So basically, earlier today, amidst the influence of tight finances and moderate laziness brought on due to yesterday's adventures in Seattle, I consumed a half gallon of orange juice in the space of maybe an hour and a half. I was too lazy to go get other beverages and I am too bourgeois for tap water.
Synthesizer Patel will attest that my stories of frequent vomiting are no internet old wive's tale. I puke the puke, as it were, and during his visit the previous weak I painted several downtown Seatle bathrooms green and beige. Today, I painted my own bathroom orange. But this was worse than normal. This was acidic.
It was as though I were one of those acid spitting dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Any wanderers into the stream of orange would be blessed with magical scurvy immunity for the rest of their days. The acid-based vomit did a spanking job of cleaning my toilet for me, but despite the magical qualities of my illness, I'd never wish this on my worst enemy. Except Shake. My throat burned, like so many big tittied souls in Soul Calibur. I swallowed a half dozen sleeping pills, just wanting the pain to go away. By the time the frenzied vomiting, my own circle of mania, ended, my throat felt like meat tenderized via mallet, and my voice was like that of a 90 year old woman that smoked all her life.
In my orange juice-laden dreams, I dreamed that I dreamt that I saw the most boringest CES keynote ever. Details so boring that it's be a waste of your time to recount. Key figures layering blue sweaters on blue shirts, and women wearing garbage bags. The stuff of nightmares.
Now I am awake and my stomach feels like I've been drinking paint thinner. Oddly enough, I find that I am craving more OJ. I do believe I'll get right on that.
