I innocently opened up and nuked some packaged junk food to sate my appetite early one morning last week. Given we are in some kind of quarantine keeping the corona virus at bay, this seemed totally deserved.
Even though this quick fix for a hunger pang came quickly I did notice a weird metallic taste to this junk food potion but powered through to the last big spoonful anyway.
Bad move.
Six hours later I was reversing the ingestion process and literally giving it up to anything porcelain in the form of mostly unguided projectile restitution for something I had done along life’s way and did not know it.
Like Fat Bastard, I knew I didn’t eat no corn but I was sure that I saw a couple of toenails go flying by.
We had already gone through a spirit-taxing covid-19 visitation in mid-April in this house and thought there to be no remaining kryptonite available to defeat us.
We may have been a little bit premature.
A week later I am only now beginning to feel almost normal and ready to face the next totally deserved something coming our way.
I have no idea why funky cold medina came to mind in all this.