Adventure bus

As I sit here, I try to remind myself that I do in fact like food. I like trying new restaurants and finding hidden gems. It makes me happy. The problem with that is I then have this list favorite places. And I want to go to those favorite places. I mean, why try some new Mexican joint when I know Tia Margarita is good, right? Well, smarty pants, that kind of thinking will leave me high and dry if I'm on the other side of town. I wouldn't know about places like Los Panchos. To be frank, I'd be screwed. No, my name isn't frank. It's an expression, asshole. I digress. So what I try to do is keep to my regular haunts, then every once in a while, I just decide "Fuck it, tonight is someplace new!" I am bold.

I notice looking around how small this room is, and that reminds me, some of my favorite places were discovered by walking into some tiny, hole in the wall establishment. Actually, these are not establishments. A better term is "joint". These joints look like nothing from the outside. In fact, some of them look scary. No matter. If I get a recommendation or see that the place does brisk business - hell, sometimes all it takes is the smell of something delicious coming from inside - I'll give it a try. This brings me to the events leading up to my current predicament.

So there I am, having already decided to try the new Korean barbecue joint that opened down the street. I walk in. It's a small place, but packed with people and the place smells good. I sat down, and took a look at the menu. Whoa. Whoa! Half the menu is Korean food, some of which is barbecue, but then the rest is, I want to say American kids' menu. Mac n' cheese. Beans n' franks. (Hot dogs, motherfucker! Get off the "frank" thing!) Anyway, so now I'm a little concerned. I decide to stick with the Korean stuff. BBQ shrimp sounds good. The place is a Korean BBQ place, I'm doing Korean BBQ. Done. Order placed. Just sit back, look around at what other people are having. I see a guy who isn't even eating Korean food. Hm, there's another. Huh, nobody is eating Korean food. Uh oh. Oh shit. I realize I've made a mistake. A grave mistake. This isn't a Korean BBQ place with some sketchy American food thrown on the menu. It's an American food place with some sketchy Korean BBQ thrown on the menu. It's all Koreans in there, eating chicken strips and tater tots. I need to get out of there. I need to somehow get up and leave before anyone sees me. But before I could do that, my food arrived. And that's when I met you. You who put me here. If only I'd stuck to my insticts, shrimp. But no, you tricked me. Fuck you, bus.

At the time, you looked... good. Sitting on my plate, with your little tails still on, even though you KNOW that bothers me, shrimp. If I wanted to take the fucking tails off myself, I'd have cooked at home! Sons of bitches!! Again, I digress. So there you were, a little spicy, but cooked well, with no weird flavors. Thank god. Crisis averted. Phew! I finished dinner, paid, then left feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I don't know if I'd go back, but it wasn't bad.

So then after running (walking, actually) a few errands, I headed home, which was about 20 blocks away. After a couple blocks, I noticed I was sweating. It's a good long walk, but didn't think I should have been sweating. And even though I was sweating, I felt uncomfortably warm. Right about then, you turned on me, shrimp. You fucking turned on me.

I actually don't remember some parts of it, the trip from that dirty sidewalk to this cold floor. I remember a lot of people out on the sidewalk, all of them in my way, and they were painted green. Well no, there were people wearing green. There was one girl who was painted green. I remember her for two reasons: One, she was topless, and her whole torso was painted emerald green. Two, she was throwing up into the gutter, just like I was. I think I remember her trying to talk between bouts of sickness, but either she made no sense, or I couldn't decipher English. Probably both. Let me just take a moment to say that if you need a shitload of people to get out of your way quickly, I recommend throwing the fuck up. Trust me, people will move. I think it being St. Patrick's Day helped, so try that. Most people will be drunk, and won't get fighty about it. And if you get any of them to join you, well then Bob's your uncle. (Not Frank, shithead!)

Anyway, I made it home. Panic-stricken, I headed to the bathroom, and again I threw the fuck up. Just finished, in fact. And now I sit here where you left me, shrimp, on the floor of the bathroom. I sit here panting, and I can feel another wave creeping up on me. But wait... my stomach feels like it's going to die, but there's also pain... lower. No, not pain. Gurgling. It's... it's speaking. Oh god! What is happening?! Which end is going to betray me?! I don't know whether I'm going to puke again or give birth to Cthulhu! What the fuck are you doing in there, shrimp?! Did half of you stop in my stomach while the other half kept going? I... I don't know whether to sit on the toilet or in front of it. AAAAAAAAAA! This is disgusting in so many ways!! I would gladly make a deal with the devil herself to get out of this. Cure me or kill me, I don't care. Call me Frank. Just make it stop. Oh hey, the tub is kinda close. And with that, I think I have a plan.

[later]

I am less a human being now, but at least that is done. There is simply nothing left inside me. No shrimp, no liquid, hell I think I saw a fucking organ come out. I still feel terrible, but maybe I can s- no. NO. Shrimp, make up your mind! In or out!! You can't jus- ohgod ohgod ohgod! Out! Out! OUT!!

[much later]

I don't have much time. I hear the call of Cthulhu once more, and I cannot resist. I think I have time to get some water, and I just wanted to say, if anyone ever tells me, "Hey, let's try something new", ever, I am going to punch that person in the fucking face. Or in their drunk, green tits. My name is Frank, and I will never try a new restaurant again.

Sick bus

Hello, sick. I hate you. Do you know why I hate you? You've turned me into you. That's right. People don't say "I have a sickness inside me" anymore. Apparently you've adapted to the times, and grown a huge set of balls, sick. Because now they say "I am sick". We become you. You evil fuck. That is twisted on a whole new level. It's not enough to make us feel miserable, no. You have to consume our entire beings too? How did you get this god complex?

Being sick sucks. A friend got my spouse sick. Then me. Then another friend. Then I got a co-worker sick, she says. I say different, but she keeps with the demon, so I'll leave it be.

Anyway, between, oh, every goddamn person I have ever known being sick, I've managed to stay sick through an entire month. A fucking month. You go to hell, and you die, sick. I am tired of being sick. TIRED!! If you are not over and done with by tomorrow morning, it is over for you.

You are not my spouse, so fuck you, bus! You don't get to stay with me every day for the rest of my life! And you do NOT get to fuck me. You're not the kind of thing one takes home to the parents, know what I mean? Maybe try to make people feel better instead of worse. People might actually like you then. Instead you act like some goddamn invader, trying to fill me with your goo. No means no, you fucking rapist. I'd rather have the entire fucking Cirque du Soleil do their final march through my ass than deal with you any more. That's right, sick. I'd rather my ass bleed out than be with you another day. That is disgusting.