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Extra Pepperoni — and Make It Snappy!

Well, that didn’t work out very well.

Last week, I decided I’d try to eat healthier for a while. It’s hard to watch your nutritional intake when you’re busy and rushing around all the time — and, frankly, right now, I’m not very busy, so it seemed like a good time to cleanse the old system.

(Just so long as ‘cleansing the old system’ doesn’t involve an enema or high colonic, or anything like that. If it doesn’t go in through my mouth, then I don’t care how goddamned healthy it makes me; I’m not going there. Find a way to start an enema at the top end, and I’ll think about it. Until then, keep that hose away from my pooper. Perv.)

So, that’s what I decided. I’d stack up the old food pyramid. I’d eat fruits and veggies, and drink plenty of water. Cut down on the carbs, take some vitamins. Hell, maybe I’d even do a sit-up or two, with all that extra energy I was sure to have. Washboard buns, here I come.

(If, um, ‘washboard buns’ are a good thing. I’m really not up on all this ‘healthy lingo’ crap. All I know is that being called ‘pudgemuffin’ is probably a bad thing. Something thinner than that would be the goal.)

So how am I doing with my ‘premature resolution’, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. As of right now, my last four meals have been:

Pizza

Leftover pizza

More pizza

A breaded chicken sammich

Apparently, I have the culinary willpower of a twelve-year-old retarded meth addict. Only without the superhuman strength, racing heart, and skinny pants. One thing, though — the sandwich? Delicious.

Eh, screw it. Who wants to be healthy, anyway? Frankly, I’m not sure by body is cut out for it. The last reasonably healthy meal I had — cabbage, carrots, and potatoes whipped up delectably by the wife — was three days ago. It was tasty, nutritious, veggie-laden, and well-balanced. I even drank water with it, for that extra goose of healthy goodness.

And for the next forty-eight hours, I couldn’t cough, sneeze, or laugh without involuntarily farting. I blame the cabbage, mostly — but I’ll bet those other veggie vitamins and shit had something to do with it, too. ‘Carotene’, my ass. Literally, apparently.

Not that I mean to gross anyone out; after all, this isn’t the ‘Bodily Functions Blog‘.

(Though, if it were, the tagline would be: ‘If I can discharge it, I can describe it!‘

So be glad it’s not.)

It’s just that it’s pretty damned annoying to be floating air biscuits without any say in the matter. If my ass is going to talk, then it should get permission from me first. Asses are like children — they should be seen and not heard. Well, not all of them, of course. You should be allowed to pick and choose. So, I suppose that asses aren’t like ugly children. Just the smooth, shapely, perky children.

That really didn’t come out right, either. That’s what I get for using keisters and kids in the same analogy. Moving on.

The worst part was the office situation. I talk to lots of people at work. Dammit, I try to stay out of conversations — if I had my way, I’d get in, mind my own business for eight hours, download my porn quietly, and get out of there. But it doesn’t work that way. People talk to me, whether I like it or not. And lately, I’ve had a bit of a cough. Which, coupled with the sphincter-seizing cabbage dish, means that I’ve farted during conversations with coworkers. As recently as this afternoon. Three times.

And the problem is — what do you do then? You’ve just coughed. Simultaneously, your ass has also coughed. Which was louder? Did the person you’re talking to hear the poot? How long will it take before it becomes olfactarially obvious what’s happened, sound or no? These are the questions that haunted me this week, until the wretched vegetables finally untained my digestive system. Now, it’s back to the junk food to which my colon has grown accustomed.

(Again, that’s originating from the topside, and not entering through the colon. Or near the colon, or next to the colon, or anywhere in the general vicinity of the colon.

Because A) there’s no such thing as a tomato sauce and mozzarella enema, so far as I know. And 2) if I could get my mouth that close to my colon — well, I’d either join the circus, or I’d never leave the house, probably depending on which way I had to bend to get there.)

All right, that’s enough for now. I’ve even managed to gross myself out. You kids have fun. There’s a pint of ice cream in the freezer right now with my name written all over it. I just hope it’s not cabbage flavoered. Gah.