Dear Digestive System of James,
You are a dick. You are a turbo dick. I ply you with pink liquids that taste like shit (ironic since that particular topic is why I’m so angry with you right now). Still you don’t acquiesce. You are as stubborn as I am, and that is simply not allowed.
Look, I know no one put a gun to my head and forced me to eat the Taco Bell. Frankly, what they serve there should be on the Terrorist Watch List. Sometimes though, you must take a risk. For this risk you have surely made me pay, and for that I hate you.
Diarrhea. It’s a cute word really. I mean, it sounds like a word we’d use for some form of operatic music. I assure you though, that it is not pleasant. It is absolutely not fun or even remotely okay at 1am, 2am, 3am and 4am. I refuse to get graphic, but let’s just say that I know now what it must feel like to birth Hell Fire from an orifice in one’s body that should not in fact birth Hell Fire. For that, too, I am angry at you.
No, I’m not saying it’s your fault that I followed up the ill-fated idea of Taco Bell with a dinner consisting of spicy chorizo and eggs. I will take full responsibility for that. What you need to fess up to is your almost psychotic treatment of my butt and it’s hole ever since. I admit that I deserve to be punished, but you are just taking it too far, madam.
Yes, I am making the assumption that my digestive system, specifically my colon and surrounding systems are in fact a female, or at the very least a consortium of females. I make this assumption because I’m not misogynistic. Females can and should hold power. I know we’ve never met face to face, but I feel comfortable in my assumption of your gender.
Before you open your smart mouth, I know I called you a dick at the start of this missive. Just males can be “bitches” it’s totally possible for females to be “dicks.” Just deal with that one, okay?
Sure, you could claim that it’s not your fault I added to the storm brewing in my pantaloons by also imbibing a few beers last night. IPAs in particular have a wicked impact on my gut from time to time. That would just be blaming the victim though, wouldn’t it?
No, this is absolutely your fault. From top to swollen, red, angry bottom. I will expect your apology on my desk no later than 4pm today. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m hungry and Del Taco is doing 6 tacos for $4.99. I hope that we will not need a repeat of this episode, again, all your fault.
Very Uncomfortably Yours,
James
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