I’ll have the Chicken with the Poison Mushroom Seasoning Please (part I)

I can’t die now, I’m too young, I have too many places I need to see, too many things I need to do.

It felt like someone punched a hole through my stomach wall, then unclench his fist, only to re-clench it even tighter around all my internal organs. The only momentary relief came during the unpredictable bouts of diarrhea. The intense vomiting, on the other hand, only enhanced that organ squeezing feeling.

This illness was unlike anything other I’ve ever experienced. For starters, it came out of nowhere. Not that one ever expects an illness to send an e-mail reading: “Hey, what’s up? I just wanted to let you know I might be around on the weekend of the 21st and if so, let’s hang out. BTW-. I’m really going to fuck you up sooo bad, you’re going to wish you were dead!! Okay Gotta run :-)” But, at least with the flu, you might start with a runny nose, a few sneezes, the throbbing headache, etc. You know it’s coming so you get prepared by taking medications before it really gets a hold of you.

Unfortunately, this is NOT the case with FOOD POISONING. Food poisoning is akin to hearing running water hitting your front door on a sunny day, you then open the door only to be surprised by your schizophrenic drunken cousin Eddie; who you thought wasn’t eligible for parole until at least ’09 and who just happened to be in the neighborhood. He has to piss so bad he forgets his manners and doesn't ring the doorbell. He is trying to steady himself against the house with the left hand; while the right hand is firmly gripped around his junk. Your door was functioning well as his urinal, until you opened it, that is. Now your brand new $200 Asics Kayano running shoes are getting an undeserved golden shower. His Harley is on your lawn and divots of your lawn are on his Harley, surrounded by a case of Old Milwaukee tallboy empties and a fat tattooed topless passed out biker ho.

FOOD POISONING IS COUSIN EDDIE

I don’t know if it was the chicken or the mushrooms, or both, but I won’t eat either ever again. I hate doctors, so I tried to self-medicate in hopes I could cure myself. I took everything my wife had in the medicine cabinet. Don’t ever believe those women in the commercials during General Hospital, Midol does nothing for cramps, although some of the bloating did go down…