and red. A euro-barf. Enough to make El Duce himself burst into spontaneous applause.

Meanwhile, Driver Dick was probably still chucking up the roadkill beef jerky he had last week.

While we’re on it, why is it that generally speaking, chicks can vomit quietly, at most producing a gentle retch, whereas blokes can’t vomit without an accompanying “JESUSCHRISTOHMYGUTSMAKEITSTOP”

So, sadly, not much running ,but plenty of this.

http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k160/sylvie_011/pjs.jpg

Yes! I'm in prison and tied to a bed and some chick named Myrtle wants to make me her bitch!
SEND.HELP!