Oh man, I hate when things go in the wrong way. I hate accidentally drinking
water into my lungs, I hate accidentally dusting heavy blunt objects in the
nude, I hate umm... all those other wrong ways. Most of all, mostest of
allest, I hate getting rice in my nose. I always look like such an arse when
I get a grain of rice in my nose, and you know how important it is not to
look like an arse in this world, especially if you're eating curry (y'know,
cos someone'll say "You look like an arse. Oh, and I guess if you're an
arse, then the curry you're eating is the shit, but going in the wrong way."
You try eating something after the connection to faeces has been made).
ENT. Ear, nose and throat. All connected by crazyfuck headfuck pipes. Ignore
ears because deaf people exist. Nose and throat connected. Rice at the back
of my throat. One grain makes a break for freedom - rather sentient for
rice, but as with humanity there always will be the odd specimen who
transcends those other plebs. Or I breathe the wrong way, I swallow the
wrong way, I sniff the wrong way, some medical thing happens the wrong way,
and I have a grain of rice in my nose, and snot flopping down my lips.
Pleasant. Keep eating. I'll be alright. If only I'd tucked a tissue up my
sleeve. And I'm starting to look like an arse.
Flee in search of a tissue and look like an arse, or hope to quickly sniff
it back to where it belongs and not look like an arse unless I fuck up.
Choices, choices. Just as your body tries to repel foreign bodies in the
nose by gushing forth mighty torrents of snot, so your brain is overridden
when you have a grain of rice in your nose and you (or I; if there's one
thing I hate that isn't rice in my nose or all those other things I hate
it's when one would say one, but one doesn't because one doesn't sound like
an arse. "Oh you said one. You sound like an arse. I guess your food must be
the shit then, but going in the wrong way." Such a waste of food when poor
starving African children are poor and starving). I sit. You sit. We sniff.
We cough. We wipe. We try to be subtle and blow on a piece of naan, but
still the fucking rice fucking stays there. And we look like an arse, but I
look more arsey because it's not you, it's me. I'm a fucking arse. Fuck. And
I have a piece of rice stuck in my fucking nose, and I'm dripping and
sniffing and wiping and blowing on a piece of Indian flat bread. And I look
like an arse, and you say my food now looks like shit, and I'd not want to
eat it anyway because it's got snot in and I'm all pissed off.
Arse. I'm an arse. I have rice in my nose, snot in my food, snot on my face,
snot on my clothes, and I look like an arse. Nothing works. The rice stays
there. Even if I'd transcended my animal instincts and gone to get a tissue,
no amount of blowing would have fixed it. Nothing works but sneezing, but my
body hates me (a bit of fucking support and solidarity would be nice but
ohhhhhhhhhhh no. Fucking thing. I'll slap it about a bit later, teach it
who's boss) and won't sneeze. You don't, y'know. You don't sneeze when you
have a grain of rice in your nose until your hands are swamped with snot and
tattooists are offering to give you a free tattoo saying "Arse" somewhere
discrete just so you don't forget the shame and embarrassment of looking
like such an arse, and then not wanting to touch your food because someone
made the connection between it and shit - y'know, what with you being an
arse an' all, but with the shit going in the wrong way. And then you sneeze,
and the grain of rice drops back into your throat all snotty and you have to
swallow it. Yeah. I hate it when that happens.