Ocassionally, somehow I’ll swallow a strand of my foot-long hair. The scary part is that they come out intact. Why doesn’t my hair get digested?
No one’s hair gets digested. Cecil explained about beozars.
**
Indeed, my friend.
Dangit, I just remembered something else. I think I may have mentioned this on another poop thread butt it was a very traumatic moment.
Cut to 6th grade. Boy’s elementary school bathroom. Tile walls. Tile floors. Probably tile ceiling and mirrors. Very reflective of the tiniest sound.
I had the poops. It’s what we called them back then. I had to go. Really really bad. Unfortunately, the closer I got to the stall the worse my situation became until, about 5 feet away, I knew I couldn’t make it and just had to cross my legs. Anything to keep from shitting my pants. So I’m standing there like a juvenile pretzel waiting for the gas attack to pass so I can regain the use of my legs. Only it doesn’t pass.
I start to feel the presence of an escapee. I’m squeezing my young butt checks with all my might but a fart bubble is about to overpower me. Blam! This loud, single clap of stink comes out. Blam! There’s another. Blam! One Mississippi, two Mississippi… Blam! Three Mississippi, four Mississippi… Blam! I have to cover my ears as these slow explosions turn the bathroom into a gun range.
It was like I was shooting a fart revolver in an echo chamber and I couldn’t even step into a booth to hide my shame. About this time Ms. Hattie looks in to see what all the rucus is about. That did it. I leaned over towards the stall and dragging my useless legs behind me pulled my ridgid body in.
And locked the door. For a very long time.
F*cking cafeteria food.