Flush It Friday: The Fried Cheese Incident
It is the freeken weeken, baby. Let’s have us some fun.
But first, a tale of both BAD and UGLY. Last night, an accomplished astronomer and astrophysicist from Australia came into town to give a presentation over the fine-tuning of universal constants that aligned just right to produce a habitable universe for us to live and play and fight and poop in rather than a suite of extremely low-energy universes sufficient solely for the emergence of a single Boltzmann Brain. Before that, as we are wont to do when a famous astrophysicist blows into our dusty little town like a prestigious tumbleweed, my colleagues and I took the astrophysicist to dinner at one of our city’s local burger joints.
Now, this burger joint is famous for its fried cheese. I did not order the fried cheese because I’m trying to watch my girlish figure, but the astrophysicist, being a man of scientific daring and pointedly Australian appetite, ordered a basket of the fried cheese for the table. In a fit of hedonistic recklessness, I indulged in the fried cheese. As I would find out only a few hours later, this was a grave miscalculation.
Early this morning, well after the fascinating talk, a three-mile run, and some much-deserved shut-eye, I was awoken from my pleasant slumber by a veritable gastrointestinal spirit of vengeance. Around 1:25 a.m., a burning stomach cramp gripped me by the hojos and pulled me violently from the niceties of dreamland. Oh the burning! Oh the cramping! After a few futile minutes of attempting to resume my slumber, I finally steeled myself for the violent expulsion ahead and clawed my way to the bathroom.
Ensconced upon my frozen porcelain throne (frozen because I’m a cheap bastard who does not like to pay much for electricity and therefore keeps the temperature in my domicile low), I violently heaved and repelled the molten, baleful cheddar waste from my body. The pain was great, but my determination was greater. After a few minutes of sweating and grunting, the deed was done.
Victory was won, but at what cost? AT WHAT COST?
As I crawled back into bed, I vowed to never eat fried cheese again.
Who am I kidding? I’m definitely going to eat fried cheese again because I am like the ass, stubborn, foolish, and headstrong.
GOOD: It’s the weekend, baby.
METAL: Devilgroth‘s Landschaft is getting the reissue treatment, and this may appeal to some of you. To quote myself:
IF YOU LIKE RAW BLACK METAL OF THE RUSSIAN VARIETY, YOU MAY ENJOY THIS. IF YOU DIG RAW BLACK METAL WITH SOME SCREWY RHYTHMIC CHANGES AND A WEE BIT OF PSYCHEDELIA, YOU MAY DIG THIS. IF YOU DON’T MIND SILLY BANDCAMP TAGS, YOU MAY DIG THIS.
YOUR TURN: Tell me which beer you’re going to drink this weekend and when you’re going to call 911. Have a solid Friday, folks.