Tags
3kFor800mgMotrin, Dr. Andrew's a dick, Gotta stop with the rectal exams, HemorrhoidsAlwaysWin, SigourneyWeaverIsCray
“
hy is he still twerking around like that? isn’t he dead?” One of the many questions I gleaned an answer from during my 6 days in the backcountry, learning how to become an even woodsier woodsman. I queried my buddy this enigma when the fish that I had just caught & gutted would not cease the death spasms he was exhibiting whilst in my hand. “Did you forget? You just removed his internal organs. See them floating? Yeah: he’s dead.” Point-taken. Hindsight isn’t something I excel at.
A drop in the bucket of what I would soon learn about fibrous diets, lack of hydration, why ring fingers are overrated and the odd feeling that comes with being diagnosed as a very gay dope seeker (not that there’s anything wrong with that) whose Lucile Ball-ian scheme to score norco/butt play was to purposefully and forcefully A) impact two weeks+ of waste, and then B) disimpact it, painfully angering his hemorrhoids and everything south of his eyelashes.
There’s gotta be less messy, embarrassing, expensive ways to get 800mg of Motrin. But my bathtub basin has surely never been so effectively disinfected and the google engineers has a good laugh at my colorful search history.
Next time I’m taking buttloads of quinoa and steamed broccoli, no doubt.
Droll Decanter 