Sorry this has been a slow week for me posting stuff. The Mrs and I have been getting along good for the most part, and aside from the new bed we purchased(I will let you know if it was worth the $ in a few days) their has been nothing of interest to blog on. So as I was sitting on the porcelain throne a few minutes ago thinking what subject I could possibly write about, an idea came to me. Sorta like a flaming arrow to the ass to be honest. Because that is how I have felt for the last few hours as I expel the remnants of the spicy turkey melt I had from Subway. My wife can attest to my stupidity when it comes to all things spicy. The problem is it always tastes so good going in. Be it the buffalo wings from Wing Street, chipotle steak from Chiles, Cajun ribs from anywhere, or (like this time) the jalapeño turkey melt from Subway, I can’t help myself, I have to try it. And if I am fortunate enough to sleep thru the night following one of these meals, I’m never spared from having it feel like razorblades leaving my back side the next day. For those of you smart enough to avoid spicy food, or are fortunate enough to have never experienced “the ring of fire,” consider yourself lucky. Even after leaving the latrine my punishment continues back at my cubicle as I sit & work. My now tender posterior is stuck to this chair that is as comfortable as sitting on a porcupine as it bounces on a trampoline. Every now & then I get a jolt which feels like someone just branded my starfish with a red hot poker. Makes me think how bad it could have been back a cell block D on Orient Road so many years ago! My coworkers have to wonder what is going on with all these trips to the john. But like Chinese water torture, this has been an all afternoon event. That foot long sub seems to have produced 10 gallons of flaming hot ass soup that is percolating out as if my butt is a Mr Coffee. Just when I get settled on my desk porcupine again, my stomach churns, I feel that gurgle, and I am off to the races again. Thank heavens I am only about 20 feet from the bathroom door, but damn that fuckhead who keeps pissing on the toilet seat. I’d like to punch his mother in the throat for her failure to potty train him. I swear someone goes in there, turns off the lights and spins in circles as he squirts piss on everything except the center of the toilet. After he is done, you can forget about using that thing until you have filled two paper towels with hand sanitizer & decontaminated the area. Which is a problem when I am cramping as I shuffle walk to the bathroom with barely the sphincter fortitude to hold in my payload long enough to even reach the toilet, let alone take 5 minutes to clean it. I swear if I knew who keeps hosing down the toilet seat I would drop trough in their desk drawer. Oh hell here we go again….
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