Rim Of Fire

You would not have wanted to be my anus last night, I tell you. God no.

I never take dumps here at work. For one thing, I evacuate my bowels usually once a day in the AM. Just habit I guess. I get up, have my breakfast and settle on the pot for a nice excrement whilst deep in philosophical thought. I'm guessing that a majority of you folks reading this blog have at least the occasional BM so don't be so grossed out by the subject matter. We all shit!

Now, I've mentioned before that it seems every time I go to any one of probably several dozen bathrooms in this building to urinate, there is always some poor bastard sitting with his pants around his ankles in a stall presumably crapping his brains out. Speculation in this blog and other places have run from this guy being a company spy to someone who has died while pinching a loaf ala The King. So I'm kinda averse to doing #2s here anyway.

My day is usually very busy due to the fact I have to jam what ever it is I need to do into it before I traipse on down to my place of employment. Keep in mind I work 40 - 50 hours a week in addition to commuting 10 hours a week. So I don't have a hell of a lot of time. I will, for example, whip up my lunch and woof it down in the space of about 5 minutes.

I love spicy foods. The hotter the better. My favorite place to eat in Portsmouth is Shalimar the Indian restaurant and, although I don't frequent it as much as I used to, I still occasionally have dinner there and challenge the cooks to make my meal as hot as possible.

Yesterday, I was in my usual mad rush to get things done. At noon, I needed to eat so I made a sandwich. I always put hot sauce on almost every thing I eat so I grabbed a bottle of it to spread its contents on the bread. I noticed it was empty so I quickly opened up another one and poured it on. Oops! A little too much. But, that's never stopped me before.

I sat down and took two large bites of my sandwich before it hit me like an atomic bomb. This couldn't be hot sauce - it had to literally be on fire! My eyes and nose started watering profusely. I yelped in agony. I drank water to no avail. I hopped around in like a goosed kangaroo. My neighbor, who used to be a chef, dropped by just then to borrow the wheelbarrow and observed me in this unfortunate condition. When I pointed to the opened bottle of hot sauce, he picked it up and read the label. He said "Jesus Christ, do you need to go to the hospital?" I shook my head "no" and pointed outside to the wheelbarrow. "Are you sure you don't want to go?" he pleaded. "No" I croaked, "Now get out!" He quickly left mumbling something about me being fucking crazy.

People are always giving me hot sauces for gifts and the last two bottles I've opened were particularly mild by my standards. So I got into the habit of just glopping them on my food like ketchup. Well the stuff I blindly poured all over my sandwich yesterday turned out to be considered the hottest hot sauce ever made. No kidding.

I must admit that I did scrape some of the excess hot sauce off before finishing my sandwich but finish it I did. It took about half an hour before I regained my strength and equilibrium. Then I ran some errands and drove of to the coal mines. End of story. Or so I thought.

Fast forward to around 10 PM last night. We have these engineering contractors from India that seem to work here 24 hours a day and they are forever bugging me with their computer woes. They like me because I seem to care unlike the other IT drones and I can usually figure out what’s wrong and fix it. Well, one of these little dudes calls me up last night with a software issue. Of course I had no fucking idea what he was talking about. He could have been going on about the Loch Ness Monster for all I could tell. So I did what I usually do. I walked all the way over to engineering so I could see what he meant. As he was showing me his problem, I suddenly started developing a problem of my own. A serious physical one. I excused my self and high-tailed it to the nearest bathroom as fast as my arthritic legs could carry me.

Relax; I won't go into the gory details of the resultant explosion. Suffice to say it wasn't pretty. As a matter of fact, H.P. Lovecraft would have had a difficult time describing it. But that's not the worst. I suspect you've probably already guessed the worst. Yup, it's as hot coming out as going in.

Not to worry, though. My singed anus is doing OK. But you can send it flowers or a get well card if you would like.