a memo

17 July 2002

To: The Dumbass Most Recently Known As Marcie
From: Intestinal Tract Union Local 509
Re: Tonight's Dining Experience

Listen, this really has to stop. We can't work under these conditions.

Every time you go to Chili's you order some greasy little appetizer and the fajita quesadillas, and then you wash it all down with about a gallon of sweet iced tea. We don't mind that so much; you know we like our jobs and everything. The tea is easy on the kidneys (well, less than a fuckin' GALLON of it, anyway). The pancreas, liver, and gallbladder have a good working relationship, so it's okay about the quesadillas. (With extra sour cream. You're going to hear about it from the circulatory system later, okay? We're just sayin'.) And if anyone complains, they usually get, "Hey, shut up, it's not McDonald's, right? Don't give her any ideas." If you would just leave it alone after the quesadillas, we'd even be willing to overlook the onion blossom appetizer. Really. We're not cruel organs.

But man, you just don't know when to quit. You can't stop with the quesadillas and just drink some more fucking tea or something. You have to get the goddamn Molten Lava Fudge Cake after we're already loaded down with work. With hot fudge sauce. And a big scoop of ice cream. With a candy shell on it. (Oh, and by the way? Just because you don't have lactose intolerance now doesn't mean you can't mysteriously acquire it later. The stomach doesn't like dealing with that shit. If you wake up one day and hurl all over your breakfast cereal... well, again, we're just sayin'. Only a fool pisses off the stomach.) Do you realize what your lower intestine has had to deal with tonight? I mean, here we all are, processing this shite food through as fast as we can to get it over with, and the lower intestine just gives it up in the middle. And this guy is a workaholic, dude, he just pumps through his work when he's on his game. I mean, you've seen him go; he's top-fucking-notch.

But you damn near killed him with that goddamn Molten Lava Fudge Cake. Didn't you notice the name of the thing? You know why it's called that? Because it erupts inside your fucking colon, that's why!

You're really lucky we're not filing a whole slew of grievances. The only reason we won't is because the lower intestine has already dealt out retribution for your excess -- I'm sure you noticed that five minutes in the bathroom earlier was quite a bit busier than it usually is, shall we say.

We normally don't mind working for you, so here's a free piece of advice from us to you.

Have the onion blossom, sure. Chow down on those quesadillas. But eat that damn cake again, and you'll have to put up with a lot worse than five minutes of the trots. Consider this your official warning. We can only handle so much of your shit.