Eating Too Fast: Dangerously Cheesy

Many folks are quick to give me a hard time about the pace at which I eat: fast. I can't help it. Food is fuel. Just like gasoline -- would you like to stand at the pump and savor that experience? Of course not. You just want it over with ASAP so as to resume life as normal. Food is fuel, and I like to get the process over with as quickly as possible, no matter how delicious the fuel may be.

At any rate, I can recall a rather startling instance in which my fast eating habits proved to be my downfall. It wasn't so much a moment of defeat as it was just one of those things that really inspire panic attacks trying to fathom how such a thing could happen.

One night some years ago, I had been eating a bag of Cheetos X's and O's (a favorite of mine

Slow down there!

at the time, as they had discontinued the Zig Zag variety some years prior). As usual, I scarfed them down, handfuls at a time, chewing just enough for them to slither down into my stomach. To make matters worse, I was watching television and was more focused on the program than the eating process.

Some hours later, Mother Nature gave me a ring. Such an occurrence is not at all uncommon, as greasy foods are apt to induce quick defecation. So I sat casually down and squeezed out what felt to be a rather disappointing poop. I could easily liken it to laying an egg -- a few solids encased in a mucus-like coating falling lazily from my ass, making their presence known upon impact.

Upon standing up to wipe, I inspected my love child in the toilet, as is customary when I am finished pooping. Suddenly I noticed something very wrong with one of the turdlettes. Like a reluctant turtle, a peculiar orange formation was poking its timid little head out amidst the pooey mess. I was taken a bit aback at first and did a classic cartoon double-take.

Sure enough: there was a foreign host inside one of my precious turds. I was stunned to the point where I couldn't even stop to wipe. Instead, I knelt down close to the bowl to further inspect this insidious invader. (This was before I was professionally diagnosed with needing prescription eyewear, so my sight was admittedly a bit poor.)

I was in my own bathroom. I had nothing to lose. So I did the unthinkable. I reached in the bowl and excavated this little diamond in the rough.

To my horror, I held in my hand a piece of Cheeto, no less than an inch high and half an inch in width. Being the curious sort, I squished it to note its consistency; to my relief, I could at least say that it was in fact in a state of mush. But how could such a thing happen? This sly devil had somehow managed to slip past security and make a getaway.

I couldn't trust my digestive system for some time afterward, and it took me many moons to reconcile my aversion to Cheetos. I simply couldn't come to terms with the fact that something went wrong in the digestive process. My colon even gave me an earful about it, appearing to be just as shocked as I. To this day I have not figured out how such a thing happened. I've lost many nights of sleep trying to understand this digestive anomaly. And never again has anything similar happened.

One would imagine that after such an apocalyptic omen that I would have learned my lesson about eating too fast. I haven't.