Not exactly puke related (though I was gagging by the end.)
My old band arrived one night to set up in a pub in Ipswich. It was pitch black inside (boarded up windows - you know the sort of place!)but the door was open and we knew the landlord well so started loading kit in.
It was me and one of the guitarists first, creating a pile of gear in the dark, landlord turns up and puts the lights on.
As the other band members arrive we notice a stink. Of course, we blame the drummer. Still we can't trace the stink until we are nearly set up and reach the bottom of the pile of gear, where my bass case was lying.
Beneath the case was a huge, squashed, dog turd.
The cuplrit ( the landlords very large German Shepherd) watched sheepishly from behind the bar, as I dragged my bass case into the ladies toilet to clean it up. (Had to use the ladies, no paper in the blokes.)Gagging, swearing and much laughter from other band members ensue.
Still, it all fit with the pub's ambience, which at the time was being used by the police to stake out the drug dealers in the flats next door. Ah, such sweet memories of the Rocking Horse, what a hole....