…so I was hungry, you know. It’s hard to maintain this calorie-restricted diet my doctor has me on, telling me it’ll help me live forever, as if however long my life would otherwise be isn’t long enough. And it’s hard enough to avoid temptation when you aren’t starving yourself on three hundred calories a day, let alone when you are.
I was at the Mets game, so of course I was looking for a distraction, and I remembered reading something about Ryne Sandberg and Shake Shack, but I couldn’t quite remember what it was, since my short-term memory is shot from, uh, something that happened to me, I think, that I’m having a bit of trouble recalling….
Anyway, Shake Shack sounded good, since I am known to enjoy the occasional fast food indulgence. Well, I wouldn’t say “enjoy,” since what can any of us really enjoy given what’s been going on in the Ukraine, but I can at least usually tolerate and effectively digest a hamburger. And anything that brings me closer in spirit to a Hall of Famer like Ryne Sandberg can’t be a bad thing, so after waiting six and a half innings on line, I ordered a Shack Stack — that’s a cheeseburger and a mushroom burger, on top of each other, just like my brother and sister used to sleep right on top of me when we were kids and our parents could only afford half a bunk bed.
The burger comes, and it looked a little funky — I mean, there were mouse footprints inside, and it was kind of a greenish-purple, if that makes any sense on the color spectrum, and I took a few bites and
OH MY GOD MY INSIDES ARE COMING OUT OF ME
MY OBP (ON BOWL PERCENTAGE) WAS 1.000. FOR DAYS.
ALTHOUGH MY BABIP (BATTING AVERAGE ON BOWELS IN PLAY) WAS ONLY ABOUT .275.
(Fortunately I keep a mop in the bathroom.)
MY FIP (FECES-INDEPENDENT POOPING) WAS VERY VERY HIGH.
I don’t know what was pouring out, I really don’t.
AND I HAD FOUR BS (BLOWN-OUT SKIVVIES) IN JUST TWO HOURS.
I was about -300 Wipes Above Replacement before everything finally started to subside and I could get on with my depressing life of data entry and cat wrangling. Of course, I had to sneak out a locked Citi Field by climbing the outfield wall since no one had bothered to check the family restroom before locking everything up. And so at four in the morning, there I was, dangling over by the big Home Run Apple, trying to hail a taxi cab in the middle of Flushing (and having killed my eardrums with the sound of Flushing for hours and hours in a row), underwear balled up in my pocket, and the second half of my burger in a to-go bag.
And I was hungry.
So I figured I’d chance it and eat the rest.
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