Monday, October 24, 2005

Food Poisoning

Never eat a cinnamon bun at a movie theater... I don't know what I was thinking and I suppose I've brought this on myself. It's like one degree less stupid than eating a tuna salad sandwich out of a vending machine.

The following transcript was taken from Regan’s body starting at about 4am…

Stomach (S): What is it Lt. Small?

Small Intestines (SI): I’m sorry sir, but we’re not going to be able to accept your next shipment.

S: What?! Are you kidding?

SI: No, sir.

S: Did you try to digest it? Did you use-

SI: Sir, we’ve tried everything.

S: Well, that don’t make a lick of sense. *goes to printout* All she had to eat was a nice well cooked steak-

SI: Oh yes, we were looking forward to that-

S: And some potatoes… a Chi latte and a… oh.

SI: Sir?

S: *sigh* Yes, Lt. Small I think I see the problem here. A cinnamapretzel.

SI: Excuse me sir, but what the hell is that?

S: *picks up the red phone* I don’t know but I’m calling the Brain.

SI: At this hour? Aren’t we in sleep mode?

S: Not for long, Small. Hello, Brain? Come in, Brain.

Brain (B): Bloody hell, Stomach, what the devil are you thinking waking me at… gracious me, 4 am?

S: Sir, what exactly is a cinnamapretzel?

B: Oh, um… Well it’s rather a mix of a cinnamon bun and a soft pretzel. Why do you ask?

S: The small intestines isn’t having any of it, sir.

B: Oh dear. Can’t this wait? I’m not going to be able to perform satisfactory if we have her up at this hour.

S: Sir, I suggest you get this body into the bathroom so we can evacuate this cinnamawhatzit ASAP

B: Oh bother. You don’t understand how much she hates to evacuate food. Hey do you think?

Womb: Ain’t nobody in here, sir.

B: Rats. How did this happen? *picks up red phone* Eyes. Come in, Eyes. Explain the cinnamapretzel.

Eyes (E): Sir? It looked good. The illustration had gooey icing and rings of yummy cinnamon goodness.

B: Hold on, Eyes. Mouth? Respond to that please, Mouth.

Mouth (M): I knew that would be trouble, sir. Tasted kind of slimy on the outside and that icing came out of a little plastic cup that was room temperature.

S: Brain, what kind of mess did you get us into?

B: Shut up, Stomach. Do you have any idea how much information I have to process?

S: Well, process this. I’m hitting the “Purge” button.

Colon (C): Whoa, guys. Let’s just calm down now. No one wants that. I’m not scheduled for work until about 10 am, if you purge that will knock my whole schedule off.

S: Sorry, Colon. It’s a Brain failure. I’ll try to expel as much as I can from here.

B: How bad is it going to be, Stomach?

S: I’m alerting the toenails, sir.

B: Well, let’s get this over with, then. Man, this baby used to be able to process anything.

S: Think it has to do with the upcoming birthday?

B: No, she’s never been right ever since college.

Everybody: Tequila.

B: Well, sorry chaps. I shall endeavor to avoid this in the future. Good night, and good luck.


Anonymous said...

That's freakin hilarious!

Regan said...

It's not funny haha,

it's funny ohgod!

I'm just glad I'm alive to make that distinction!