Your cocktail sir,

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2002-02-19 - 8:41 p.m.

I know that itís a bit unusual for me to update twice in a day but Iíve just had quite possibly the perfect nightcap.

I went to class. And then to the gym class because my sore limbs and joints were giving me sass so I chose into punishing them. I mean, really pushed them to their limits. And also because I was feeling very aggressive after the dayís little traumas. So I pushed. And prodded. And generally paid my body back in spades for being the lump that it is. And then I got to drive it home. Because lunch was ages away I made the decision that something edible would be nice, and it would let the body know that, though I may not treat it as the temple that God allegedly intends, I did still want it around enough for me to beat it up again should the need arise. So I stopped into McDonalds, as itís the only place between school and home. Feeling slightly healthy but also bone gnawing hungry I decide on a Hamburger Kids Meal. Small portions, Iíll get water to drink, the toy can be given to my cousin, and everyone gets something. So I chow down my food. At the top of the grade before entering the valley that I live, I start to not feel so good. That Hamburger and Fry kidsí meal is the first non-breakfast meal from McDís in I donít know when. I actually stop often in the mornings, especially with that new Sausage and Bacon sandwich. I mean, come on itís got twice the meat! I donít care what itís doing to the environment, global warming, NAFTA, my heart, or me. We got Bacon AND Sausage. Together! We men love double meat, which is why our erections can make us so happy. Itís double meat. Ahem, but I digress. So, because Iím such an expert at hurling, as opposed to curling which could have made me an Olympian, I know without a doubt that the Happy Meal is coming back up. So I pull over as I had wadded up the trash bag and tossed it somewhere in the back, unbuckle the seatbelt, fling open the door and begin to cough up my stomach and its contents onto 680. As I lie there with the parking break uncomfortably jabbing my colon and rain splattering the back of my head and neck I notice that suddenly the undigested contents of my Return to Neverland meal are quite visible and stand our in harsh relief to the pavement. Am I dying? Will I have to go through the vomit to get to the white tunnel and that is really not fair! Iím not a rock star, or a drug addict. They are the ones who show up at the end destination covered in their own filth. How terrible to arrive in the afterlife with my coordinated Addidas workout wear splattered with the remains of a 49-cent cheeseburger. (Sadly folks, this is how my mind works) A voice then spoke to me, asking if I was all right, had I been drinking, they were approaching me, was everything ok. I turn, momentarily blinded by the flashlight of a Chip. All I could think of was a re-run of the television show where Ponch had to sit in a dunktank labeled Dip-a-Chip. But the officer was very nice once I explained to him that no, I wasnít tripping on smack, crank, coke, alkyhol, or ludes. No, I was just ill from trying to eat something designed for the rock hard digestive system of a 5 year old. And so, after passing the Breathalyzer test and promises to drink lots of water and to be safe, I was able to resume my trip. Now I have no idea what I'm going to do for the rest of the evening.

previous - next

Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29

Zen and the stumbling rocks of fitness - 2007-07-19

- - 2007-07-11

Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20

Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18

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