Off-Gaser
Guest
Found this on another board and thought I would share!
Sit back for a tale of misery and woe in the tradition of the greatest of Shakespearean tragedies.
Last night I went to a bachelor party for one of my fraternity brothers from college. While the details of the gallons of beer, endless shots of liquor, a severely sprained ankle, as well as the procession of talented, shall we say female modern dance majors in our Snoop Dogg style party bus are irrevelant for purposes of this story, one incident is important to note. Several triple deuces, Cuervo and Three Wiseman shots deep into the night I somehow ended up chugging an entire bottle of Smack My Ass And Call Me Sally hot sauce. Perhaps it was the rekindled spirit of past fraternity hijinks, or the fact that Jackass The Movie was playing on the bus that made me gargle the habanero infusion with such glee.
I awoke this morning after a solid two hours of sleep feeling oddly refreshed, invigorated if you will with none of the ill feelings experienced in last weekend's debauchery which prompted the "Post Your Hangover Cure" thread. After seeing that my ankle was the size of a ham hock in a lovely shade of eggplant purple I decided to go to the emergency room. Two hours later X-rays reveal a severe sprain, and no broken metatasals=no cast=I'm going diving next weekend if they have to duct tape my legs together in full sea mammal monofin type fashion. Still feeling fantastic, I stopped at the local Chinese restaurant on the way home for some takeout General Tsao chicken (spicy!).
While in the dining room of my Lutz chalet, the hammer dropped on my world after the second bite of the savory General Tsao. A low rumble suddenly eminated from deep with in the core of my bowels, like a distant thunder at night. My intestines whipped taut like a firehose being turned on as sweat began to pour off my brow like an irrigation soaker hose. At that moment I realized that I was in a DefCon Four, this is not a drill, all hands man your battlestations situation. I staggered off my chair, and hobbled to the toilet all the while resembling Quasimodo after a nitrous oxide whippet. In one fluid ergonomic motion I dropped my pants as I fell backwards on the bowl. What happened next is almost beyond my capacity to descibe in words. It was as if Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire was releasing molten magma from deep within the center of the Earth through my anus. My colon transformed into a fabled medieval dragon spewing great gouts of brimstone, as I steadied myself desperately with my arms on either wall of the bathroom, face contorted in a steely rictus. I prayed to Jesus, Buddha, The Great Spirit, Allah, Chango, and King Neptune simultaneously to help me survive this abomination. After what seemed like an eternity I emerged from my pain induced trance to realize that the Great Satan had been cast out, and that I had perservered through my hellish self induced rite of passage.
Two weekends in a row of non-diveable weather, and two weekends in a row of brain shattering hangovers, near fractured ankles, and scorched anuses. I NEED 5 knots and variable next weekend. It's much safer 100' down, eighty miles offshore where the sharks and the jewfish roam. Standing by.
Sit back for a tale of misery and woe in the tradition of the greatest of Shakespearean tragedies.
Last night I went to a bachelor party for one of my fraternity brothers from college. While the details of the gallons of beer, endless shots of liquor, a severely sprained ankle, as well as the procession of talented, shall we say female modern dance majors in our Snoop Dogg style party bus are irrevelant for purposes of this story, one incident is important to note. Several triple deuces, Cuervo and Three Wiseman shots deep into the night I somehow ended up chugging an entire bottle of Smack My Ass And Call Me Sally hot sauce. Perhaps it was the rekindled spirit of past fraternity hijinks, or the fact that Jackass The Movie was playing on the bus that made me gargle the habanero infusion with such glee.
I awoke this morning after a solid two hours of sleep feeling oddly refreshed, invigorated if you will with none of the ill feelings experienced in last weekend's debauchery which prompted the "Post Your Hangover Cure" thread. After seeing that my ankle was the size of a ham hock in a lovely shade of eggplant purple I decided to go to the emergency room. Two hours later X-rays reveal a severe sprain, and no broken metatasals=no cast=I'm going diving next weekend if they have to duct tape my legs together in full sea mammal monofin type fashion. Still feeling fantastic, I stopped at the local Chinese restaurant on the way home for some takeout General Tsao chicken (spicy!).
While in the dining room of my Lutz chalet, the hammer dropped on my world after the second bite of the savory General Tsao. A low rumble suddenly eminated from deep with in the core of my bowels, like a distant thunder at night. My intestines whipped taut like a firehose being turned on as sweat began to pour off my brow like an irrigation soaker hose. At that moment I realized that I was in a DefCon Four, this is not a drill, all hands man your battlestations situation. I staggered off my chair, and hobbled to the toilet all the while resembling Quasimodo after a nitrous oxide whippet. In one fluid ergonomic motion I dropped my pants as I fell backwards on the bowl. What happened next is almost beyond my capacity to descibe in words. It was as if Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire was releasing molten magma from deep within the center of the Earth through my anus. My colon transformed into a fabled medieval dragon spewing great gouts of brimstone, as I steadied myself desperately with my arms on either wall of the bathroom, face contorted in a steely rictus. I prayed to Jesus, Buddha, The Great Spirit, Allah, Chango, and King Neptune simultaneously to help me survive this abomination. After what seemed like an eternity I emerged from my pain induced trance to realize that the Great Satan had been cast out, and that I had perservered through my hellish self induced rite of passage.
Two weekends in a row of non-diveable weather, and two weekends in a row of brain shattering hangovers, near fractured ankles, and scorched anuses. I NEED 5 knots and variable next weekend. It's much safer 100' down, eighty miles offshore where the sharks and the jewfish roam. Standing by.
