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Community Discussion: Blog by Tehmtnlion | *NVGR* You can't get out eggnog stains (Merry Christmas!)Destructoid
*NVGR* You can't get out eggnog stains (Merry Christmas!) - Destructoid

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About Me:

I'm a 21 year old gamer from Canada who refuses to accept rational or logical explanations of all things. Armed with a large vocabulary and total disregard for morals and opinions, I fight for Justice. Or Destruction. Which ever gets me teh pwn.




Also, here are 10 things you didn't know about me



Games I've Played worth mentioning
Resident Evil Series
Shining Force Series
All the Sonics. ALL of them.
Command and Conquer Series
Fallout 1,2 and 3
The Elder Scrolls Series

A Genuinely Scary Story

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9

Other Stories I've Written

Risque Business
Karma
Monkey Business
The Chronicles of Niero
A Tribute to ZzFFTLzZ: The End of Douchebaggery
Skid Marks
Tastes on the Danforth: The Harbinger of Death
Didn't see that one coming
The Gross Out
Fear: Shit makes you run
You can't get out eggnog stains
Rage is the best investment
Stupid is as stupid does
Necessity above all else
The most horrific story ever told
Dunk-a-roos: Crack for children

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Alright, as my holiday gift to the Destructoid community, I have decided to tell you about a certain Christmas memory of mine. Enjoy!



The holidays are upon us. We take this time and set aside the majority of responsibilities of our regular lives to spend time with the ones that matter most to us. Be it Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, whatever your celestial celebration may be, hopefully you can think back and remember glorious memories of events past. For me, I remember family Christmas' of my childhood, the joy I felt tearing apart wrapped presents and freaking out when I found the box that held the gift I wanted most. More recently, I've been in university for a few years and had a few new Christmas experiences. Students that have spent the past 3 months working day and night to prepare for their exams, wanting to let loose at the end of exams and the start of the holiday break. Sometimes, things can get out of hand. Especially when drinking games are involved.

Twas the night before Rez closed for the season and we were all ready to drink fiercely. In our lobby, we had set up a table for the many drinking games. The house favourite was Flip Cup. For those who don't know, flip cup is played in teams of two, one team on either side of the table, and it's like a relay race. You start at one end where you must drink your beverage, place the cup bottom side down, and attempt to flip it up on the open side. Once you have done this, the next person on your team starts and repeats. The first team to flip their last cup wins. It was about the 7th round of the evening, an evening that had capped off an entire day of drinking. I was my team's anchor, and I was drinking to win. So was my buddy, Marc.

Marc was directly opposite me, the other teams anchor. He, like me, had been drinking all day. He, unlike me, was also 40 pounds lighter and had been keeping pace with me all day. Needless to say, he was fairly hammered.

Anyway, the match had started and our lead man was floundering. He also had been drinking too much and had lost his hand-eye coordination. He was struggling to flip the cup over, while the other team had advanced to their third of 5 drinkers. We began to encourage our ailing ally, a chant began. Finally, he managed to flip the cup. Their third was now having troubles, their cup refusing to flip properly. Our second, like a well greased machine, pounded back their drink and flipped their cup will alarming precision. A come back was thick in the air. Our third began to drink heavily. Both teams were now cheering on their thirds. The onlookers in the room began to get excited, the energy in the room was building. In unison, both thirds place their cups down, flicked the bottoms and brought them down on their tops. Instantly, the crowd began to cheer louder, The fourths began to drink with passion, like wanderers in the desert, finding an oasis. Their fourth finished first, and skillfully flipped their cup. At this point I was screaming at my fourth to hurry the fuck up.

I'll take this moment to paint the scene in a bit more detail. Namely, the lovely and beautiful woman that had just finished her drink, their forth. We'll call her Fourth and she was baaaaaaaaaaaangin'. Brunette hair, gorgeous green eyes and a cup size of about 36 DD, barely restrained by the tightest, low cut shirt imaginable, she was about 5 foot 7 of God Damn! She had caught every guy's eye that night, flirting without restraint, hopping and bouncing about, her mammoth majumbos doing all the talking. What ever she wanted, at least one guy in the room would have done it for her. I would have loved to have my face stuck in between her boobs.

Irony awoke with a start. She was almost late for an appointment.

Marc, who had been keeping pace with me since about noon, was weaving noticeably. A man known for his ability to hold his liquor, it was apparent that he was at the limits of said abilities. Wearing a awful, goddamn woolen Christmas sweater, his eyes struggled to focus on his cup. He was having troubles standing. He had taken a light shade of green.

Oh and by the way, everyone was drinking rum and eggnog. EVERYONE.

The room itself was filled with about 28 to 30 people, all very inebriated. With ten at the table playing, the rest had crowded around the table. I would peg the sexes at 60% female, 40% male. Regardless of sex, everyone was drunk.

Back in the moment, I was furious. Our fourth still hadn't flipped their cup and Marc had lifted his cup to his lips. He slowly drank back his rum and eggnog. When he reached the halfway mark, my fourth finally flipped their cup and I brought my cup to my lips with such force, I bent the cup slightly. Marc, noticing this new development, hammered back the last of his cup and started to flip.

One flip. I was almost done my cup

Two flips. I set my cup down, at the ready.

Three flips. We both flipped our cups and watched, holding our breath

Both cups came down simultaneously and landed on their tops. The crowd erupted into chants and cheers and jeers. This game of flip cup became a game of Sudden Death. The rules; one more round between both team's anchors. Mono a mono. Marc and Myself. There was, however, one stipulation. Instead of a half cup, we had to chug back full cups of rum and eggnog.

Marc did not look impressed. He had taken on a darker shade of green.

Ready to meet the challenge, I refilled my cup and set it in front of me. My team rallied around me. I looked to my opponent. With an unsteady hand, he grasped his cup and sloppily poured his drink. Fourth had to help him stay upright, standing with her body pressed against his. Marc didn't seem to mind.

Like runners at a race, we got into position. Hands beside our cups, we made eye contact and focused on the task at hand. I waited for the word. I began to sweat. With the amount of people in the enclosed space, the temperature was high. Finally, the call was made and the race began. I put the cup to my lips and poured my drink down my throat, the eggnog tasting delicious on my tongue. I thought I had the competition in the bag.

Marc had other plans.

Like a man possessed, He sucked back his rum and eggnog with tremendous speed. He quickly surpassed me and slammed his cup down, set it up and flipped it upright. Marc had won. The crowd went nuts. I couldn't believe it. I slid back against the wall, and looked at my opponent. I immediately knew something was wrong.

Marc had The Look. The Look is that look someone gets on their face when they are about to unleash a torrent of vomit. Violently. Their gaze becomes lame, their jaw goes slack and all colour drains from there face. I started to move towards the exit, but I was too late.

The ever beautiful Fourth noticed Marc's complexion.

"What's wrong, Marc?", She bounced as she asked, "Not feeling so hot?". She slapped his stomach.

The sound that escaped from Marc's mouth can only be described as one of those metal, spiral door stoppers being pulled back and released. Directly behind the sound, came a jet of eggnog-coloured, rum sick. Like a volcano, vomit erupted out of Marc's mouth and shot directly at Fourth's massive cleavage. With a sickening sound, Marc had completely drenched Fourth's chest with puke. I jumped back with horror. But the terror had just begun.

As screams and sounds of disgust began to echo around the room, Fourth began to tremble. Looking down at her self and the devastation wrought on her by Marc's poor decisions, her lips parted and her mouth formed an O. Taking a deep breath, She turned sharply from Marc, and towards the table and the rest of the crowd.

On instinct, I ducked under the table. And not a moment to soon.

Fourth fired an arc of filth of her own. Vomit flew across the room and coated several other members of the crowd. As I huddled under the table, I could see the legs and feet of a terrified mob. Globs of vomit dripped down onto the floor. I figured I would wait it out under the table and then make my escape. Literally, a "clean" getaway.

Then the smell hit my nostrils. I gagged. I had to move. I got up from under the table at the worst time.

The Chain Puke had begun.

The funny thing about a chain puke, is that, although it is at its core a disgusting and vile act that just thinking about it can induce the act itself, in retrospect, it is hauntingly beautiful. Like a living line of dominos, the act builds like a wave and explodes out of people of different shapes and sizes, the product itself referred to as "technicoloured".

As I got to my feet, jets of puke shot past me. As I lunged for the doors, I felt like I was in grade 7 gym class again playing Dodgeball. Dodging, dipping, ducking, diving and dodging, I made my way to the exit. The people were fountains. The room, a water park. The crowd had completely dissolved into chaos. Girls puked into purses, guys puked on each other. Some puked against the walls, trying to reign in their tummy shame. The more unfortunate had slipped and had been rewarded with a warm, wet gift from above. I Finally reached the door to the roof exit. It was only supposed to be used in emergencies and I felt this classified as one. I burst out the door and into the cold winter air.

I was alone for about 30 seconds. I caught my breath and let the waves of nausea pass. I checked myself over. Not a spot of vomit on me. Such a win.

My victory was to be short lived.

The crowd began to come out the emergency exit. A few at first, but the whole crowd pushed through at the end. People were covered head to toe in the very same rum and eggnog they had so greedily drank down moments ago. I noticed Marc stumble out, followed by Fourth, both covered head to toe in puke. I was walked over to help them out of the way, when I tripped and fell towards Fourth. Seeing me fall, she jumped forward to catch me, her breasts bouncing up.

Irony never misses an appointment. Ever.



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