Monday, June 09, 2008

No, this is NOT a personal chili story

I just thought some of you sick people might like it

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 quanity of of my patented " You are definately going to sh!t youself " chilli. Tasty stuff, a little bit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you can eat the next day, both your a$$ cheeks will fall off.

Heres the thing. I had awakened that morning, and after two cups of coffee(and all of you know what that means at our age) nothing happened. No {"Johnson 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 be by my neighbors as thunder and lightening.

Knowing that a time of reckoning had yet to come, yet not sure 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 around dropping tidbits 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. 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 been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh but slowing, 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, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effuviuw that refused to dissipate. As she walked into it, unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn into directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I am sure some of you at least will be able to relate.

I could have warned that poor woman, but didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparrentley 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 the other aisles had ducked, fearing 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 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 and began the process. "Oh My God", floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning so bad, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is known as "Shock & Awe". He made a gagging sound and disgustedly said, "Sonofabitch", and quickly left.

Once finished, I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping, when a store clerk 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 to ME in, an accusing manner, "IT'S YOU"! then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted off the premises and asked none to kindly not to return.

Home again, without having shopped, I realized 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 repaint the store.


Thud said...

We British love toilet sir are a champion!

Fire said...


If you think this gross post is going to get me to quit flirting with you, you're wrong. This is a "nassy" post...but I laughed my sexy ass off!

You know what? I was asking Pistolero the other day had he ever eaten anything that made is butt hurt and made it burn...and he informed me that he had. Well, that feeling is absolutely horrible! I don't like it when my ass burns.

So, Firehand...I want to talk about this "Johnson movement"...I'm sure you're not talking about the Johnson movement that I LOVE, which feels a bit uncomfortable when it's poking me in the small of my back. ;)

Mikie the Barbarian said...

Ah, yes. The Texas Mild chili, it does a body good.

Anonymous said...

Ulcerative colitis. 'Nuff said. OldeForce

[The Son and Heir was falling off the chair, reading your story.]

Anonymous said...

Love it. Reminds me of one of my all time favorites.