It stopped right after it hit your face. Honest.

For the past few weeks, I have given in to the temptation of warm, cheesy Baconator burgers on the way home from work quite often. The full-length mirror in my bedroom has begged me to stop. I am now in the process of de-Baconing myself. On the third day of primarily eating large salads filled with nuts, I produced three major shits within four hours. Big ones; ones that left me feeling as if I'd suddenly stopped carrying a suitcase full of three huge batches of shit. I think the build-up is coming loose from the walls of my intestines, and everybody's getting out while the gettin's good. It's almost like my insides can touch again, and they've never been so happy. I can't wait until I get over these vain concerns about my health so I can order two Baconators with jalapeno poppers. They don't sell those items at the same place, but I'm prepared to make the effort and later claim that it all just fell in my lap. It's not a true addiction, but that doesn't make it right, either. I sleep now, looking forward to tomorrow's output. I don't have cable.