I wonder if she'll read this
Mrs God sometimes (OK, every chance she gets) likes to tease me with Pork Scratchings. Or, as I refer to them, Satan's Turds. Even the sight of them can squick me out completely. And I'm otherwise quite tough. But she doesn't know *why*.

It started at school. At school, there was this kid called Gilbert. Or something like that, anyway. He was quite ugly, and always had this bit on top of his head where it looked like something had oozed out and then coagulated. It used to look like his Dad was Contagion, 3rd Horseman of the Apocalypse. He ate them. Especially the ones with hair on them. I mean, hairy food. Eww.

Finally, during my 1st year at Uni, somewhat tanked up, I tried one. I dimly remember bouncing my teeth off something hairy, then managing to swallow. I reached for my pint to try and wash this thing down, but my body reacted faster. I hurled into my glass, refilling it about half way. At this point, I realised my body was panicking. I fled the bar, pausing only to throw up every twenty yards or so. By the time I'd made it to the door of the building I was staying in, I'd refilled a pint glass. I dropped it into the bin, then hurled in that. OK, long story short. This was Friday. By Sunday, I'd burned my throat raw, fasted for 48 hours, and was basically heaving with every breath.

I ate for the next time late on Monday. And just about kept it down.

A few weeks later, my Dad offered me some crackling, which is apparently the same thing. Apparently, I can be sick just being near something my body isn't prepared to consider.

Now, I live in the Midlands. Here, pork scratchings are everywhere. Eww. Mrs. God can get them off the shelves in T****'s if she wants.

Eww.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Sat 19 May 2007, 18:03, Reply)