The essence of man

Last week, my lovely fiancee was out of town for a couple of days for work or meeting with friends or intensive therapy. I think she told me. I don't care.

Anyway as she was away, that meant that my home became a bachelor pad again. I was able to regress back to my single days when there were no rules about drinking and every woman at my local pub was a lesbian. But more importantly, with my fiancee's delicate taste buds and sense of smell out of the house and I could make myself a decent man-curry!

Women don't understand man-curry. They don't understand that the only way you can enjoy a curry is if you're in pain. Women are so stupid.

I prepared my chicken, potato and onion and chucked it all in one pot and then I smothered it all with extra hot peri-peri sauce. To this I added a tablespoon of extra hot curry powder. I then added a slight sprinkling of black pepper, a pinch of salt and finally another tablespoon of extra hot curry powder. This was then served on a bed of rice, which had curry powder in it.

While serving up, a drop of sauce dripped on the floor. I reached over for some kitchen paper to wipe up the drop, but when I turned back the drop had been replaced by a small hole in the floor. Odd.

I poured myself a large glass of cold water, just in case small fires broke out in the vicinity of my plate and sat down to dinner.

I could definitely taste the curry in the first bite I took, but you know how you get that momentary delay after being kicked in the balls by a lesbian in a pub, before the real pain hits? Well after about thirty seconds of my first bite it felt like I had a dozen angry lesbians in my mouth. Not literally, because lesbians are generally fat.

Despite not watching my favourite sports team lose in a large sporting event at the time, tears appeared in my eyes. I felt snot starting to run down my face. Ear wax melted and dripped onto my collar. I felt my face go bright pink like a Catholic priest's first day at an orphanage for the blind.

For my second bite I attempted to avoid any contact with my taste buds by thrusting my fork to the back of my throat, like a well trained step-daughter. The fire spread to my throat and I felt the burning go all the way down to my stomach. The only reason why I didn't throw-up was because that would mean that the curry would have to touch my blistered lips again.

I continued to eat the curry, which due to the stream of tears was becoming saltier with every bite. The last time I was in so much pain I was forced to watch Glee with people who thought that it had a storyline.

An intense headache had started at the back of my head and was now starting to throb like a fat man running away from a salad bar. I was no longer able to focus on my fork, as my tears were very quickly dehydrating me. I felt around the plate and made stabbing motions near my mouth, hoping that some of it was going in like a virgin finding a corpse in the forest, but not really sure as I had lost all sense of touch from my neck up.

I eventually finished my meal and attempted to rehydrate myself by drinking water from the shower. I then shat myself.

Luckily I was in the shower at the time and as it definitely appeared to be my lucky day, I was shitting brown water, which went mostly down the plug hole, except for some stuff on the wall.

Finally my body stopped leaking fluids and slowly returned to a bearable temperature. Exhausted, I climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep, hoping that I would be fully recovered for work the next day.

The next morning I felt drained but strong enough to head off to work. I made it through the morning by sipping on green tea, but by lunch time I knew I would have to attempt to eat something again. I had no appetite but forced myself to have my lunch. After the first bite, I starting to feel hot again. My headache returned with avengeance and my eyes seemed to have had a sprinkler system turned on.

In retrospect I probably shouldn't have boxed up the remaining curry from the night before and taken it to work with me for my lunch, but if we did everything retrospectively we'd be living in the past and fucking our ancestors and nobody wants that, except my grandma.