By Christopher Cudworth
Prepare yourself. Today’s topic is indelicate to a chunky degree. We’re going to talk about barfing, and why barfing is sometimes better than the alternative, which is not barfing and feeling like you’re going to barf any minute. Seriously. Sometimes it’s better just to barf.
Does barfing turn you on?
You need to know that some people in the world are actually sexually turned on by barfing. According to Scientific American magazine, it can happen. Can you imagine? One must guess that along the way there was some sort of erotic experience tied to the barfing experience that makes certain people eager to feel that sensation, to the degree that they get sexually aroused.
Perhaps they were home from school as a kid, lying on the couch with the flu, and watching some game show like The Price Is Right when the urge to barf came over them at the precise moment one of those PIR models bent over and spilled cleavage all over the screen. That could do it.
Or maybe the barfing response hits a young girl just right and she has her first orgasm during an intense barf session. That could do it too. For the rest of your life you’re saddled with wanting to barf in order to have an orgasm. Tough gig, really.
Yet most of us seem to hate barfing. We’d “rather” writhe on the bed for hours trying to fight off the feeling than heave our guts out and be done with it.
Getting sick with the flu is one thing. Getting sick from training or racing too hard is an entirely different but no less traumatic thing.
Some of us are unblessed. We have stomachs that are badly affected by nerves or food or sports drinks. That can make us barf.
Others simply run or ride so hard the food or drink in our stomachs just flies out our faces. This video of USA Olympian Bob Kempainen at the 22-mile mark of the Olympic Trials Marathon shows the young doctor and distance runner surging to a lead as he violently spews some sort of yellow sports drink.
The ensuing laughter of announcer and former Olympic marathon champion Frank Shorter as he calls the race is full of mirth and compassion as the stalwart Kempainen carries on despite the brightly colored torrent of barf flying over his right shoulder. He just wipes off his face and keeps running, and he won. Perhaps he had an orgasm out on the course that day. No one ever asked him that.
Personally I’ve always backed off if I could before barfing in a race. A few times I threw up in the finish chute. Once at a national championship in cross country the event took place in the snow. I ran hard as I could for 5 miles and barely broke 28:00. Standing in the chute with other runners I felt a wave of nausea come over me and threw up on a guy’s shoes. He punched me in the head. Laughing, I said “Fuck you, they’re already so muddy you can’t see them.”
I also won a prized 10K race near home and had to use every bit of muscle, guts and heart to do it. Two steps past the finish line everything in my stomach came up. The race director knew me well, and yelled. “Don’t do that here!”
Honestly I apologized. And barfed again. You can do that if you win. That’s what I say.
Barfing as a direct result of running or riding is bad enough. The year I got sick from food poisoning at a national track meet was the worst ever barfing episode. Ever. The worst. Ever.
27 times I barfed overnight and lost 7 lbs. off my 139 lb. distance runner frame. Dehydrated and weak, I demanded the coach take me to the hospital.
And for years I believed I’d had heat stroke because the temps were in the 80s during my steeplechase. But then one day I started thinking about that evening and realized it was the pizza from a national chain restaurant that had made me so sick. The sausage was likely bad and food poisoning damn near killed me. I’m pretty sure I barfed up some organs that night that I never got back. But I did not have an orgasm. No, sir.
Why all the barf talk?
This all occurred to me as I considered the treatment my dog Chuck received last night as a result of ingesting half an ounce of dark chocolate. I’d had a one-ounce piece after dinner and set the other on top of a coffee cup. After watching two hours of Downton Abbey (which I’m sure can make some people barf) I went back to get pajamas but realized I’d left the chocolate on the cup.
Rushing back to the living room, I found Chuck standing over half an ounce of chocolate which meant he’d eaten enough to get seriously sick. He weighs only 20 lbs. and it’s all relative anyway how dogs respond to different things they eat. What you’re supposed to do at that point is to give your dog some milk mixed with hydrogen peroxide and get him to throw up.
But we had no hydrogen peroxide. We called the emergency vet. They said come on up, we’ll help him out.
By the time I got him to the emergency vet his little body was shaking with tremors. It was hard to tell if it was the chocolate or the cold, because the temps were 8 below zero outside. The bill came to $270 but it was worth it.
They made Chuck barf up the chocolate and showed me the content that came out of his stomach (that’s content marketing for sure) including chocolate covered rawhide and some greenish pellets.
“What are those?” the vet wanted to know.
“Eraser bits,” I told her. “He got hold of an eraser today.”
And that seemed exotic until I learned that the other four dogs in the vets’ office that night had all ingested panties and underwear. One was whimpering in a dog voice that I swear sounded like it was saying “Mama” over and over again. Turns out it was a pit bull named Eli. So you never know. Maybe he had barfed up the panties and had a doggie orgasm.
It all comes full circle, as they say. We’re all trying to avoid the dreaded effects of barfing, but some of us actually seem to enjoy it. I could engage in some Dog Shaming I suppose, posing Chuck in a picture with the chocolate wrapper (I forgot to mention the foil he also ate) and a card that says I ATE SOME CHOCOLATE AND COST MY MASTER $270 AND HALF A NIGHT’S SLEEP.
But that would be karma of a sort that would come back to haunt me. I’m sure of that. So we’ll let the barf lie where it may and move on in life trying to avoid that horrible feeling of barfing any way we can. Unless you orgasm when you barf. In which case I suggest you run or ride some hard intervals.
Ba-domm teeesssssssssshhhhhh. I’ll be here all weekend folks. Don’t forget to tip you host or hostess.
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