S
speeddemon
Well-known member
Subject: Manly Chili
I went grocery shopping recently, while not being
altogether sure, that course of action was a wise one.
You see, the previous evening I had prepared and
consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'You're
definitely going to $hit yourself' chili. Tasty stuff,
albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a
written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day both
of your a$$ cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning,
and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what
I mean) nothing happened. No 'Watson's Movement
2'. Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through
my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the
usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors
as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet
not sure of just when, I bravely set off for the market; a
local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of
tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal.
I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items
in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite
end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what
I'm talking about. I'm referring to that 'Uh
oh, gotta go' pain that always seems to hit us at the
wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.
The habaneras in the chili from the night before
were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they
bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing
their way into the large intestines, and before I could take
one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring
sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning
shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle,
suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has
never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear
that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so
slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my
body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just
as an elderly woman turned into it.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped
to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous
effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it
unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different
directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm
sure some of you at least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but
didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an
invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so
terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses
and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms
about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees.
This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me
laugh. Mistake.
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard
to keep things 'clamped down', if you know what I
mean.
With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth
from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I
was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked,
fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a
shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was
coming, and I raced off through the store towards the
restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that
I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got
to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my God',
floating above the toilet seat because my *** is burning SO
BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the
middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and
Awe'. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said,
'Sonofabeotch!', then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, re-acquired my
partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping
when a store employee approached me and said, 'Sir, you
might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears
some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The
manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute
or two which ought to take care of the problem.'
That of course set me off again, causing residual
gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back
pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me
in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!', then
ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was
unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none
too kindly not to return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized that
there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed
two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at
Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because
we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim
they're going to have to repaint the store.
I went grocery shopping recently, while not being
altogether sure, that course of action was a wise one.
You see, the previous evening I had prepared and
consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'You're
definitely going to $hit yourself' chili. Tasty stuff,
albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a
written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day both
of your a$$ cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning,
and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what
I mean) nothing happened. No 'Watson's Movement
2'. Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through
my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the
usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors
as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet
not sure of just when, I bravely set off for the market; a
local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of
tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal.
I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items
in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite
end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what
I'm talking about. I'm referring to that 'Uh
oh, gotta go' pain that always seems to hit us at the
wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.
The habaneras in the chili from the night before
were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they
bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing
their way into the large intestines, and before I could take
one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring
sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning
shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle,
suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has
never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear
that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so
slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my
body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just
as an elderly woman turned into it.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped
to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous
effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it
unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different
directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm
sure some of you at least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but
didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an
invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so
terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses
and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms
about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees.
This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me
laugh. Mistake.
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard
to keep things 'clamped down', if you know what I
mean.
With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth
from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I
was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked,
fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a
shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was
coming, and I raced off through the store towards the
restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that
I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got
to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my God',
floating above the toilet seat because my *** is burning SO
BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the
middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and
Awe'. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said,
'Sonofabeotch!', then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, re-acquired my
partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping
when a store employee approached me and said, 'Sir, you
might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears
some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The
manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute
or two which ought to take care of the problem.'
That of course set me off again, causing residual
gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back
pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me
in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!', then
ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was
unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none
too kindly not to return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized that
there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed
two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at
Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because
we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim
they're going to have to repaint the store.
