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| CHILLI[STORY NOT ABOUT ME]
by forefeet at 5/15/2008 11:11:47 AM
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
quantity of my patented 'You're
definitely going to $h!t yourself' chili.
Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of
being painful, which comes with a
written guarantee from me that if you
eat the next day both of your ***
cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing. I had awakened that
morning, and even after two cups
of coffee (and all of you know what I
mean) nothing happened. No 'Watson's
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 by
my next door neighbors as thunder
and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had
to come, yet not sure of just 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 about, dropping
items 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 habanera's 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, and 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 before been recorded. I was afraid
to move for fear that more of this vile
odor might escape me.
Slowly, oh so slowly, 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 it, but I
stopped to see what her reaction would be
to the malodorous effluvium that refused
to dissipate, as she walked into it
unsuspecting.
Have you ever been torn in two different
directions emotionally? Here's what I mean,
and I'm sure some of you at least will be
able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but
didn't. I simply watched as she walked into
an invisible, and apparently 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 other aisles had
ducked, fearing that 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 store
towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud
the whole way, praying that I'd make it before
the grand malassplosion took place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time
I got to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my
God', floating above the toilet seat because
my *** is burning SO BAD, purging.
One poor fellow walked in while I was in the
middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock
and Awe'. He made a gagging sound, and
disgustedly said, 'Sonofab*tch!', then quickly
left.
Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired
my partially filled cart intending to carry on
with my shopping when a store employee
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 at me in an
accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!', then ran
off returning moments later with the manager.
I was unceremoniously escorted from the
premises and asked none too kindly not to
return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized
that 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 have to repaint the store.
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