What I had really done was to get up off the couch, walk into Jim and Tricia's bedroom, turn the corner, sit down at their computer, and begin puking on the keyboard.

Now, when I puke, it is something major. I was screaming into the keyboard. Tricia bolted out of bed, thinking that I was dying. She tried to wake up Jim. Jim, who had been mighty drunk himself, sat up, looked over at me, and said,

"Oh, I've seen him do that before,"

laid back down and went to sleep.

I finally finished my business. Tricia got me to stand up. I took two steps and fell into Jim and Tricia's bed. They decided to just leave me there, and Tricia went to sleep on the couch.

I woke up again (this time for real) at 8:30. I had no idea where I was. I looked to my left, didn't recognize anything I saw, looked to my right, and saw Jim, who was laying on top of the covers...completely naked. Hmmmm...I checked to make sure my pants were still zipped up. Everything was OK there, so I guessed I hadn't missed anything thrilling (or so I thought until Jim and Tricia related the whole story).

In honor of the night, we gave the keyboard a name. He is now known as Chuck.

Chuck and Jim. (Jim is the one on the right)

I always thought there was something very Freudian about me puking on a keyboard. Computers had played a pretty important role in my life, and still do. I got some insight into this when my friend Ed observed that it wasn't the computer I had spewed all over. It was the interface.