"Americans used to say where there's a will, there's a way. Nowadays, it's where there's a pill, there's a way out." - - Burnt Toast

Not For The Weak Constituted. . .

This story is a bit tangential, but it's worth the wait.

Back in March I spent a relaxing week in my old stomping grounds of Central America and ate more ceviche than I think I ever did in the years I lived there. After returning home, I became ill with an extremely serious case of "epazootus of the butt." Now, I've always been one to pass a little gas every now and then, but we are talking about colossal emanations of cataclysmic proportions! Needless to say, smelling my own was completely out of the question. And not to mention the other apparitions that come with "epazootus of the butt."

Now, being the rational type that I am, I realize that I should probably seek medical attention immediately because I could have some serious issues such as amebic dysentery or coccidiosis or Hepatitis A or a variety of parasitic worms. But, I also like quack science and my own home-grown remedies.

Last week, in an effort to rid myself of these little buggeroos, I ate en entire 14 ounce jar of jalapeno peppers and drank a six-pack of Heineken on an empty stomach. See, I love hot stuff and 14 ounces of jalapenos may seem extreme, and it is, but I figured that if it doesn't kill whatever I have inside my gut, it's gonna make life down there damned uncomfortable.

Insane? Yes.

Effective? No.

It really pisses me off that I am going to have to waste a half a day of my time, pay a ridiculous amount of money to some clinic to allow me the pleasure of crapping in a cup for them to poke around in and then drop another $100 at the pharmacy for some atomic bomb equivalent of antibiotic which will probably increase the rate of bowel movements five-fold in the near term.

However, that day may be nearing because on Wednesday, I got caught out in rural Jefferson County, Mississippi on a dirt road with nothing in sight for miles with the sudden and immediate urge to drop my drawers and do the natural.

So, there I am, squatting in a field with no cover at all realizing that in my haste I'm only inches from a fire ant mound, waiting for a car to pass or some buck-toothed, camo-wearing, lopside-headed, gun-toting freakazoid to pop up out of nowhere proclaiming, "That sure is a pretty scrotum you got there".

Well, I finished up and all and when I looked down, I saw all these little white things in the you know what.

Good God, I've got worms!!! After closer, but not too close inspection, they turned out to be sesame seeds from yesterday's sandwich.

Whew!

I'm sure at this point you're probably saying to yourself, "Self, what the hell is this all about?" Well Self, let me tell you. What this is all about is if I were still in Central America I would have been cured weeks ago after a simple visit to the pharmacy for three pills and a little bottle of Rid-A-Parasite. All for the low, low price of $10. No doctor, no crapping in cups, no staining of slides in the med tech laboratory with preheated Johansen’s Safranin solution, no nothing. Three pills, a drink and death to the epazootus!

But since I'm not there, I guess I could just buy this instead.

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