Sunday, November 25, 2007


It is one thing to be a day away from being 26 years old, sitting on an Amtrak to Boston at 8am, and sweating whiskey from drinks with your roommate and his friend Joe the night before. It is another thing entirely to be all those things and have puked. Normally, I would blame my self for puking when drinking. Clearly, I had too much to drink, not enough to eat, was dehydrated, etc. And yes all those MIGHT BE true, but I have heavy suspicions on the bottle of whiskey in question. This innocuous looking bottle with its American made label and it’s old timey font draws you into a false sense of contentment and an even falser sense of sounding intelligent while you discuss philosophy with your friends. It all seems so innocent and healthy until you find your self dry heaving over the toilet.

(Next line to be delivered with fist shaken at sky) Knob Creek!!!!

Here is why I blame YOU:

1) My friend who drinks a lot all the time (he or she shall remain unnamed to protect me getting beaten up) drank from the bottle in question at my epic birthday party Saturday night and vomed for the first time in 4 years. All experienced drinkers know that barfing is a controllable and rare thing once you nail down exactly how much pain your body can take before resigning yourself to a slice of pizza and a vitamin water. To vomit unexpectedly is suspicious. Veeerrrry suspicious.

2) When I myself had to vom, I went through the basic stages. I realized I might have to vomit. I tried to roll on my stomach to calm it and avoid vomiting. My stomach rebelled. I tried to sit up hoping that the sudden movement would jolt my stomach into confusion, thinking perhaps that we were on a carnival ride and not full of whiskey and didn’t need to vomit. My stomach lurched. I resigned myself to vomiting. I walked to the bathroom and knelt by the toilet.


Nothing happened. Despite really, really wanting to puke, nothing happened. I knelt there and stared into the toilet like someone waiting for the movie to start, and no credits rolled. This was really annoying. I knew that I had to puke. I wanted to puke. But for some reason the whiskey was hanging on, I guess to continue shanking the inside of my stomach over and over again. So I did something that I have never done before and never really believed I would have to do.

I stuck my finger down my throat.

This most demoralizing and hated action was the only way to free myself from the pain of the Knob.

The hard thing now is how to complain to a whiskey company that their product made you puke. I assume they will just say “…yah…that’s the idea. You idiot. Here’s an option: DON’T get drunk the night before you leave for thanksgiving to see your parents. “
And then I will say, fuck you Knob Creek, and your high and mighty ways! But damn you, you might have something there.


Shatraw said...

"...the only way to free myself from the pain of the Knob."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH hah hahahah ahahahah.

the Knob.

you did realize your wrote that, right?

Phaea C. said...

yes. You jerk. I thought it was funny.