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I received the following letter from an old friend the other day; this should be considered fair warning! The writer is scheduled for the next rotation; I suggest you take steps to protect yourselves!
I have deleted any reference that may identify the writer...what sport would there be if you knew where the danger lay?
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 shit 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 butt 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 “Waltz of the Toreadors”. 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 Dominion 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 odour
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 odour 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 ass 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, 'Sonofab*$%#&!', 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 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 A&P. 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 have deleted any reference that may identify the writer...what sport would there be if you knew where the danger lay?
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 shit 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 butt 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 “Waltz of the Toreadors”. 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 Dominion 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 odour
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 odour 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 ass 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, 'Sonofab*$%#&!', 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 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 A&P. 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.
