and its called… Thornton’s diabetic chocolates.
Some will remember my post on agent Picolax’s legendary bowl emptying powers, well I had a visit from its friend today.
My darling niece decided to buy uncle a couple of small bags of Thornton’s diabetic chocolates for his birthday, I thought at the time how sweet it was for her to think and make the effort to get something I could eat.
Well after a bit of a celebration yesterday and a room full of family messing around and having a laugh (don’t ask about the grape!) I was finally left on my own late last night feeling worn out and distinctly peckish.
I picked up the bag of chocolates and read the label, hmm fine for diabetics, no added sugar, but nothing about Krakatoa’s cousin’s residing within, just a little note that for those not used to it, the sweetener used can have a mild laxative effect…..
MILD!!??? who the hell tests this stuff, they must have a ring piece the size of the Dartford tunnel!! …
I off course quaffed the whole packet as it was only tiny, and followed it with another, nice, a slight after-taste, but nice all the same.
I stayed up till dawn then slipped off into a nice gentle slumber until 2pm this afternoon, when I woke on feeling the bed moving and hearing a terrible noise, I thought it was an earthquake, but…. it wasn’t… it was my ‘arris.. blowing about a 12.5 on the sphincter scale!!
I chuckled to myself (as you do on giving birth to something on that volume scale) but just as I finished chuckling I felt that familiar gripping sensation and recoiled slightly as another rent the air.
This was to become a familiar pattern over the next 8 hours as around every minute the behemoth my ‘arris had become erupted in full voice.
20 mins in, the dog legged it, 40 mins in I had to open all the windows, 1 hr in and I cant remember whether I threw the duvet off myself or blew the damn thing off!!
By 6pm I knew I couldn’t risk eating anything and the carer was alternately laughing herself silly and running to get out of the blast radius!.
My brother turned up and very quickly left saying he would come back “when you’ve tamed that bugger”.
Sadly just after the carer left the inevitable happened and with me hanging onto the bedsheets for dear life another explosion that felt like it was going to send my prostate to Holland the quick way, ripped through the air to my cry of “oh crap” and then I did.. all over the damn bed..thus was to begin Phase two..
Phase one had obviously been to try and blow anything and everything either within me or a 10ft radius of my dangerous end, to hell and probably back again.
Phase two was wring the bugger dry and destroy the commode..
I have never been on and off the damn thing so much in my life, if I had gaffa tape I would have cut out the middle man and just stuck the ruddy thing to my arris and had done with it..
by 7pm I was out of bog roll, by 8pm the towels where used up and I was on the phone to mummy…” for gods sake help me… and bring a cork.. a ruddy big one..” another griping pain hit me and as I threw myself at the remains of the commode… I exploded mid air.. the dog snarled and growled at me and as I landed with more of a horrible squelch than I thud, I just gave up and collapsed forward onto the bed.
20 mins later that’s where I was found, to weak and battered to get up again.
Luckily things have calmed somewhat over the last couple of hours, I had drunk plenty of water during its assault and after eating a small meal silence has once again returned.
I still feel like I’ve done 20 rounds with mike tyson plus Mandy’s “bunker buster” butt plug,and I’m sure I no longer have a prostate problem, in fact I’m not sure I still have a prostate!!
I’m now trying to build up the strength in my arms and hands so I can strangle the niece tomorrow!!