Flames Aren’t Supposed To Come Out Of There
Some of you wrote me to ask about the #LetsTalkBums campaign because you wanted to know if this was me selling out. You didn’t know I have a dysfunctional digestive system or about my experience with Chicken Vindaloo.
Won’t ever forget that day because even though it wasn’t International Talk Like A Pirate Day it was a day that I imitated one.
In my best pirate voice I growled:
There do be flames shooting out of my ass. It is a good thing that there do be water in the toilet. Arrgh!
In my younger years that digestive distress sometimes turned dating into one hell of an experience. Imagine having a great meal, great night and she invites you to come upstairs for a drink.
You head up and in your head you are doing a little dance because you feel cool and think if you just keep doing what you are doing you and her are soon going to be doing something far more interesting.
But then comes the rumble and you try not to panic. You are still cool. She is digging, kissing you back and pressing her whole body against yours.
Meanwhile your nether reasons have given notice and instead of squeezing her, you’re squeezing yourself, praying for a cool way to excuse yourself so that you can hit the head.
Why Is The Jewish Guy Screaming Help Me Jesus!
And then when you are safely ensconced in her bathroom you fear that the fan won’t mask the noise so you turn on the shower and pretend you don’t hear her asking if you are ok.
Time passes and you are dying because you can’t breathe and you know if your own air is choking you there is no way she is not going to choke. You worry about UN Inspectors suddenly appearing to search for the source of chemical weapons.
You spent three months doing all that you could to reach this moment. This isn’t supposed to be happening. You are terrified she is going to wonder why it sounds like 76 trombones are playing inside her bathroom and suddenly you have this image of her telling all of her girlfriends about the worst date she ever went on.
And then just when it can’t get any worse a massive cramp washes over you and you scream HELP ME JESUS!
Oh good lord, did that really come out of your mouth? She is another member of the Tribe and you already know she won’t get serious with a boy who isn’t.
Hell, you have never been more proud to be cut and then this moment comes when the gates of Hell relocate to the place between your cheeks and you feel fire.
You feel heat coming from a place it should never emanate from.
Are You Ok?
The crazy Ferris Wheel inside your head is interrupted by her angelic voice, “are you ok” and even though you are anything but ok you squeak out, doing fine.
Slowly you stand up, legs numb from the marathon session you just experienced and you start to put yourself together. You are cool. All you need to do is wash your face and pray that whatever scented crap girls keep in the bathroom will somehow overpower the stench you left behind.
Just before you reach for the doorknob you hear a giant splash and you realize that somehow you didn’t notice her shower tub filling up and as the water comes cascading over the side you exhale because the one thing you know for certain is that the Cottonelle wipes she kept next to the toilet have put out the flames in your behind and left you feeling pretty damn clean.
P.S. Just in case the FTC asks, I was compensated for this post.
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