Food poisoning
When I first moved out of home 4 years ago, I was suddenly faced with the monumental task of having to actually do things for myself. Things like washing, cleaning and of course cooking. No problem, thought I. This is what grown-ups do. I’m a grown up. I’ll make myself a chicken stir-fry like what those chef cooks do on the telly. Easy.

The result of which being me completely and utterly fucked with food poisoning for a couple of days. As I’m sure anyone who’s ever suffered from food poisoning will tell you, it is certainly one of the more unpleasant ailments one can be stricken down with. For two whole days, when I wasn’t laid up in bed feeling like death itself the toilet was on the receiving end of the fiercest of bombardments from either my arse or my mouth. It was a bit like that south park episode when Kenny accidentally spikes his dad with abortion pills.

The legacy of this incident is that I now have a crippling phobia of stir-fries. Wouldn’t touch one if you paid me to now. Even though I know full well I was only sick because I clearly mustn’t have cooked the chicken thoroughly enough, stir-fries are now so tightly associated in my mind with that 48hrs from hell that to this day the mere thought of one makes me shudder.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 13:00, 1 reply)

So anyway
Fancy a Chinese?
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 13:09, closed)