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My husband and I used to work overseas in the merchant marine and once he got food poisoning in Indonesia. The only thing worse than having the screaming craps is 1. Not being able to read the signs for bathrooms and 2. Eventually finding the bathroom to be a little tiny pit in the floor.

It's also unnerving to try to use a strange toilet when the walls are covered with lizards which are staring at you.

Too bad there isn't some antidote you can take, although I see now that coffee prevents colon cancer, as well as skin cancer! So maybe the acidity in the three gallons of joe counteracted the salmonella.
Salmonella? I barely know her! (in NYC wise guy accent) It was funny in my head.

The good thing about food poisoning is that if you're a reasonably healthy person you likely won't die from it. The bad thing is you beg for death just to get some relief and you're not going to be so lucky.

As always, you have come up with an awesome band name despite your despair: Residual Chicken Skank. Or just Chicken Skank. For a ska band, of course.

Sound the horns and clear the dance floor.

I was eating cold Imo's while I read this and was thinking of my own vombie incident that also involved Imo's and now I kind of want to hurl. Thanks for that.

Do you really want the burgundy yarn? Let me know b/c I'm taking some of everything to Knitorious tonight.

Wow, that must be some hardcore vomiting if you break blood vessels! You really don't do anything halfway, do you?

FYI, I'm totally stealing vombie for my next discussion about vomiting!

When I read "befouled the stick," I giggled out loud...

I guess I was lucky I didn't get sick, I ate several bites of chicken from Arby's before I realized, "This doesn't look right, and it's not as hot as I thought it would be."

No, no: obviously, the Chicken Skank is not a band, but a *dance*. Like the wedding-reception classic, except...sluttier.

I spent a memorable New Year's Eve with the ex once after he got into some bad shrimp. He was one of those shouty pukers--couldn't just quietly hurl, had to sort of bellow and roar with the effort. Normally just the sound of someone retching will set me off, but the screaming heaves were so over the top that I...kind of laughed. That was probably mean. Sorry, ex.

Three nights ago I threw a stuffed chicken into the over for 10 minutes longer than the recommended time. I took it out and proceeded to serve it up. E ate a piece with white meat and I took a piece with dark meat. Three quarters of the way through, I realized the bite of thigh I'd just taken was not cooked. I did exactly what you did. Since that was three days ago, I think I'm past the point of being poisoned but I've been watching out for it myself.

The year E and I got married, our company had their Christmas party at the home of the owner in north Louisiana on a Friday night. They put us up at a hotel in Natchez, Mississippi for the night. The next day, E and I spent the day seeing Natchez. We ended the day with dinner at Cock of the Walk. I had the half-shrimp/half-oyster fried plate. We drove then drove the hour and a half home. We hadn't been in bed an hour when it hit me. I spent that entire night laying on the bathroom floor (between bouts of vomiting) with three cats glaring at me and my new husband blissfully snoring in the next room.

On my honeymoon in Morocco, the year we invaded Iraq, I ate lamb sausage I couldn't see (it was dark) in an open-air market in Marrakesh. How many bad decisions went into that moment?

Luckily, I only got profoundly, embarrassingly sick for a week. God, I wish it had been Salmonella. I love Morocco, but the facilities often consist of these quaint poop-holes in the ground. If you want to eat undercooked sausage, I recommend you do so in Spain, instead.

I stumbled across this site looking for Black Keys shirts, and I wanted to thank you for all of the good song lists. Plus, I'm always up for swapping reversal of fortune stories.