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 Nuclear Sphincter: The Atomic Chili AftermathPosted 11.07.2002 by El Cagador (42)
About 10 years ago, my first wife and I visited Reno, Nevada to do some banking for our Nevada Corporation and visit some fellow members of our Classic Car Club. On the advice of our friends, we all went to a new Casino in the area to try out the new Mongolian Buffet.
At a Mongolian Buffet, you take your pick of all sorts of vegetables, meats, noodles, and other goodies, and the chef cooks it up. Our friend's wife is Chinese and she was very impressed with the food there. We lined up and I began pick the food I wanted. Of course I had to load up on the hot red oily sauce and the red-hot roasted chili peppers -- you know, the dry ones that come in the cellophane bag in the market. My friend's wife looked at me in awe, and in her broken English said to me, "You crazy! Don't eat that, pepper only for decoration!" Of course I ignored her, and had that chef fry it all up in the big wok. I even returned for seconds and thirds -- not knowing what kind of meltdown it would cause. Everything went well until it was time to return to our hotel, a 12-mile drive away. During the ride, I began to feel a wave of burning radioactive cramps deep in my gut. I ignored them, and they went away. But by the time we got to the hotel parking lot, it was a different story. The urge hit me. The sweats began. I knew that my colon was not going to last long with that load of atomic peppers. My Hiroshima was near. I told my wife that I was in trouble and that we had to get to the room quickly. We entered the lobby to find that two of the elevators were out of order -- and our room was on the 12th floor. I pressed and pressed the button and prayed for that elevator. I knew I was in big trouble. It seemed as if the elevator took an hour to reach the lobby. We finally got in, and the closer we got to our floor, the greater the urge to blow out the molten mass of plutonium became. When we reached our floor, I bolted for the room -- but I could not find the key. It was one of those credit card-type keys and it was not in my pocket. My wife had another and it took her about two minutes to find it in her purse. Meanwhile, the reactor pressure was building. She finally opened the door and I sprinted for the bathroom. I pulled up the lid and pulled down my pants. Just as I was going to sit down, the lid of the toilet fell back down on the bowl -- and the load gushed all over the top of the lid. It was like Chernobyl. There was molten fallout everywhere -- on the walls, all over the toilet, on the towels and on the floor. There was even some overspray on the ceiling. And the smell...! The intake for the ventilation system in the room was right by the bathroom, and, this being summer, air conditioning was necessary. Within seconds, the air coming from the vents had the entire suite smelling of molten poop. My wife began to gag as I tired to clean up everything with the bath towels. There just was no way this was going to work. I called housekeeping for assistance and they sent a young college-age frat-type guy to the room. He entered and saw what happened and began to laugh and laugh. He laughed so hard that he threw up. At this point I cleaned myself up the best I could and we left to look for another hotel. I didn't even bother checking out. When the credit card bill came in, there was a $75.00 charge for room cleaning. But to this day I have not learned my lesson. My new wife is from Mexico and she cooks with habanero chilies... -- El Cagador Post new comment
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