Knowing how fricking funny you all seem to think it is when I slam my head in the door, break an elbow, or otherwise cause injury to myself, I thought I’d share the following-

Last night I thought it would be a good idea to make tacos, so I made tacos. They were delicious. Deliciously POISONOUS.

DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUN.

I shit you not. Actually I do shit you. Like a champ. I also puke you, piss you, and heartburn you. All at the same time.

I went to bed at about 10:30, and was wide-awake by 3 am. This is becoming super common for me, but usually I just get up, take a leak, get a glass of water, and am back asleep by 4:30. I have to leave time to have anxiety attacks about things, you know. So I’m obsessing about the locks on my front door, or the hat in the back seat of my car or something, and suddenly I think I’m having a heart attack. No…wait. Lower…Appendix attack. I’m dying.

Keep in mind I have no idea what the symptoms of an appendix attack are. I just knew mine was trying to find the nearest exit. I guess that’s what they do when they attack. I sat there and waited for a lull and I thought for a minute I was going to be okay. Then I got up to use the bathroom. About halfway there I realized I was going to have to go number three. It may have gone as high on the scale as number five, but I stopped paying attention when I lost consciousness. It started out serene enough, everything going as planned, but soon built to a regurgitational crescendo that I haven’t seen since that one movie about that guy. It was like Pearl Harbor in there. The 1812 overture played at 150 decibels, cannon shots echoing off the walls like thunder. You could hardly see through the smoke. For a minute I thought I was going to have to drill holes in my legs and skull just so I’d have more places for stuff to come out.

And boy, did I feel rotten. I had food poisoning in college once and felt worse (because it lasted 14 hours), but this was a close second. The test for me is to think of something funny when I feel my worst. If I laugh or smile, I’m not too bad off. If it has no effect, I’m sick as hell. Last night it made me shoot paint thinner out of my ass.

After about thirty minutes in my favorite bathroom, I figured it was over, so I got in the shower. Yes, it was that bad. If I had a backyard, I would have ceremoniously retired and buried my toilet and awarded it a posthumous bronze star for going above and beyond the call of doodie. While in the shower, my body somehow found more stuff to expel, so I made a hasty naked wet hop onto the toilet, slipped sideways, hit my face on the counter, puked a little into/around the sink because of it, and began the process again. My air conditioner was on, and I was shivering like hell. Now I’m starting to wonder if I’m going into shock, and consider calling an ambulance.

What would I say? “Hey, ambulance? Listen, I’ve been forcefully ‘Passing the Old El Paso’ for a half hour now, and I am about three squirts away from shitting myself to death. You think you could swing by and take me somewhere with lots of toilet paper and fluids? I’ll be the shivering wet guy in the bathroom. Just follow the screams.”

I was seriously getting concerned. I finally got out of the shower at 4:40 am and flopped back into my bed, thinking I’d be asleep or dead in a few seconds.

Wrong.

For some reason I was completely alert. I finally figured out that I must be on an endorphin high from having exerted myself. I figured I might as well do something constructive, so I went to work because I am a complete motard.

I got to the office, started messing with a few things, and at about 7 am I was as tired as I should have been three hours before. I went into the rec room and lay down on the couch. Two hours later, I woke up and stumbled back to my desk. I’m still sick. I am afraid that if I sneeze I’ll fill my cube with liquid poop and drown in a japoozi of my own making. Really. That is what scares me right now. That and the fact that I just spent fifteen minutes writing about diarrhea.

I’ll probably end up going home in a few minutes. I have some leftover tacos, if anyone wants them.

Don’t forget to check Atlanta Illustrated for spewings of a different color. Should be posted by this afternoon (8/17).

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