Sunday night I got very sick. It felt like my liver and pancreas had both exploded at the same time. At first I thought it was the booze, but then I remembered I hadn’t been drinking! (I know, right?!) I was becoming concerned and thought about driving myself to the hospital, but I knew I’d never make it. I was that sick. As I lay on the couch holding my abdomen, moaning and wondering when my other organs would fail, I started bargaining with God. I told Him if He’d jump start my organs and let me live I’d change my life. I’d stop wanting to harm people. I’d be more patient and understanding of others. And if He’d just make the pain go away I’d start taking better care of myself. I’d stop drinking and eating crappy food. I’d start exercising instead of wasting all my spare time on the Internet. Just as I said I would up the ante by telling Him that if He’d just make me better I’d stop cussing, I felt an urgency beyond belief in my gut and I ran for the bathroom. It was in the bathroom that I realized I wasn’t in organ failure at all, but was suffering the horrible effects of a “Bloomin’ Onion” from Outback Steakhouse.
So now here I sit, drinking a gin and tonic, a bag of Circus Peanuts by my side, marveling at how precious life is as I’m dreaming about throwing a fucking Molotov cocktail through the window of a certain steakhouse while googling pictures of baby lambs for hours and hours.63 Comments