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Barbados Chile

I recently went grocery shopping at the Grocery Drive-In although I wasn’t entirely sure it was a wise act. You see, the previous evening I prepared and spent a huge amount of my patent “Barbados Chili.” Tasty stuff, a little hot until you’re painful, that comes with a written guarantee from me if you drop anything the next day both cheeks WILL fall apart.

Here’s the thing. I had woken up that morning, and even after a few sausages and biscuits mixed with the night before chili nothing happened. No ‘Watson Movement # 2’. Despite habanera peppers floating their way through my intestinal tract, I seemed unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by mom as thunder and lightning.

Knowing there was a calculated time to come, but not sure when, I bravely went to the store to buy Imodium to try to cancel things. On first entering the store it seemed normal. I shook the islands looking for anything that might work when that pain hit me. You know the one, the ‘Uh oh, gotta that’ pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The habaneras were in the chili from the night before rising. Furious for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, pushing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step towards the front door and a mad dash to the office for relief , release the warning shot peppers.

I stood, alone in the aisle of spices and baking, suddenly covered in a cloud that had never been recorded before. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this fierce smell might escape me. Slowly, from so slow, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out, just as some woman from Spain turned into it.

I don’t know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the poodious exscrutiatis that refused to waste, walking into it no doubt. Have you ever been emotionally torn in two different directions? I could have warned that poor woman but she didn’t. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and seemingly inevitable, wall of smell as horrible as she could do before she picked up her senses and ran, not standing there screaming and throwing her arms under her one as if trying to keep her angry at bees and cussing something in Spanish. This terrified me, of course, but then made me laugh. Oohhhhh, baaad mooove !! As we all know, when you’re laughing, it’s hard to keep things ‘clamped down’. With each giggle an explosive issue exploded out of my darkest region.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I ran to the front of the store screaming, “use your restroom. … get off” as I went, laying a cloud all the way, praying that I would do it before the a major explosion occurred.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of weather I reached the john, and it was bad. Al heard the screaming and came in to check on me while I was in the middle of the true meaning of ‘Shock and Awe’. He made a gagging sound, and said disgustedly, ‘Sonofawitch!’, Then quickly retreated to a safer distance.

When I was finished I was leaving the rest room when Al returned and questioning, “what the hell is all that?” That bothered me not to laugh again, of course, which left residual gases escaping from me. He took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, he advised me to leave the premises immediately.

Home again without shopping, I realized there was nothing to eat but chili left, so I ate two more bowls. The next day I ran out of the bank. I can say no more about that as we are still contradicting the whole matter. Sorry dogs claim I sounded the alarm off. See you at. . . “RRRIIIIPPPP” (oh nooo, not again? !!). . . Barbados !!

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