... and almost all of us came down with food poisoning, some more severely than others.
I got worse and worse, lying in bed sweating and gibbering. I woke up with my English Lit lecturer concernedly mopping my brow. Embarassed, I leapt from the bed and staggered into the toilet to take a dump.
As the dump came cascading out of my tea towel holder, I realised I was going to speak Welsh. I decided to swivel round 180' and sink to my knees in the classic "white telephone" stance.
Only, as the bile rose through my throat, I couldn't stop the fizzy gravy from pouring out of my rusty bullet hole.
What transpired is best described as a "360 degree fountain of vomit and faeces". I coated the toilet, the wall behind it, the floor, and my clothes as I tried to point both ends in the same direction, failed, and rotated in a devastating poo and spew spiral.
Having emptied both ends, I crawled into the shower and tried to clean myself up. I then somehow got back into bed and passed out again.
When I next came too, my roommates were standing over me looking concerned. Sympathetic? Hardly. "Clean up that mess you left in the toilet you dirty bastard"
So I spent the next couple of hours pathetically sponging my poo spray and technicolour yawn off the walls of the bathroom.
I nearly had to go to hospital, but thankfully recovered sufficiently by late evening. A health inspector arrived and asked for stool samples. I tool the little phial, not really knowing what to do with it (I was still pretty delirious). Did I just dip the plastic probe into a big log to take a sample? Did I heckers.
I positioned my business end over the tube, and let rip an enormous poo. It was too big to fit in the tube, so I poked it in with my fingers and screwed the cap over the whole smeary mess.
When we went to give our samples in, they had thankfully given us little brown bags to hide our anal shame. Thank goodness, because I wouldn't have wanted the other guys at college to know that I was a dirty bastard who had just been pooing into his own hand!
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