Holy crap rolled with bread crumbs and packed up a turkey’s ass, people — I am stuffed.
The wife and I just got back from our ‘we give thanks that there are restaurants open today‘ Thanksgiving tour, and I’m just freaking miserable. In a good, full, tasty way, but still — I feel like someone plugged up all my headholes and pumped a firehosefull of gravy up my ass.
Except for the very nastiest part of that little scenario, that is. There’s nothing back there feeling bad — I’m just full, is all I’m saying.
(Of course, I can’t necessarily speak for tomorrow, when all that shit I ate starts coming back out of me somewhere. And it’s any orifice in a storm, from what I understand. Yeeks!
Also, that’s two ‘stuffed up an ass’ analogies in the first few minutes here. I promise I’ll stop now. Really. I’m starting to scare myself.)
Anyway, we had quite the tasty time tonight, our current painful stuffedness notwithstanding. And it’s not our fault we can barely walk now — or breathe, or talk, or spel. I mean, ‘spell’. Ahem. Moving on.
The point is, we were hellaciously well-fed. Four courses — and wine with each — doesn’t sound like a lot… well, okay, actually, it does sound like a lot. A helluva lot. And it’s even more than it sounds like — trust me. Plus, we filled up on bread. We’re not very good at this ‘eating’ thing, when you get right down to it.
Okay, I think that’s enough for now. All this typing is distracting me from figuring out how to carve some sort of a blowhole in my side to relieve the pressure. Hope you kiddies had a good Thanksgiving, too — if you’re into that sort of thing, that is. And if not… well, you’re probably better off. Unless you went out and did that ‘gravy hose up the keister’ thing just for kicks, of course. In which case, good luck with that, you sweaty, bloated perv, you.
All right, now I’m really going. Happy ‘tizzle-to-tha-gizzle’, people. I’m gonna go lie down and groan for a while. If I don’t fucking explode, I’ll be back tomorrow. Cheers.Permalink | 2 Comments