On bad meat

Afflicted with a powerful case of the itis last night, I was unable to summon the motivation and discipline necessary to cook a dinnertime treat, so I took a chance on some burgers I found in the back of the fridge. I did not bother to do the arithmetic required to find how old they actually were, instead placing my trust in the Gods to protect my innocent belly from the depredations of dangerous germies and bacterium.

The Gods forsook me. In the middle of the night I awoke, a sweaty dizzy mess, and promptly began projectile vomiting off the side of my bed. Luckily there is a garbage can there, or else I would have been forced to call my mommy to fly out and clean up my carpet for me. After my oral purge ended I stumbled to the bathroom, where I proceeded to poop everywheres. At no time during these occurences was I upset. I had clearly brought this upon myself.

The meat hadn't even tasted quite right, but since it didnt taste terrible I completed my feasting. The truth is, had it tasted terrible, I still would have completed my feasting, but I probably would have slept in the bathroom afterwards, in anticipation of the forthcoming explosive expulsions. You live and learn I always say.


On a completely unrelated note, during the day yesterday I drove past a hilariously crappy station wagon. Its coloration was a mixture of aquamarine and rust, and one window was broken out and crudely covered by a garbage bag and duct tape. On the remnants of the rear bumper there was a sticker. It read "Don't let the car fool you, my treasure is in heaven"

Man, are they going to be pissed.