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 sh*t yourself' chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the
point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me
that if you it eat the next day both of your ***** 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
'Riksters' 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 marke t; 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 bak ing 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 wav ing 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
t he middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe'. He made a
gagging sound, and disgustedly said, 'Sonofabitch!', then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired 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 havi ng 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.
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