Well, it's yet another morning where I've been woken up to the harmonious sound of dog hurl. Tank's hours of puking are between sound asleep and sweet dreams. Never has he so much as gagged during normal business hours. I've woken up to being puked on (I'll take a warm pile of vomit for $100, Alex), puking off the side of the bed (Avalanche!), to just regular old heaving on the floor. Personally, I like it when Tank gets creative with where he is going to projectile. For some reason when Tank started up this morning I started singing that song from Beverly Hills Cop, "The Heat is On" but I just replaced "heat" with "puke."
The puke is on...it's on the streets.
Inside your head, on every beat.