True! – nervous – very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? I am not mad, not in the slightest. The consumption of WOW! Potato Chips has sharpened my taste buds – not destroyed them – not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute, I heard all things from the internal expulsion of gases to the external explosions from the bowels of hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! And observe the lack of fat in my diet and low blood cholesterol.
It is impossible to say how the idea first entered my brain; but once it came to my attention it haunted me day and night. At the tail end of the 2003 year, I stockpiled the remaining stock of WOW chips from my local grocers before they were taken off the market for good. Yes, there was object. Indeed, passion. I desired – nay – lusted these chips. My eyes were that of the greediest pigeon; I was constantly pecking at these chips in front of homeless people who gather on my dark estate.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad? Madmen could not conceive of this. The expiration date of my chips would pass at the end of the day. I consumed 900 bags of WOW chips. You should have seen how I proceeded. Ripping the bags with precision and pouring the chips down my gullet. I wrote e-mails to my professors – expressing my need to celebrate the Irish potato famine – while I watched Punky Brewster on youtube.com. I was inspired.
Once the clock rung twelve, my objective was a success. Yet by my 9:00 a.m. class my stomach was gestating a deceased nine-month old fetus; the kind that one must deliver despite its death. Stomach acids churned and my stomach wailed in pain. My belly shrieked. The sounds echoed throughout the room. Evil eyes squinted in my direction. I turned my head to the obese girl next to me. All seemed satisfied. But not for long.
When I returned to my Butterfield dormitory, I could not take it anymore. My face grew pale and my mouth reeked of bile. I could only convince my roommate it was the squeaking of my vinyl chair so many times. The room began to reek of eggs and skunk. I ran to the bathroom.
My stomach pulsating; I twisted in agony. The rattling of my stomach echoed in my ears. My bowels throb as they release the leaky remnants of WOW chips. I could stand my own shrieks and the horror of the flatulence.
When I was done, I reached for the handle to flush the toilet my potato chips would not go down. There was no rushing of water. No pump contraction. No rattling of my feces. No sound at all. My audio heaven fell with the movement of bowels. I began to sweat. Nothing went down. I could smell the processed olestra permeate the bathroom. I could not leave the bathroom in this state. I pulled down as hard as I could on the handle. It rattled and rattled. I cried and with a mighty thrust pushed the handle down. Slowly, the water trickled into the bowl and pushed around the feces. My worry subsided and walked out of the bathroom.
Moments later my hearing returned. Water rushed underneath the bathroom door. The hall was flooded. Massive football players were lumbering to practice only to step in WOW. I am terribly sorry. I, Edgar Allan Poe, started the Butt leakage.