Last week, I traveled to Cancun, Mexico for work. We were doing a photo shoot
for an ad campaign for a travel agency. Since it's a travel agency, of course
we had to go on location. So that's how I found myself at the buffet at Club
Med, loading up my plate with all sorts of beans, rice, cheese, meats,
vegetables and more.
A Club Med buffet is famous for giving you a million choices of everything. So
when I got to the salsa bar, I was greeted with about 10 different kinds to
choose from -- regular salsa, pico de gallo, red sauce, green sauce, jalepeno
sauce, habanero sauce...
Mmmm. Habanero sauce.
I spooned a couple of spoonfuls onto my mess of Mexican. I sat down, shoveled
some in my mouth, and promptly found myself on fire.
This may have been the spiciest sauce I've ever tasted.
But in spite of the pain, I ate the whole thing.
For hours, it churned in my stomach. For hours, I could feel it sitting there,
kicking me like an 8-month-old fetus. For hours, I dreaded what was going to
come next.
But little did I know what was actually going to come next.
As owner and manager of PoopReport.com, I've published countless articles by
people claiming that spicy food left their ass burning. I've read story after
story describing scorched anus's and burnt butt cheeks. But I have a confession
to make: I never believed them. I always figured they were exaggerating for the
sake of drama, that there's no way it was really as bad as they claimed.
They weren't exaggerating.
After a few false alarms during the day, it finally hit me. We were in the
middle of shooting a party scene at the bar -- but doodie comes before duty. I
excused myself and dashed to the bathroom.
At first, it was just a normal diarrhea. Loose stool, juicy farts, all that
good stuff. But then, after about 10 minutes... the pain.
It didn't start out that bad -- a minor burning sensation localized in the
O-ring. But the rawer my ass became, the more the pain increased -- until my
entire anal region was overcome by an all-consuming inferno.
I writhed on the seat, cursing my condiment of choice. For 15 minutes I
struggled and fought, cried and moaned -- balancing the fire of pushing out the
shit with the pain of keeping it in. Eventually, my bowels were emptied, but
the flames refused to subside. And wiping? That only made it worse.
A half hour after I entered the bathroom, I emerged. The photo shoot was still
going on. My ass was still burning. Bowlegged, I limped back to the set.
Now, gentle reader, I'm a spicy food veteran. I love salsa and gumbo and
chicken wings. I put Tobasco on pizza. I garnish my pasta with Emeril Brand
Kick It Up Sauce®. So let me tell you, fellow poopers, that never -- never! ---
have I experienced anything like the pain I endured at the hands of Club Med's
habanero sauce.
I can sense that some of you reading this are doubters -- like I used to be.
Some of you think I'm exaggerating, using poetic license to make a point, that
what I described could never have happened. To you I can only shake my head and
smile sadly, and remember what I endured. If you don't believe me, you never
will -- until it happens to you.
-- Dave
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