A Call Goes Poorly
i have reason to suspect CVS is stepping on the fiber in their CVSHealth® Sugar-Free Fiber Gummies, and call shenanigans. as a forty year old man whose recent diet is mainly frozen fish filets, bell peppers, and celebratory skittles, i've interest in keeping all packets moving and channels utilized, and throw back a hale handful of fiber jellies each night. the fuckers are delicious, and hopefully keeping me alive. the first time i fucked hard with fiber, i was seeking to expunge all traces of my first and only McRib. i acquired the 120 jellies, read the warning to limit consumption to 4, scoffed, got higher than most of y'all will ever know, and threw down the bottle. i remember very little of that transformative evening. for the next fortnight, whenever i laughed or coughed a low distortion emerged from sinistral, sinister regions of my abdomen, like the hum of a high volt transformer. that was the sixth time i thought i was going to die. it went away naturally, reassuring me that doctors are basically Chaldean sorcerers, and not to be consulted. it has in any case proven difficult to maintain primary care physicians when you pester them with questions like "if i have to let a venomous snake bite me, which one?" and "i ate 120 fiber jellies and saw God in the bathroom so we might want to up that adderall, don't you think?" and "can you biopsy this? [throws down wet brown paper sack; it hits the floor with a thud] i already did the cuttin' for ya."
so i ordered a different brand, and ate thirty odd before going to sleep. i woke with scant minutes before a meeting with my boss. i felt grim dread, but no more than i do most mornings. more sweat than normal. i threw down a bedside diet cream soda and accepted the call from my boss. things went well at first, but then we had a bit of semantic dissonance, and i moved eagerly to resolve our false disagreement. it was then that i bent double like a man pushed by some great invisible fist, and curled as i fell from bed, and exclaimed HAIL SATAN OH RIDE IT OUT NICHOLAS THIS IS THE BIG ONE RIDE IT STRAIGHT TO HELL. it's estimated that most tectonic plates move about 10cm per annum, which is about how much my colon moved in a nanosecond, whipping through me like a cut high-tension line. my boss continued to ask about network telemetry. having foolishly not worn pants, i realize i'm on video up there; i grab the laptop and hold it aloft as i lumbered towards the restroom, yelling MOHIT DON'T LOOK DON'T LOOK IN FACT DISCONNECT NO CARRIER NO CARRIER, all the blood in my brain draining to my sphincter. i'm unsure what happened after that. my boss said something about "the a/c man is here". i have no idea whether there was an a/c man or that was a strange Indian excuse. beforehand i'd said something about "boss i gotta go all the Latter Day Saints and Angels Moroni are exploding from me" and "boss telemetry shows forty thousand mindflayer eels coming down the pipe". eventually i ran out of battery power, though my tribulations otherwise were not yet complete. i remain convinced that my boss tells his daughters about me as an example of what goes wrong if you become too American. God save the Republic; God save the Constitution.
looking at the aftermath was like one of those after-the-tsunami videos from Aceh. all broken ship masts and big white vans and carnage and churn. happy thursday!
previously: "Theory and Practice of Sprixels" 2021-03-29