From Tuesday

*I was right*

From yesterday:

It seems I've contracted some intestinal malady this weekend while camping with Q. He was sick with it, badly, squirting primordial ooze from his butthole like a water-gun. At one point, during a particularly bad day, he had waddled into a campground bathroom, desperate for relief. Once the door closed it sounded like a skirmish on the front lines of a war. I heard gatling gun fire, grenades, muskets discharging, sawed off shotgun shelling. It was a bloody battle, full of smoldering gore and stinking entrails. He staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed onto the floor. He lie with a towel over his head, staring up at the sun, sweating and gasping. Onlookers thought he'd sustained an injury, but he'd just stained.

He wasn't fatally hurt, only fecally.

Inside the bathroom there were splatters and intestinal shrapnel everywhere.

Now the war is being waged in my belly. I thought I was neutral, Swiss. But today at work I had to setup temporary residence in a bathroom stall. I think I'll make a Pepto Bismol smoothie, I thought, to help me make it through the night.

It will all be all right.