"GGG-ross!" we editors said to ourselves as poop story after poop story
smeared our desks this month. We weren't sure we really wanted to know.
"And don't they have anything else to write about?" we muttered.
Well, yes, in fact, they did.
Throwing up, praying to the porcelain god, upchucking, tossing your
cookies, the delicate "spitting up," puking -- no matter your euphemism of
choice, no matter how many craven fathers-in-law pat you on the back and
marvel at your "mother's ability to take care of that stuff without
flinching" as they scuttle away unsullied toward the television -- it's still
But it was better than poop. So here, for your delectation and approval,
are our three candidates' stories. Pick us a loser, and when you're done --
should you find inspiration in Dianne Lake's tale of having a baby during a
Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village -- send us your own Halloween lament.
The deadline is Monday, Nov. 10, 1997. Send submissions to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Puking optional, of course.