Hamburger Hell

Friend J had this to say in an email to me last night: Update your blog already dammit! : )

So here goes. And yes, I am hearing voices. Especially at 3 a.m.

Elizabeth...

Is someone there? What?

Elizabeth Taylor, you can't eat like you used to anymore. You should know that. You're not in Texas anymore.

What are you talking about? Of course I'm not in Texas anymore!

Well, remember when you used to eat fried chicken and fried okra and nachos smothered in cheap cheddar cheese sauce and jalepenos and hamburgers all the time?

Dont. Say. Hamburgers.

Yeeeees, it was the 1/2 lb Greek hamburger you devoured several hours ago that put you here, wasn't it? Doubled up on the bathroom throne in immense pain, cursing your existence.

I know I'm in immense pain. I don't need YOU to tell me I'm in immense pain! Who are you anyway?

I'm your tummy. And so far I've been really happy since you moved to California. Did you know it's been over a year since you ate a hamburger?

Really?

Yes. And that I'm used to salads and bland foods and no spices and low fat? I like this California cuisine!

Yeah but I really wanted that big burger...

And fries.

Don't say fries.

Now Elizabeth, I can trust we won't end up here again for this reason in the far, far future, right?

Damn you.

I'm just your tummy dear. It's not my fault.

It's totally your fault for damning me to a life of boring salads and pita bread. You're a bitch and I'll hate you forever.

Okie dokie then. As long as we understand each other. Why don't you get mad at your legs instead? At least you don't have to shave me every other day of your life.

Every other day? Where have you been? That's a funny one.

Yeah, I'm a regular jokester.

Can I go to bed now? It's 3 a.m.

Sure. At your own risk.

I hate you.

Ditto.