The Chunder Chronicles

So Friday night some people from Prague came up, and I let this one chick sleep on my floor. Nothing new there, all perfectly normal.
BUT in the middle of the night, the girl got up and spewed all over the bathroom. And I do mean all the fuck over; her range was truly impressive. She did clean it up, but I think the wall is permanently stained. Hey, in a way it's kind of cool-looking, all Jackson Pollock Uses Recycled Goulash or something. No, ok, I'm full of shit; it's just beyond foul. Funny thing is, I could have sworn it wasn't physically possible for that bathroom to get any more ghetto than it was. It's totally poetic justice for me, too, given the number of puke-related atrocities I've committed over the course of my career. I horfed in Naměsti Republiky Metro station, y'all. No, not the bathroom, the actual station itself. And that's not even the bottom of the barrel. In my defense, I wasn't drunk on that occasion, I was just hungover. Although come to think of it, that's not really much of a defense: "Oh no, I wasn't trashed then, it was just that I'd gotten so fucked-up the night before."

If anyone is trying to eat while reading this, I sincerely apologize. But y'all know you like it when I tell you disgusting stories.