Sour Cream is My Nemesis

Just look at that white abomination. Uggghhhh

Yesterday I succumbed to my desire for nachos. I forgot to shout, “SOUR CREAM ON THE SIDE!” so the giant dish was brought out with the vile stuff squirted on everything. No matter, said I, wolfing down half of it.

An hour later, I was in agony. Demonic forces stabbed daggers into my stomach. As Fragrant Husband looked on in concern, I kept eructing uncomfortably in the hopes of expelling the noxious byproducts of the thrice-damned lactic acid bacteria used to ferment that foulest of dairy products.

Alas, I had no choice but to forcefully expel the contents of my tummy. And then I felt better…until my gastrointestinal tract, already on high alert from the presence of mysterious bacteria, decided to contribute some flatus to the expulsion.

It was bad, readers. I attribute my remaining married to cosmic intervention, possibly from that asteroid that broke up. Its blood (mineral?) sacrifice shall not be in vain!

This pointless post brought to you by Friday. Friday: I give up.