Near death can bring all of us to our knees and senses.
I discovered how Two McDonald’s cheeseburgers can do the same thing.
Two such round “burgers” catapulted me and my stomach to the Master bedroom’s bathroom sink for multiple rounds of heaving.
Food poisoning does not have a pretty face, and neither did I, after repeatedly retching and regurgitating those two cheeseburgers all night.
They were the dollar “boogers”, and I didn’t hit any jackpot with them:
They hit me with food-poisoning, pure and simple.
No beating around the bush---just a lot of barfing at the sink.
I am a retired heavy drinker, who, before switching to the “harder stuff”, had spent many horrible moments (vomiting beer) on the road-to-excess…for…
Oh, yes, for Wisdom.
But I was most often inside a dungeon of despair rather than inside a palace of enlightened air.
But like a “you know what” does, I continued to return to my vomit, and started all over again once my empty but painful stomach had returned to its resilient, strong status, and I was given the blessed chance to get on again with some more serious, but sad drinking.
The after effects were the sad parts.
I enjoyed feeling the way I did when I drank.
But, now, I no longer require alcohol to turn on my abominator-vominator apparatus:
Two, round, carnivorous patties of pink slime will do the trick
…and me
…In!
I was worried that I wouldn’t stop vomiting.
(I dislike that word vomit. But especially puke. In fact, it may be one of the world’s ugliest words.
Puke…puking…Oh, puke!
Puke is not as sonorous as Velvet, Serendipity, or Syzygy.
They are words that I prefer to hang my hat upon instead of hanging my head over the sink…
PUKING!
IT’S THE OIL STUPID!
