Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Being a screaming Gentleman Who Owns One Too Many Gingham Shirts, there is one sliver of thought that runs through any instance of food poisoning. Throughout the endless vomiting, poised on the edge of the toilet like those oscillating dippy-bird toys. Through the explosive instances at the other end of the body that renders leaving the house an impossibility, as well as turning it into a No-Poking Compartment. And that thought is this: Oh my good lord, this is better than any diet going and I'm going to look faaaaabulous.