At 2:30 AM Friday morning, I rolled through the drive-thru after a trip to I Luv Video. Generally, I try not to eat the fast food, but your options at 2:30 in the morning are slim and none. Well, I rolled up to the window, ordered the Spicy Chicken Club (deciding of course that the Tomato Quality Assurance Notice was enough) and went home. I ate it while posting my last entry and went to bed. When I woke up Friday morning, I was greeted by a rather unimpressive bowel movement, but thought nothing of it, chalking it all up to having eaten fast food.
Well, by the time I had gotten home from dropping Jackie off at work, one shit had become three. As I lay in bed that afternoon, my slumber was interrupted about five more times for trips to the can.
Sixty-plus hours later, I'm staring #33 down. I've been burning up, shivering, sweating through clothes and blankets, shitting horribly, and feeling incredibly weak. I've lost ten pounds since Friday, and they aren't good pounds. They're dehydration pounds. I also lost a pair of boxers in this war. To you, boxers, I apologize. I apologize for my need to defecate into a clean receptacle.
2 comments:
I knew a guy who wanted to call his band dysentery. It was a good idea, cause there songs blew ass.
i like to consider your battle with defecation on the tomatoes scare...
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