Spoiler alert: we’ve decorated many places on this campus with our vomit.

The sensation comes out of nowhere. One minute you’re laughing and playing with your friends, making merry and enjoying life for a brief interlude between the academic toils of your burdensome existence. But something is lurking, invisible, just beyond the horizon. You don’t know it yet, but you passed your limit two shots ago while throwing it back to Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It For Me).”

Then it hits you.

Like a Mack truck, the imminent “Oh my God, I’m gonna blow chunks” feeling sweeps over you with a vicious intensity. Your body is now a ticking time bomb, which, if not defused, will soon erupt all over the dozens of strangers pressing against you in this random EC suite. The situation has become dire.

“Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck,” you think. Your shit-faced self does a quick survey of your surroundings to find potential evacuation points (that is, places to unload your stomach contents). The trash can? The sink? Maybe if I puke behind this couch no one will notice.

The surroundings that were previously so sweetly intoxicating now turn sour in light of your drunken state. The wafting odor of stale weed. The acrid perspiration of the unwashed frat boys. The beer-vodka-tequila coated floor. The what-the-fuck-is-this shitty music being played by the dude on the aux. It’s all too much. “I gotta get out of here,” you say.

But where do you turn?

Fortunately for you, Barnumbia is a very, very puke friendly campus. There are potential regurgitation receptacles all around, just waiting to be emitted upon. Here are some places we at Bwog have done the proverbial technicolor yawn:

In the privacy of our own quarters: 

Many Bwoggers have upchucked (unsurprisingly) in our own dorm rooms. This is a rather vanilla option for the discrete among us. One Bwogger pulled off this feat in Harmony Hall just this past Saturday.

In communal living spaces:

This is a little more disturbing, but again something many of us can relate to. The communal bathrooms have to be some of the most puked-in spaces on campus. Specifically, Bwoggers have admitted to puking in the showers of multiple Furnald bathrooms (floors 7, 8, and 10). And yet another Bwogger reported puking in the hallway of their freshman dorm. I feel sorry for whoever had to clean that one up.

In the rooms of other Bwoggers:

It’s no surprise that Bwoggers would puke in each other’s rooms, as grave a sin as that might be. One admits that they puked “all over a fellow Bwogger’s kitchen,” and another says they once tossed their cookies “onto [a] fellow Bwogger’s clean laundry pile and bed. I’m so sorry.” I myself happen to be the victim of the second offense. Yes, I still hold a grudge.

In the rooms of non-Bwog friends:

One Bwogger wrote, “Freshman year I got really drunk on rum and coke, fell asleep in my friend’s Muji bean bag, woke up and threw it all up, went back to bed on the bean bag.” Horrifying.

Bathrooms in proximity to dining halls:

One Bwogger underestimated their hangover and had to flee Ferris desperately to a nearby bathroom. This same scoundrel performed the same act of last-minute heroism in John Jay. Another puked in the bathroom of Hewitt.

Tragically, a third Bwogger could not make it out in time, so they “puked in a plastic JJs cup in JJs. It was 3 am.” What the fuck.

Into our own hands (?):

I won’t mince words, this is fucking gross. While desperate times call for desperate measures, I was disturbed to hear that two Bwoggers have disgorged into their own hands. One said: “hung out with a new friend for the first time in her Clarms single. Threw up in my own hands and then sang a parody of Phoebe Bridgers’s ‘Moon Song’ to her.” Pharb behavior.

Another hand-puker simply wrote: “Hewitt Hall, into my chicken noodle soup and also my hands.” I wonder if they ate the soup after.

En plein air:

Sometimes we don’t get the happy ending. Sometimes we have to take the L. In this case, the L is the humiliating act of retching out-of-doors. To make matters worse, Barnumbia’s campus is never truly empty, no matter the hour. In short, if you puke outside, someone is going to see it.

Two Bwoggers report having puked in the trash cans on Low Steps. A bit more disturbingly, there were also two reports of puking onto our lovely campus shrubbery. One occurred outside of John Jay, the other outside of Mathematics. That mental image is hard to erase. Yet another incident of spewing-under-the-stars happened in the Wien courtyard, which I will honestly say is a cute spot to vomit, and I am a little envious.

Conclusion:

If this non-exhaustive list proves anything, I guess, it is that Bwog pukes. Here’s a cute map of some of the documented offenses, if you wanted that for some weird reason.

Puking man via Wikimedia Commons

Puke map via Bwog Staff