It's 3:00 am and in several hours i'll be feasting in what may prove to be the defining moment of the 21st century. Ross' quacamole, Christina's 7 something or other dip, and mrs x famous taco dip. But, around 1:30 am i wasn't feeling too good at all. I chalked it up to the nerves that come with "the big game"....Will i be able to consume enough wings, how many mozz. sticks can i fit in my mouth at one time, and such and such. But by 2:00 AM i knew this was something else. As the pain got worse, I worried that I wouldn't be able to bring my A game. So, i did what i had to do.

It's been a long time since i've had to self induce vomiting. I don't know if my fingers are bigger than they used to be or what, but it wasn't pretty. I felt my throat spasm around my two fingers. When i removed them, only a small splat of puke came out. I was so disapointed. Then, the gates of hell were unleashed. I didn't much care for the reverb (read: splashing) that was hitting my face, but it was a necessary evil. As i was near death, i kind of enjoyed the irony of the smell of puke making me sick again and repuking. The circle, as they say, is complete.

and so it goes.

I'll be ready by gametime.