Being a single guy and living alone has its pros and cons. For the most part, I can do whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want with whoever the hell I want. I don't have a dining room table, I have a pool table. I don't have lamps, I have neon signs with naked women and beer companies on them. I have a huge TV and not a single plant in the house. And that's the way I like it. But on the flipside of that coin, I rarely if at all get to eat a good meal. If I decide that it's time to eat well, one of three things will happen: I will go to my parents' house and Moms will cook up a meal fit for an army; I'll go down to the local supermarket and buy up some groceries; or I'll convince some unsuspecting female to enter into my den of iniquity and make me dinner.
Anyone who lives alone knows it's pretty pointless to cook a meal if it's just for you. So when you live alone, you tend to live on the fifth food group: box food. To clarify, box food is obviously anything you purchase in a box. For example, mac cheese, Hot Pockets, Hungry Man dinners... stuff like that. For the most part, box food is about edibility and ease, which is why it's so popular with guys like me. But whenever I'm lucky enough to convince a female to venture into my house of ill repute, sometimes I'm convincing enough to get them to even make me a meal. "Go buy some groceries and I'll cook us dinner."
I *can* cook. And I can cook pretty damn well, if I must say. But like I said, I rarely do so, since it's just me and my dog.
On this day, I looked through the fridge. Way in the back, behind the gallon-sized bottle of Jagermeister (seriously, it's a gallon), were three bags of sausage I had frozen at some other time. Not recalling ever buying sausage (in hindsight, I think that sausage was in my house when moved in), I nevertheless threw caution to the wind and decided to cook it up. Out of the freezer it came to be thawed and finally cooked for me and my lady friend. I rummaged through my cabinets to see what else I had. I wrangled up some pasta and a few cans of tomato sauce and viola, we have baked ziti with sausage!
Liz arrived to start making dinner. "How old is this sausage?"
"I bought it last week. It's fine." My mother always told me not to lie and for once, Moms was right. Liz, being of Puerto Rican decent, knows how to cook. And she's really hot, which is a bonus, too. She's cooked for us many times before and it's always been good. "Go watch the Flyers game and I'll start making dinner." She knows me like a book!
I sat down to watch the Flyers lose yet another first-round playoff series while Liz got to work in the kitchen. About ninety minutes and fifty dirty pots later, dinner was ready. We sat down and ate and all was right in the world. Upon completion of our dinner, we decided to medicate ourselves herbally and watch a movie.
Later that night, while in bed, I awoke to the all-too-familiar sounds and pains in my stomach. I shook Liz and woke her up. "My stomach is fucken killing me. You tried to poison me!"
"You're an idiot. Go take some Nexium." (That's prescription antacid that Liz's mother gave to me -- best stuff in the WORLD for heartburn.)
I wearily arose from my bed and went in to the kitchen. Two Nexiums and a glass of iced tea later, I was back in bed. Liz said that her stomach was fine, so I wasn't sure if it was the food or what. Then she said those oh-so-fateful words: "But I picked out the sausage. I only ate the pasta." Vile woman! She knew there was something wrong with the sausage and she let me eat it anyway!
"You didn't eat the sausage? What the fuck! If you knew something was wrong with it, why in the name of all that is holy did you let me eat it?"
"You said it was okay."
Fuck! She had me on a technicality! Momma always told me to never trust a Puerto Rican!
I curled back up in the fetal position and waited. I knew the Nexium would not solve the issue. I also knew all-too-well what was to follow. I sullenly whimpered to myself, cursing Liz the entire time. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck," or something to that nature.
"Just go back to sleep, you'll be fine. Stop being such a pussy."
"Pussy? You fed me contaminated sausage!"
"You said it was good. It's your own damn fault." I knew there was a reason why I never married this girl!
I slowly began to drift back to sleep when the natives began to get restless. "Friggen bitch..." I muttered as I got up from my bed to go drop some pond water. I barely got my skivvies off before the fireworks began. It was like cannon fire, blast after blast of pond water spewing forth from my now-debauched anus.
"I hate you!! I hope you get AIDS!!" I screamed as my bung felt like it was catching fire. After about ten minutes of pure, unadulterated dooting, the pain subsided and it was over. Slowly, I rose from the bowl to survey the damage.
The water was blacker then the heart of Satan himself.
I wiped about seven thousand times and almost felt clean. I threw my skivvies back on and thought I would go back to bed. I thought.
I grasped the handle to the bathroom door and then the second wave hit like a battering ram against my already compromised bung. "Mother fucker!!" I screamed as I feverishly turned back around and tried to get my undies off before I ruined them. I slammed my ass down on the pot; and again wave after wave of molten lava poured forth from my ass. This time, it wasn't so much of pond water -- there were some solids in there. And every time a solid piece was ejected, it would hit the water with the force of a depth charge and I'd get some spray back from the bowl. The disgusting water would shoot up against my raw anus, making me scream like a beaten dog.
"You okay in there? I heard you scream."
"Oh, now you care about me? Fuck you! This is your fault. I hope you get deported!"
"My whole family was born here, you asshole. Stop being such a pussy."
A pussy?! Obviously she didn't realize the dire nature of the shituation.
After about fifteen minutes of pure, raucous dooting, the demons subsided and it was over. My body had exorcised the demons within my gullet and all was sort of well. My bung began to pucker and wince with pain. He had done his job, and done it well; but he knew this second phase of wiping would be just plain awful.
There was no way around it. Thank God for the fresh pack of baby wipes.
Ever so slowly and gently, I began to wipe. It wasn't even a wipe, it was more of a dab. I didn't want to risk waking the monsters within my colon by knocking on the back door.
I cleaned myself up as best I could and crawled back in bed, a now-beaten man.
"Shouldn't have eaten that sausage..."
"You shouldn't have cooked it! If you knew it would fuck me up, why wouldn't you tell me?"
"Because this was way more funny."
Evil, vile woman.
