I do the typical amount of bachelor shopping, so my fridge and cabinets are perfectly predictable. Condiments, bread crumbs, an empty jar of jelly, two eggs (each a year old), Ramen noodles and some powdered sugar. I don't drive, and the stores in my area close pretty early, so when it's late and I want a snack, I go through the sad contents of my kitchen (even though the same shit has been there for a year) and try and concoct some sort of edible meal.
A couple of nights ago I was in such a pickle. "Let's see, what can I put together that won't make my stomach feel like that guy from Alien..." As always, it was slim pickings, but being the creative-yet-incredibly-stupid idiot that I am, I started to experiment.
Driven by visions of myself triumphantly touting my incredible new culinary invention on Letterman, I started experimenting. I grabbed some outdated Cream of Wheat that was just sitting there, waiting to be thrown away, and poured it in a bowl. Next, I added about four tablespoons of powdered sugar... not too bad yet.
That's when I remembered how much I hate the taste of Cream of Wheat (I think it was in the cupboard when I moved here last year) and decided that it was time to be truly inventive. I poured about a cup of white cake mix into the bowl, figuring, "I like cake! Cake is good!" But I needed something thick to add texture (I'm an artist, I know all about texture and stuff), so I threw in half a stick of butter and some corn muffin mix. Yum.
But... I didn't feel artistically complete. I knew something missing. What could it be? Ah-ha! Some Pina Colada mix left over from last New Years! That should do it!
But before I ate, I lightly sprinkled some ginger on top -- all good chefs know that presentation is important.
I hope you realize I am not proud of this story.
I managed about three spoonfuls before my mouth went numb. Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore. So, not being one to waste, I threw the bowl in the fridge.
Morning! Need to eat! Not remembering the three spoonfuls of repulsion, I grabbed the bowl and finished my gourmet cuisine. Things don't taste that bad when you're half awake and late for work.
I made it to work and started my busy day. About an hour later, I felt this enormous build-up of pressure in my gut. Since I work in a quiet art room where you wouldn't want to just bust out a big beefy, and since mine are always LOUD, I excused myself to use the facilities. After the bathroom door shut, I let out this huge pocket of wretched ass wind that quickly engulfed the entire room. Gag! I went to leave when I felt more pressure from below. Another giant muck cloud... this one lasted like a minute!
This went on all morning. Get up. Go to the bathroom. Come back. Sit down. Get up. I couldn't get any work done!
I discussed my problem with my friend at lunch. Ever astute, he asked, "So, basically, you ate a bunch of powdered mixes and batters?" "Yeah," I said, "but I added water!" That earned a look of contempt.
My friend said to be careful, because "ass faucet" would be next. He also just had to point out that because I ate a bunch of uncooked mixes, I probably had a giant rancid gut muffin baking in my stomach. His wit was so appreciated that I graciously told him I'd give him the first bite when it was ready.
The rest of the day went the same, except now I did indeed have ass faucet. The farts were so loud and long that I was laughing out loud between fits of pain from the burning liquid death cake. (Why would this mixture burn? I have no idea.) I didn't realize that sort of combination would create such gas, such pain. But then again, I also didn't realize that this would not be the greatest snack in the world.
My friend busted on me all day without mercy. At the end of the day, as always, he gave me a ride to the bus stop. As I was leaving, he quipped, "Try and make something non-toxic to eat tonight!" "Yeah," I said, blowing one of my giant stink biscuits in his vehicle and quickly shutting the door, "thanks for the advice."
As I waited for the bus, pondering my awesome revenge, I realized that the last blast of gas had left some residue behind. Yes, I shit my pants. It was only a little, but well worth it. I did not mention this to my friend the next day.
-- Ass Phlegm [1]
Like Ass Phlegm? He's featured in The Journal of Ass Production [2]!