When Guts Attack: Part Two

If you missed part one, scroll down.

After I called the office and left a message for Bossman, stating only that I'd been up sick all night and wouldn't be in today, I went back to bed. I didn't sleep very long, I was still making repeated visits to the potty palace. I eventually gave up on staying in bed and migrated to the couch, followed by the boston baked beagle, who seemed to think I needed looking after.

My head was still kinda woozy but at least the tummy pain had subsided. I knew I was on the backside of my current flare up. I got comfy with a cold cup of Coke to sip on (don't tell Ma I dipped into her stash) and watched Craig Ferguson while I curled up with the blanket. About half way through his monologue, I had to pause the DVD and make an emergency run and ya know, it made me wonder. What the hell could there possibly be to come out?? I mean, I don't want to gross ya'll out or anything, but really.. after puking all night and being in the bathroom since the butt crack of dawn, what else could there be to come out of me??? Were organs starting to liquify and attempt an escape? You have to understand, I'd had no sleep and my not-that-sharp-to-begin-with brain was operating on minimal fuel. It's not unheard of for one's thoughts to turn to the irrational under those circumstances.

As I rose from my seated position, I noticed something in the bowl. It was odd shaped and for just a second, I thought it was an alien pod that had escaped from my body. It took me minute to think about it, shake off the morning fog and re analyze the situation to realize it was just an undigested time relased capsule.

I watched a televsion on the couch for the rest of the day. I listened to Craig Ferguson rant about the Sopranos ending, which sort of pissed me off too. It bordered on cruel to make the viewer watch Meadow struggle to parallel park her car for no apparent reason. The Amazon said it was a metaphore for her struggle to straighten out her life, but I dunno. All of this talk about letting the viewer decide for themselves how they wanted it to end is just bullcrap. When I read a book or watch a movie, I expect it to have an ending. I invest my time and attention in the vision of the writer, if I wanted to write my own ending, I'd write my own story. To me, it sounds like an artsy fartsy excuse to end it the way they did. If you couldn't come up with anything better or make up your mind or whatever then just admit it.

Ferguson also touched on his continued lack of affection for kitty cats. Dude, don't fear the pussycat. Embrace the pussycat. Make it your friend.

I watched reruns for the rest of the day. Wally and Eddie Haskell were competing for the attention of Carolyn Cunningham, the high-fallooting rich girl who goes to boarding school. They always go for the snotty girls don't they? Lucy and Ricky were celebrating their aniversary and Martha Stewart showed me how to make angel wings for the dogs at Halloween. I was thrilled to find out that Oprah's show focused on embarassing bodily functions, a subject that I'd become an expert on in the past few days.

Ah well, I think I'll live anyway. I hope ya'll had a good day :) We'll talk again soon.