So a whole bunch of the boys decided to go out for a night on the town. Being poor students, we had to buy up bulk amounts of beer beforehand, and drink it on the way to the bar.
Somehow I let Ben convince me to split a dozen "Victory" beer with him, a locally produced concoction so foul that it sold for less than a dollar per unit of canned happiness. Before even reaching the bottom of the third can, I already felt the ill effects of whatever vile ritual passed as a brewing technique making themselves known to my stomach.

Cue a debaucherous night out at the bar. Followed by going home to my parents place, and Ben crashing out on a mattress on the floor of my bedroom.

Darkness.


I wake up to a rather unwelcome sight. No, not the naked form of Ben, but something nearly as mind-bending. The side of my desk is covered in puke.
"Oh God, what the hell happened".
Moving causes my head to hurt. Glancing over the edge of my bed, I notice that Ben appears to have vanished. But there is a clear outline of his former prone position, surrounded by a fine spray of vomit debris.
I also notice that my door leading directly to the backyard from my bedroom is half open.
Stumbling to my feet, I fully open the door and appraise the small pile of regurgitated mass on the path directly outside my door.

Next to catch my attention is Ben's pile of clothes still hanging over the back of the chair as he left them.
Interesting.

Tottering out of my bedroom and into the rumpus room, I encounter a slumbering mound, which on closer inspection turns out to be Barry. He struggles to wakefulness, and while staggering about the room in his beer patterned boxers, assists me in thinking of what has become of Ben.
The only scenario we come up with is summarised neatly by:
"Damn, I vomited on him and he ran home! Naked! Awesome!"

Our soggy minds are satisfied by this entertaining explanation, though the additional mass outside my door is still unexplained. Approximately 3 hours later Ben appears, only in his undies and covered in small chunks of puke, and with an open cut on his forehead. Apparently he's not aware that the former contents of my stomach are still clinging to his hair and body.
"Hi guys! I just woke up outside on the deck upstairs".

Eventually a run-through of the night's escapades pieces together the following chain of events:
1. I drink horrible cheap beer, under coercion from Ben.
2. I throw up on Ben. And my desk.
3. Ben wakes up, and immediately feels ill (who wouldn't?).
4. Ben claims he's going to throw up, I yell at him to get the hell out of my room first (somewhat ironic), and he yanks open the door, trips on the sill, cracks his head on the brick wall outside, and pukes violently on the path.
5. Ben decides he can't sleep on the floor of my room anymore, despite the patch that his body managed to keep clean, and heads upstairs to sleep. Why he ended up outside on the deck is anyone's guess.


The moral of the story is - don't trick people into drinking horrible cheap beer by saying "no, it really tastes good, honest".