I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that steak. But when someone cooks a meal for you, it’s rude to turn it down. And so I graciously accepted the dense red meat.
Alas, the enzymes in my body are not trained to deal with such immense slabs of protein. For a week after, the steak crawled through my pipes, barely digesting at all. It felt like a block of steel.
Every meal that followed was held up by the congestion. Days passed by and the troublesome, slow-moving steak let nothing slip past its wide berth. I have never felt so bloated in my entire life.
All I could do was wait. I was at the complete mercy of this large vehicle and it took forever to travel through my system. Before long, I lost my appetite because literally nothing else would fit inside my body!
When the steak finally reached the end of its slow voyage, I braced myself for the release and sensed that it was going to be a difficult birth. Sitting on the toilet, I pushed with all my might. The steak seemed reluctant to leave. I squatted there for quite some time before it showed any signs of shifting.
There was no going back now. No matter how long it took, I would remain on the toilet until the bitter end. After many painful pushes, the steak finally dislodged and came out in one solid lump.
Now that the cork was gone, a week’s worth of backlog escaped from my bowels. For the following ten minutes, a steady stream of sludge poured out of my body, my clogged pipes becoming clear once more. The sudden emptiness caused a little bit of nausea, but I was glad that the ordeal was over. Curse my mother’s cooking.