Shittacular

Walsh came to see me this weekend, though he had to forego his usual Friday- Sunday afternoon stay. We had to settle on Saturday afternoon- Sunday morning instead. I thought it would be a good idea to try out a new BBQ restaurant a few blocks away from my house. Saturday night. Really we just needed some kind of cushion for all the drinking we planned on doing. (it was $2.50 shot night at a bar I frequent....And I got paid on Friday. Ohhhhhh yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhh).

The BBQ pork sandwich was an enormous mistake that I am still regretting.

I don't know if I got food poisoning so just a major case of the BBQ shits but it was ugly. I started feeling kind of sick towards the end of the meal but decided to push through and figured getting something else in my tummy (i.e. mass quantities of alcohol) would make me feel better....or at the very least would numb me right up.

Nope. Apparently shots of vodka and bad pork don't go together. Who knew?

I had to take a splatter shit in a public bathroom. A bar bathroom no less. And this bitch was a 6 wiper and a 3 flusher. It was hardcore. It looked like the first 10 minutes of Saving Private Ryan in that toilet.

Needless to say I needed to go home. I knew it was just the beginning of what was going to be a long and anally painful night. And because I'm an asshole I don't let Walsh stay over at my place intentionally because that's too "relationship"-esque for me so I sent his ass packing. He drove 2+ hours to see and have sex with me and all he got was some bad BBQ, a few drinks and the displeasure of having to listen to my trumpet ass on the car ride home.