So, to continue my tortured tale of shame. Last night at about six PM, I ate a grotesque combination of gastronomic garbage that had me gagging as I ingested it. Last night's meal consisted of one large head of boiled cabbage, three containers of rehydrated onions (I buy the cheap dehydrated onions at the dollar store), fifteen pickled and boiled egg whites, one bulb of sautéed garlic (on the cabbage), and one can of sauerkraut. I washed this miasma down with one book of match heads and a four-pack of Steel Reserve 211 malt liquor.
Any one of these ingredients would have most people farting fumes of death for days. The combination of these gas-inducing agents can be truly beyond the comprehension to all but the most weathered soldier in the turd terrorism game.
I finished my meal at about eight PM. I was sick and dizzy, so I went to bed. At 10:32, I was awakened by an imperious desire to urinate. I was still bloated, but I fell mercifully asleep until 4:11 AM when I awoke, my rumbling belly distended with gas. I had horrible cramps, and I knew I was on the cusp of a new epoch of anal destruction and olfactory annihilation.
I dashed to the shitter, my hopes high that I could offload this grogan yet still retain my poison gas for work at nine AM. And I waited.
My patience was summarily rewarded with crippling cramps that ripped thru my abdomen like bomb shrapnel. After some twenty minutes of harrowed writhing and prayer to the gods of defecation, I finally blew out a plug. It was round, black, and menacing. I describe this type of shit as The Billiard Ball Blues.
After the plug: hot, wet, mashed potato-like squiggles and nauseating gas erupted from my battered brown-eye like diseased pus from a bloated corpse.
I have not the literary skill nor the etymology to even remotely approach the stench that wafted around me like a cloud of insanity. Rotting garbage, skunk scent, the fruity vestiges of beer and burnt rubber all mingled uncongenially with the calming scent of the air freshener I was spraying desperately into the befouled air.
The fiery liquishits then sprayed from me like high-pressure water from a fire hose. The cramps and shits continued for over forty minutes.
I was sick. I was awash in sweat and I was crying like a dog pissing kidney stones. But then the horror ended, and I fell mercifully asleep, until the clouds of oppressive gas venting from my blowhole woke me again.
I made it into work, more out of spite than anything, and I let them have it. I was so flatulent that I had to put a tampon in my ass! After three employees went to the personnel office and my dire gaze and pallid complexion, in addition to my stench, were confirmed, I was sent home.
COOL! Not. I am still farting clouds of hot slow death. I know now that death is not the worst thing a person faces.