Masochistic Humor

Laughter was broken by intervals of coughs. Eventually the ravaged throat hiccupped blood and the laughter subsided. Such a bitter metallic taste was too astringent to perpetuate joy. Water, rolled around, spat out. Still an iron-rusted likeness: hard, sour. Vomit. Laughter again caught the air, but it was satirical this time. Comforting? Almost, but alluding more so to preoccupation. Water, rolled around, spat out. The metal was gone, but lemon twisted slightly with a precious small amount of chyme - stomach acid - laced the larynx. Disgust, momentarily abated; laughter ensued.