One Man's Good Fight
I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that
course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had
prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're definitely
going to $h!t yourself" chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful,
which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day
both of your *** cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of
coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's
Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my
intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning
symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when, I
bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often
haunt in search of tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and
began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was
at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm
referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at the
wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.
The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a
mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines,
forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one
step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it
happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a
noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was
afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly,
oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I
began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned
into it.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction
would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she
walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different
directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at
least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked
into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible
that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand
there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward
off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me
laugh. Mistake.
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down",
if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth
from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a
few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the
store and firing off a shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through
the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying
that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the
inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my *** is
burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle
of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging sound, and
disgustedly said, "Sonofabitch!", then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart
intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me
and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears
some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to
run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of
the problem."
That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The
employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose
and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!", then ran off
returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted
from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat
but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to
shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court
over the whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the
store..
I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that
course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had
prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're definitely
going to $h!t yourself" chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful,
which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day
both of your *** cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of
coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's
Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my
intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning
symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when, I
bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often
haunt in search of tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and
began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was
at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm
referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at the
wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.
The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a
mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines,
forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one
step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it
happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a
noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was
afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly,
oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I
began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned
into it.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction
would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she
walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different
directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at
least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked
into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible
that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand
there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward
off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me
laugh. Mistake.
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down",
if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth
from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a
few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the
store and firing off a shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through
the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying
that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the
inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my *** is
burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle
of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging sound, and
disgustedly said, "Sonofabitch!", then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart
intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me
and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears
some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to
run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of
the problem."
That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The
employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose
and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!", then ran off
returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted
from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat
but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to
shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court
over the whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the
store..
