Needless to say, it's been a hell of a night. Hayato fucked around with this message on 01-26-2007 at 01:55 AM.
The decision to call the ambulance is always a tricky one. Are they just lol fucked up or are they hospital fucked up?
Under capitalism, man exploits man. Under communism, it's just the opposite. - John Kenneth Galbraith
quote:
Verily, the chocolate bunny rabbits doth run and play while Hayato gently hums:
a bit too much whiskey.
You can't get alcohol poisoning from "a bit too much." It takes massive amounts of alcohol in a short time period to get alcohol poisoning. Take it from someone who once got .32 on a breathalyzer in college: you have to work really hard to get alcohol poisoning.
--Satan, quoted by John Milton
quote:
Bloodsage got all f'ed up on Angel Dust and wrote:
You can't get alcohol poisoning from "a bit too much." It takes massive amounts of alcohol in a short time period to get alcohol poisoning. Take it from someone who once got .32 on a breathalyzer in college: you have to work really hard to get alcohol poisoning.
Bloodsage, Working Hard All His Life!
--Satan, quoted by John Milton
Instead we stripped her down to her undies, bathed her to get her temperature down and made her drink massive amounts of water, which in turn got her to throw up...
She was ill for the next 4 days.
They just monitored me in the ER but some cases are worse than others. It's certainly taught me a lesson.
You need to space out the massive amounts of alcohol.
Hope things go alright with your brother though.
Under capitalism, man exploits man. Under communism, it's just the opposite. - John Kenneth Galbraith
So we get him home and of course they live on the second floor so I have to haul Fred up the stairs (being the only big guy in this group) because he has passed out. I assume it's generic passed out. He'd been singing showtunes badly not long before, then he got real quiet, then he passed out in the car. Puked bigtime when we got him out of the car, but I carry him upstairs. He starts yurking in his sleep. His mother (who was visiting at the time) freaks and tells us to get him to the hospital.
So I get to carry him back DOWN the stairs. Asshole puked down the back of my shirt. As if having puke down your back isn't vile enough, whatever alchemical compound had gestated in Fred's stomach stripped the color right out of my custom-made Spawn shirt, and then proceeded to ooze down the crack of my ass (yeah I was in a baggy pants phase, sue me). Vile, Vile, FUCKING VILE.
Anyway they get him in the car, I change, we get to the hospital. At the time I didn't get just how serious Fred's condition was, but they pumped his stomach, fed him charcoal biscuits, etc. He ended up staying in the hospital the rest of the time I was in Philly (three days) and came home looking like a zombie.
This has taught me several things:
1. Someone must be a good friend if you don't drop them when they puke down your back
2. Never drink for stupidity
3. When the Zombie apocalypse begins it will be because some 120 pound wee-man chemically pickled his innards and medical science revived him into some sort of half-life.
sigpic courtesy of This Guy, original modified by me
quote:
This one time, at Ares camp:
Instead we stripped her down to her undies, bathed her
Say no more. :ssh:
God you're a fucking geek.
