Your IBS Is Your Fault

Hey, you. Guy with three hot dogs in his mouth. I got a message for you. Your irritable bowel syndrome is your fault.

No one's making you cram two eggo waffles, a plate of chicken alfredo, and a bucket of animal crackers in your pie hole. Nobody forced you at gunpoint to sprinkle tabasco sauce all over the jalapeno scrambled eggs you ate for breakfast. That McDonald's value meal you just devoured? Pretty sure that wonderful amalgamation of soy fillers, trans fats, and carbonated soda didn't crawl down your gullet on its own accord. Naw, man. You put that stuff in you.

Cap 'n' crunch isn't made to be eaten three times a day. Diet coke was originally designed to clean coffee pots, not the lining of your stomach. That blockage in your intestinal tract was not put there by God. Just because you can eat a whole pizza doesn't mean that it's a good idea. In fact, if you've ever considered eating a whole pizza, I can assure you that good ideas come as frequently to your brain as the nightly cloud of dementia comes to the current President of the United States. Stop putting garbage into your mouth, dumb ass.

So you had a cleanse the other day. You drank spring water and ate nothing but graham crackers like some 19th century prude. You still don't know what a vegetable is, or how to cook anything other than refried beans, but your Medusa's nest of an intestine is feeling somewhat better. Your bowel movements are beginning to resemble the droppings of a large, herbivorous mammal rather than the shit-water of a man dying from dysentery. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking about how good a bowl of Skyline chili would taste right now, followed by two or three chili cheese coneys. Let me tell you a secret that only folks from the Natty know: Cincinnati chili is recycled hobo shit. You can't digest it--it's already been digested. It's impossible, like a unicorn or a skunk ape. Don't try it, you can't do it. You just can't.

I once lived like you did, if you could call what I led a life. I dined on cases of Miller High Life mixed with bathwater bleach and ammonium nitrate. I ate the carcass of a dead animal, no matter what condition it was in. Once, just for the hell of it, I chewed up all the plastic in my house. What the dog ate, I ate. The stomach pains I suffered through were the stuff of legend. Sometimes it took weeks for me to poop. Other times, it just took a second. Underwear was a scarce resource. You can't wash the unwashable. You just have to throw it in the trash.

So don't tell me about your IBS, bro. Pull those hot dogs out of your mouth and get a grip before you find yourself eating gravel and tree bark. If I did it, you can do it. You can do anything.