DISCLAIMER: don’t try it. Yes, it does make the person sick as hell. No, you can’t be sure it won’t kill him or her.
From CRY UNCLE, by Chrissy Olinger:
I hated doing it. Leo was such a good guy, and he didn't deserve what he was experiencing. Contrary to urban legend, three drops of Visine in a beer do not necessarily cause dangerous dysentery. But it can, if the nausea is bad enough. And let's face it, the chili at Ruby's is bad enough to do some serious damage without help.
"Ohmygawd there's bad stuff coming out of every part of me." His voice was somewhere between a primal death-moan and a broken prayer.
"I'm leaving some cold water and a bucket for you, Leo. I'm really sorry you're feeling so awful."
"Goway. Please. Don't stay here. Ohmy--" nothing human should make that sound. Leo's dank, dark curls clung to his head as he retched into the wastebasket.
"Jesus." Maybe he needed an ambulance. "Do you want to go to the ER?"
"I want to find the sonofabitch who made that chili and kill him with razors, sand fleas, and a blow torch." Leo's milk-chocolate eyes were rimmed in a fiery red. His olive skin was dialysis yellow. What had I done?
"I'm going to check back in with you in a few hours."
"I'll be dead then."
"It's just food poisoning, right? You said so yourself."
"I'm dying. I hope I go fast. Oh, shit--" somehow he lunged from the bed, took three steps to the bathroom, and slammed the door. He wasn't retching this time. In fact, when he'd said "oh shit," he'd meant business.
I ran like the coward I was. Guilt is an amazing motivator. I wanted Leo incapacitated for a few hours. Leave it to my dumbass brothers to come up with a plan that simulated food poisoning. The effects of my eye-drop boilermaker were audible, even through the door of Leo's room, as I sprinted for the dinged up rental out front. Glancing across the harbor at the steeple of Holy Family, I offered a silent prayer that I hadn't accidentally killed my boss.