My friend, Whitney, has a stomach that underwent a superpower mutation following the Chernobyl disaster in 1986. The girl can eat ANYTHING and not get sick. Rancid meat, expired milk, furry yogurt, etc. etc., it does absolutely nothing to upset her Teflon intestines. A few weeks ago I got food poisoning that made me so deliriously ill, I found myself stumbling toward table lamps trying to follow the light and find Jesus. I am fairly certain I vomited up one of my kidneys and a couple vertebrae. Now in contrast, if Whitney had consumed the same exact quantity of bacteria that I did, she would have maybe hiccupped and gone shoe shopping.
Anyway, the other night we had dinner and because people like to tell me everything, she divulged some information that was so spectacular I had to sit down on the curb in order to breathe afterward because I was laughing that hard. I had mascara running down my face and snot pouring out my nose and my body was racked with hysterical convulsions that made me piss myself countless times despite my c-sections, as I recounted what I have coined “The Legend” over and over again in my mind. And while I am indeed easily amused; I am rarely shocked by human behavior, until now.
My father was ninja for God’s sake (a fucking N-I-N-J-A) that used to jump out and attack my siblings and me in public. My mother is convinced that raw potatoes cure hemorrhoids when inserted up your ass. Mike and I have never once had sex without flossing first, ever. My sister and I once spent 45 minutes on the phone discussing if she should become a lesbian. My 6 year-old has a toenail collection in a ceramic cupcake that she once showed her teacher from Bhutan and my friend Aaron’s parents like to go hiking in the nude with their friends. Yet all these tantalizing experiences fall short of the one I am about to reveal to you. I have never been so overcome with insurmountable, irrepressible, spellbinding elation as when I learned about this incident; more so than the day I realized I could have multiple orgasms, more than when my children started school and even more than when I purchased my 2nd breast. Whitney’s saga all began with a precarious creature otherwise known as: Super White Tuna…..
Avid sushi connoisseurs, Whitney and her husband, Cameron, often frequent establishments that offer a wide variety of dead, raw fish. As you might imagine, we rarely dine together because I think that is just nasty. So on this particular evening they were having dinner with Cameron’s boss and his wife who also have an affinity for dead, raw fish. Drinks were ordered and Cameron’s boss ordered an assortment of appetizers consisting of dead, raw fish, one of which was called, oh yes: Super White Tuna. At this point I feel compelled to interject immense accolades for Whitney’s cunning restraint, as I would have never been able to contain myself with the infinite amount of raunchy jokes practically begging to be made with the moniker of: Super White Tuna. Well Done, Bravooooo. Anyhow, Whitney immediately dove in (easy gentlemen), satisfying her indiscriminate palate with numerous pieces of dead, raw fish and devouring specifically, 5 pieces of her new favorite: Super White Tuna.
The boss’s wife then made a comment (amazingly not dirty) about the Super White Tuna and how the oils of this particular dead, raw fish can serve as a laxative and people should only eat 2 pieces to avoid any unwanted side effects. Another interjection: I do not know this broad but it seems like a rather sabotaging detail to omit for someone who has already eaten twice the legal limit and hasn’t screwed your husband, but whatever. Just then Whitney’s stomach gurgled. She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She sat down on the john, nothing happened. Fuck. She went back to the table and finished eating. Her stomach gurgled again. Again, she excused herself. She sat down on the john. Nothing. Double Fuck. She headed back to the table. They paid the bill, said their goodbyes and climbed in the car for the fifteen minute ride home.
They were driving along when Whitney started to get the poo chills, the “I Have To Shit Right Now Chills” the “I Don’t Have Time To Grab A Magazine Before I Run To The Bathroom Chills” the “I Am Clenching My Butt Cheeks Tighter Than Bernie Madoff in Prison Chills” the “IF SOMEONE OFFERED ME A MILLION DOLLARS OR A TOILET I WOULD TAKE THE GODDAMN TOILET CHILLS”. Whitney suddenly yelled for Cameron to “PULL OVER NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!” Cameron quickly obeyed. Whitney took 2 steps out of the car, jerked her pants down and SHIT her brains out, in someone’s front yard, in a reallllllly nice neighborhood, in front of a realllllly nice house, with her husband watching in disbelief.
Whitney took a couple deep breaths, pulled her pants up and climbed back in the car. Silence. They drove along for a few more minutes until once again she shouted “OH MY GOD, PULL OVER NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN!!!! Cameron jerked the car over while Whitney proceeded to stumble out, moaned and once again explosively SHIT, only this time it was at their neighborhood park, next to the merry-go-round, with her husband and a homeless guy watching in disbelief.
Whitney got back in the car utterly exhausted, while poor Cameron wondered how he would ever get these horrifying images out of his mind. Truthfully, he didn’t even know girls pooped much less his own sexy wife of whom he had made passionate love to on countless occasions, made beautiful children with, cuddled with each night, taken on romantic lust-filled vacations and ate dinner with every single day. Perhaps he would try hypnosis or a mild sedative before he filed for divorce. Perhaps….
The next day Whitney woke up feeling perfectly fine. She poured a cup of coffee, stretched out her arms, lovingly stoked Cameron’s cheek, oblivious to his flinch while he pretended to read the paper to avoid making eye contact. Whitney smiled and yawned “Well last night was totally fun! That seriously was the BEST fish I have ever eaten, I definitely want to go back!” O.M.G. The Legend. XO