Okay folks - I don’t want to get crazy here, but there is something I need to talk to you about. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. For that, I am sorry. This is a touchy subject, and it may get a little messy. (So to speak). Don’t worry about it too much though. It won’t be as bad as the time that your daddy set you down to tell you that he likes other “daddies” and not just mommy, nor as bad as when mommy and daddy set you down to tell you that your new “uncle” Raul would be moving in to share mommy’s and daddy’s bed.
What I have to talk to you about is - Mexican food.
One day a long time ago (last Wednesday evening) I went out to dinner. I tried a new little Mexican restaurant. Usually when you go to a Mexican restaurant in a strip mall you can expect a little nervousness. I had heard good things about this place though. I have a motto that I try to live my life by. This motto has gotten me through some tough spots in this life: Judge Mexican Food by Both its Entrance and its Exit. Rosarita can bring you free queso all day long, but if those two things aren’t good then never look back.. At this place, I was swayed by the strength of the margarita and by the free, mouth-watering sophapias. For me, the entrance was good, the exit was bad. If you know what I mean.
So I get home about 9 o’clock at night. I head straight for the commode. 9:45 rolls around and I am able to start moving again. I felt so bad that when I turned on the TV, and left the remote across the room, I was too sick to get up and turn the channel from Golden Girls. Man, that Sophia is one feisty old gal. And Blanche, well don’t get me started on that whore.
So fast forward a few more hours. No sleep. Many trips to The White Throne of Truth. Stomach pain. At one point my ass waved a little white flag begging me to surrender to death. I decided that Pepto and sleep was the way to go. To get the sleep I doubled up a dose of the NyQuil. Then I headed for the Pepto. Unfortunately, I was out of the old “pink stuff.” To make a long, uncomfortable story short (too late). I hop it the ol’ convertible to drive to the nearest Walgreens. The only thing stopping me from ass relief was that stupid guard rail, which came out of nowhere as I was dozing off, dreaming of solid poo.
This is where things really hit rock bottom for me. I got a bit of a knee injury. When I say “bit of” I am playing it cool so that women will still think I am tough and want to have the sex with me. (Although I am not sure if that will ever happen again after any read this little post). My knee swelled to the size of a grapefruit, and turned purple and black.
Okay my little comrades, what do you get when you cross bad, bad Mexican food with an inability to walk. That’s right. A night spent sleeping on the floor of the bathroom. I made a little bed on the cold white tile, and called it a night.
Please forgive me for the lack of updates. I am back at 50% strength now, and will be back to writing about inappropriate subject matter in no time. Keep it real.
What I have to talk to you about is - Mexican food.
One day a long time ago (last Wednesday evening) I went out to dinner. I tried a new little Mexican restaurant. Usually when you go to a Mexican restaurant in a strip mall you can expect a little nervousness. I had heard good things about this place though. I have a motto that I try to live my life by. This motto has gotten me through some tough spots in this life: Judge Mexican Food by Both its Entrance and its Exit. Rosarita can bring you free queso all day long, but if those two things aren’t good then never look back.. At this place, I was swayed by the strength of the margarita and by the free, mouth-watering sophapias. For me, the entrance was good, the exit was bad. If you know what I mean.
So I get home about 9 o’clock at night. I head straight for the commode. 9:45 rolls around and I am able to start moving again. I felt so bad that when I turned on the TV, and left the remote across the room, I was too sick to get up and turn the channel from Golden Girls. Man, that Sophia is one feisty old gal. And Blanche, well don’t get me started on that whore.
So fast forward a few more hours. No sleep. Many trips to The White Throne of Truth. Stomach pain. At one point my ass waved a little white flag begging me to surrender to death. I decided that Pepto and sleep was the way to go. To get the sleep I doubled up a dose of the NyQuil. Then I headed for the Pepto. Unfortunately, I was out of the old “pink stuff.” To make a long, uncomfortable story short (too late). I hop it the ol’ convertible to drive to the nearest Walgreens. The only thing stopping me from ass relief was that stupid guard rail, which came out of nowhere as I was dozing off, dreaming of solid poo.
This is where things really hit rock bottom for me. I got a bit of a knee injury. When I say “bit of” I am playing it cool so that women will still think I am tough and want to have the sex with me. (Although I am not sure if that will ever happen again after any read this little post). My knee swelled to the size of a grapefruit, and turned purple and black.
Okay my little comrades, what do you get when you cross bad, bad Mexican food with an inability to walk. That’s right. A night spent sleeping on the floor of the bathroom. I made a little bed on the cold white tile, and called it a night.
Please forgive me for the lack of updates. I am back at 50% strength now, and will be back to writing about inappropriate subject matter in no time. Keep it real.
3 comments:
women want to have sex with you? Are you serious? I think maybe you still have a bit of that mexican hangover...
It is like positive reinforcement. If you keep saying it long enough, it may come true.
I think I have been to that mexican place before.
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