Do not read this post.
I repeat: do not read this post. You don’t want to know anything I’m going to talk about in this post.
I’m not kidding.
You’re still reading. You understand that I’m not kidding and you’ve been warned four fucking times now if I don’t count this warning which is technically the fifth if I’m allowed to count the word “seriously” as a warning which I can because this is my blog and I make the rules. Plus, like, the title of the post. And the picture.
Here, I’ll put a line so that you can have a place to stop:
So I was a vegetarian for a week, right? One of the unexpected awesome things about being a vegetarian was the awesome bowel movements.
WHAT GODDAMMIT DON’T YOU DARE GET ALL SKEEVED OUT NOW I TOLD YOU THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN LIKE EIGHT TIMES SHUT UP YOU HAVE TO READ THE WHOLE THING NOW AND LIKE IT.
Seriously. Pooing as a vegetarian is the absolute best kind of pooing. I’ve never been this damn regular in my life, and some of the stuff that was coming out of me was the kind of bowel movement that you want to take a picture of so that you can reflect on how proud of it you were later. (Shut up; you all know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.) And, like, high enough in quantity that you feel pleasantly emptied-out after each bowel movement, as opposed to pooing and then feeling like you still need to poo five minutes later, which I believe is known as the “Chinese food poo” across most of the Western world.
For a week, I was a poo king. Like, Count Poo of Happyshit Mountain, the Grand Regent of Poo, the Magnate of Meconium (you clicked, didn’t you?), His Majesty the Lord Superior of the Seven Heavenly Principalities of Poo. It was amazing. This ought to be in the vegetarian brochure, people.
(Mental note: write the vegetarian brochure. Make millions of both brochures and dollars.)
I had three meals today, and all three involved meat. This was intentional, obviously; I usually don’t eat meat at every meal but I missed it. Breakfast involved sausage, there were hot dogs and some beef soup at lunch, and dinner was a Triple Coronary with a side of clogged arteries at Culver’s. Delicious.
And I’m gonna have to sleep on the fucking couch tonight because of the beef farts. My nose hairs are singed. Jesus. My wife’s gonna kill me if I hotbox the comforter tonight.
And by “if” I mean “when.”
If I never post again, you know why.