One night when i was 19 i got blootered on about 8 pints of McEwan's Export wi rum and coke chasers then went home and smoked a few bongs wi ma flatmates. I whiteyed. Next morn i woke up rough as broken biscuits, scraped the smell o booze off ma teeth and crawled off to get the bus to work (accounts department, Scottish Gas, Granton).
Halfway down Pennywell Road i felt shaky sweats and had the sinking realisation that a big bad spew was in the post. I made the bus doors just as the gut heaved and the insides o ma cheeks filled wi vile fizzy barf. The doors swung open, i chucked in the gutter and swayed towards a lamppost outside the Gunner Bar. Then i really got into the swing o the whole projectile vomiting thing.
Bent round a lamppost, throwin up ma ring i was aware of passing school kids havin a laugh and takin the piss right outta me. I didnae care, just wanted to die really. Then i thought a bairn had grabbed me round the waist but, as i twisted ma neck for a swatch, realised i'd been jumped by a big slavery dug. This wisnae good.
So i hooked ma heel under the dug's face and booted it backwards off me. Relief turned very sharply to horror when i glanced back to see a grey muzzled, one eyed brute with its bright pink cock most definitely ootnaboot. I'm sure it licked its lips as it rolled onto its back, took aim and gushed doggy spunk over ma face, hair and spew ridden suit.
I got straight back on a bus home and phoned the work. My maw was a telephonist at the gas board for 20 years and of course it was she who answered my call. I spewed again when she told me the whole place was buzzin wi news of the summer temp who'd been sick in the street and molested by a dug.
Mothers shouldnae have to hear stuff like that about their boys.
