shredded

I've canceled my movie outing with Ligament today. Turns out she'd completely forgotten we were going out today, anyway, so canceling or not canceling wouldn't have mattered. (She's normally the one who buys movie tickets online.) But Ligament's forgetfulness wasn't the reason why I canceled: I've been traveling back and forth between my bed and my toilet all day. The euphemism for my current condition is "stomach problems."

Before you blame spoiled meat from yesterday's döner kebab, you need to know something about my recent patient history. The day I bought the ground lamb from High Street was not the day I cooked and ate it: I had also bought a bottle of honey-roasted peanuts from High Street, and I gobbled the whole bottle over the course of 24 hours. This was about as stupid a thing as I could have done.

Chewed peanuts shred your asshole on their way out. Peanuts don't normally digest all that well to begin with; chewing them gives them nice, jagged edges that rake the inner lining of your intestines. This effect is blunted if you've eaten other food during the day, but all I had had was peanuts and water. Peanuts also cluster together inside your trembling, frightened colon to form dense, large-caliber turds, thus forcing the asshole wide as they thunder out of you en masse like a crowd of big-bellied Hell's Angels escaping a burning bar. Having your saloon doors violently bashed open is no picnic, lemme tell you.

It was while I was in that state that I prepped my döner kebab. I knew full well that I would pay for eating such spicy fare, but at the time, I was too desperate to relive my past to care. So last night I downed two döner—two spicy döner—and thought nothing of it until this morning, when I awoke with an aching belly and a strong desire to drop some atom bombs.

That first session on the pot was bad. If felt as though Satan had dipped his dick in glue, rolled his member in broken glass, and then ass-raped me. Happy New Year! I thought sarcastically as I pushed out turd after painful turd.

But we weren't done. Oh, no, Precious—there was more. A lot more. Several sessions' worth, in fact. And as the shredding continued, amplified by the capsaicin from all the chili peppers, I felt increasingly like confessing something, anything, to stop the ass-torture.

It's 4PM as I write this, and I've only just now had a lull in the bathroom trips. I felt a bit hungry after all that self-emptying, so I helped myself to a bowl of lamb with only mild condiments and trimmings: tzatziki, olives, and feta. My digestive cycle, from face-sphincter to butt-sphincter, normally runs about six hours, so I can expect more fun later tonight. Ligament and I have rescheduled for tomorrow... I can only pray that I won't have to wear a diaper (or a tampon) when I meet her.


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