During our brief period of sickness, the projectile vomiters aimed over the side of the porch in the same place where we throw the dirty dishwater and spit the toothpast from brushing our teeth. It has now formed a soapy muddy creak around our house. It’s like a mote (sp?). This morning my toothbrush fell in the toxic stew. Yes, Dad. The nice one you got me for Christmas. It was my favorite.