A Pepto Tale
One of Sean's many obsessions is with Pepto-Bismol. (Or, rather, Target Brand Pink Bismuth Liquid). If I happen to complain about some ailment, be it a stubbed toe or gangrene, he's lightning quick to suggest: "Why don't you take some Pepto? Take some Pepto, honey! It'll make you feel better! It's yummy!"
What Sean does not understand is that if one has a digestive system with any sort of sensitivity, one cannot, I repeat, NOT go around chugging Pink Death. To do so is to capitulate all thoughts of pooping for the next week, if not longer. And it is not, in any way, shape, or form, yummy. In fact, I would say that the opposite is true--that Pepto is, in fact, yucky.
That said, Pepto does come in very handy when one is having issues of, shall we say, ass explosivity. It functions as the only nonsexual buttplug.
Now, I have been a bit under the weather this week. It began as a cold, but as things drifted south, I began to feel the first twinges of Upset Tummy-ness. Yep. It was one of Those Times. I was in need of some Pepto.
Except, there wasn't any. None. Nada. Ix-nay on the epto-pay.
Why is that?
Well, I'll tell you. That is because Sean chugs Pepto. He does shots of it the way some people shoot tequila. He drinks it as a beverage, likening it to strawberry milkshakes in consistency and flavor. He uses it in recipes as a substitute for milk, butter, or eggs. He finds any possible way to suck down as much pepto as is humanly possible.
And he will be very, very sorry for that When I Get Home.