The day I didn’t eat a hamburger, how assholes like me can die at any time, and the most amazing shit

30 Aug

I didn’t eat any hamburgers this one day after I realized that I have been eating at least one hamburger every day for god knows how long. It is fair to stipulate that when I say a hamburger, it could mean: a hamburger, a cheeseburger, or a double cheeseburger with everything. So I says to myself, I says, “Jonny muthafuckin onetime?” “Yeah?” “Let’s not eat us a hamburger today love, alright? You don’t want to put on that chicago fat face too much.” “OK” says I. I did eat a bacon portion for breakfast however, bacon strips thick times 4, fried eggs in the bacon grease, and caramelized onions with garlic and mushroom and too much guatemalan coffee. It might go as of no need to say, but the consequence of my early morning kitchen festivities produced quite possibly the most rank gas I have had in a good god damn time. I was on fart patrol and looking to kill. I farted during at least two inappropriate times when I thought I was safe. The first right before I debarked the elevator on the 7th floor and a cute girl got on into my stench pit and when I was at work with the old ladies and tried to fart in a different area than them only to have them meander my way into a cloud of brown plague. How terribly embarrassing both were. And trust me, as a man who stands behind my right to flatulate these farts were embarrassingly bad. The fartfest continued through to my second job at the restaurant which is kind of like a blessing. The line between eating no hamburgers becomes blurry here, because I order a meatball sandwich before work, which is sort of kind of almost really close to but not the same thing as a hamburger. Any way I ate it and it was good and I had farts all night that came in handy when I had that off customer that rubbed my the wrong way and so I bummed them the wrong way. Hahahahaha I’m such a ham, but hey I ham what I ham, eh?

So the following day comes along as following days do and I am in a very poetic state of being, you know those ones, the whimsical days where you look at the sky and the river and the oldies doing the tai chi under the pagoda and the birds are out and its like 70 degrees and you just float while words come into your head and you think about the deeper meaning in your life? No, well that’s ok. So I am floating like a dumbass, total, jerk, douchebag hippy, stuck up in my own head when I get to the stop light at clark and 18th. cool. I’ll just cool here and wait for the light. I look right think about where all these damn people are coming from, depress a bit of pressure onto my right foot, roll a couple inches forward, and WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH a fucking cement truck flies in front of my face, seriously about 6 inches from the front of my bike. That is how idiots get killed and I can assume that is the only reason I didn’t, since I am clearly not an idiot, but more of a complete jackass and jackasses are lucky.

Ok, so admittedly the last part isn’t as gross/funny/dramatic, but is completely related so, here I go. After I made it to work right after I almost died, I sort of had to poo. I really had to actually, there was something about the no hamburgers that really seemed to mess up my digestive flow. So I went to do my bid and gee whiz was it a completely horrific and enjoyable experience. It was deffo a smooth BM, but it was hella rank, maybe from two days of coffee and thick sliced bacon and eggs, and also a greenish color like goose turds. It was amazing.

near death hamburger poo

near death hamburger poo


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