Getting Pissy About Diarrhea

True story time! Also, the second Nest of Grump entry.

Please note that this is a post about my guts. I have written a letter to my stomach. Don't enjoy belly aching? Well, you're never gonna get anywhere with that attitude. And if you're reading this while taking a poo, I love you unconditionally.

(via Fart Party. Love ya, girl)


First, some recent history...

I have stomach issues. Straight up. I had an endoscope put down my esophagus in July. In fact, that experience was the catalyst for this blog. The GI doctor that performed the procedure didn't find anything physically wrong with me, therefore limiting any effective treatment. Official diagnosis, dyspepsia. Essentially, I have IBS of the upper intestines. He put me on some muscle relaxants that supposedly target the intestines, but the results have been mixed at best.

I've also been told (and believe) that 80% of my stomach problems are caused by my mind and the anxieties that dwell within it. Nerves in the gut have the highest amount of serotonin in the body. Serotonin is a neurotransmitter that regulates mood. I'm a moody fucker. Correlation? You bet your cthulhu.

In conclusion, I have the capacity to cause my own physical suffering. Neat!


Onto my letter...


Dear My Stomach,
I know we haven't really talked in a while, but I feel that some things need to be addressed. About us. Please bear with me and take what I say into consideration. You'll always be a part of me, that's a given. But, tell me, how did it ever come to this?

We used to be so close. Remember back in high school, when I fed you grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and Mongolian Beef for dinner, with a couple Twix bars in between? Yeah, you remember. You broke down all that stuff with the grace of a figure skater. Those were some good times. We had a great love for each other back then. An excess of love, actually. I was fat. Remember?

(2002)

But you were industrious and I was happy back then. Even when I was eating entire pizzas, 4 times a week, you never hassled me. We were in love with amounts and flavors. Chinese buffets and microwaveable junk food. Pop Tarts and burritos. Cheddar Sun Chips and peanut butter. Crab Rangoon! Those were the days.



Sure, I felt bad about my body. Buying larger pants and trying to conceal man-boobs took a toll on my self-esteem. Forever. But you never betrayed me with pain or digestive difficulty. You did your job and I did mine.

Then, about six years ago, you started to rebel against my cavalier eating habits. You stopped breaking down dairy. Pizza, once a source of delight, became an agent of distress. Horrible cramps and diarrhea occurred. I had to sacrifice all lactose. I felt greatly restricted at first. But with a little time and some perspective, I got over it. After all, everything else was still fair game. We were still pals. There was no use lamenting the things I could not change. Tacos without cheese are still delicious. And without cheese in my diet, I was able to drop a few pounds. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. I went from 255 to 180. Not bad.

(2005)

But the hostility didn't stop there. It grew. Tacos soon brought with them a nauseous wrath. Butter made my belly bubble. Eggs, spicy foods, green peppers, pie. All became forbidden after incurring hefty penalties. And the list of verboten vittles continued to swell.

What exactly were you trying to prove? I mean, what the fuck?!

And lately, you've gotten mean. For the past three years, you have made my life a living hell, not to mention severely limiting my food options. I have discovered that you will not tolerate anything with fats or oils in them. There's not a fried thing I can eat without indigestion, nausea, bloating, and heartburn. Nuts are out. Guacamole? Nope. Chocolate? Not unless I want some Chernobyl farts. No more steak, either. Peanut butter cookies, gone.

You tyrant!

The things I can eat without problems? Cereal, oatmeal, toast, rice, chicken, turkey, dry crackers, pasta, soy milk, and other bland edibles. Woo-fucking-hoo.




If you disapprove of anything I give to you, anything that even slightly glistens, you make the next 6 or 7 hours of my life unbearable. All I can do is drink water and ride it out while watching TV. I can't go out. I can't write or be funny. All my efforts are put into recovering from these erratic bouts of lousiness. Do you realize that my quality of life, our quality of life, suffers from your never ending wickedness? Something has to change. And soon.

I know that I may have overworked you in the past, but those days are long over. There's no need for revenge, partner. I cut a lot of bad shit out of my diet for you. We've hit a rough patch, sure, but without your appetite suppression tactics, I wouldn't own the lean body that I sport today. I'm grateful to you for that.

Sex-machine. Minus the sex.



But, this can't go on forever. It just can't. The future I desire doesn't include agonizing nights curled up in a ball, clutching my stomach. I'm at the end of my rope. If you stop this war right now, all will be forgiven. I want a truce. I want for us to be buddies again. I'm reaching out to you. Please take my hand.

All My Love,
Kid Douche

U.S.S. Kid Douche Hits Iceberg, Spills Guts

Personal and advice seeking blog alert!

Well, it's been almost a full month since my first blog, and I feel like I've learned a thing or two about perseverance in that time. I really didn't think I'd still be doing the every day posting shuffle, figuring I'd putter out around the two week mark, but here we are. It's been a good way of developing some sort of a creative discipline instead of wasting my time watching DVDs, getting initiated into various gangs, and hitting on the manager of my local Quizno's. I'm proud of myself for keeping this going, even though sometimes the quality of the posts are not what I'd consider top notch, but I'll get to that later. I basically started this as a way to pull myself out of a creative rut and boy oh boy, has it worked like gangbusters (and Ghostbusters). Putting thoughts into action instead of holding them in my vault (mind) has made me realize that I need to actualize, man. Do things instead of not doing things. Unleash my potential like a junk yard dog on pay day.



As I've stated earlier, the catalyst for the creation of this here blog was when I happened to stumble upon Brendan Donnelly's blog. You know how when The Ramones played in a new city, and the people who saw them got inspired to create their own bands? That's pretty much how I felt after seeing the simplicity and hilarity of the Brendan Donnelly blog template (not to mention Street Boners and TV Carnage, Fart Party, The Arab Parrot, and Sorry I Missed Your Party, to name a few). I sort of mimicked the style completely at first, and have slowly been trying to find my own voice and style ever since.

Here's my personal creative issues in a nutshell:

My video projects never get started because it always seems like an overwhelming endeavor, so I put it off, pretty much all the time. I got so used to doing nothing that it became normal.

Here's the stuff I do that makes me feel alive, yet I've been neglecting out of fear, anxiety, laziness, psychosomatic illnesses, guilt, and spite. Enjoy The Ovening! (please note that the first 15 seconds are blank)
The Ovening



As my good friends know, I'm basically a 67-year old man in a 26 year-old's body (hubba hubba). I've got all sorts of medications, bowel disorders, insomnia, anxiety and dental issues. You know, the regular Jew maladies.

I don't like driving and hate almost everyone that I meet. I'm incredibly loyal to the people that I love, but that's just covers my family, and about 7 other people. Everyone else can go fuck themselves with Bagel Bites.



Kid Douche was an easy way for me to start the process of making my life become more like Jurassic Park. I've failed in that respect, but gained many new dinosaur dreams, which are predictably terrifying.



So with all that out of the way, what I'd like to propose is a way for me to have more quality posts, instead of the sometimes questionable ones that piss me off days later when I reread them. I don't know what you, the reader, enjoy the most, and I'd really appreciate some feedback, even negative feedback. Do you like the fake biographies, the pictures, the captions, the meanderings into personal territory, the video clips, the photoshopped crap, the general negativity, or the violent nonsense? Just let me know what the best parts are, and I'll focus on them more. I'm up for anything, really, and haven't decided on what kind of content I want to pursue in depth. Hell, you could suggest that I write a soup diary with status reports on how Ukrainian I feel.

In the meantime, I'm not going to be posting every day anymore. If I do, I'll end up like this:


I will be posting every other day, and my friend Dan, who hasn't picked a handle yet, will be posting as well. I don't have the slightest clue what he will be writing about, but he likes music, drinking, and obscene nonsense, so he'll probably write about that. Here's a picture of him (I'm not kidding, this is really my friend Dan)


He's a computer whiz and knows way more shit than I do about flash and web design and gif making. He's a good friend who's pumped to write, and I have full confidence in his ability to entertain all y'all brain stems.

I'm excited about the prospects of this here blog, because I'm only starting to realize the limitless potential such a forum creates. I'd like thank each and every one the people who check this site out frequently, and hopefully, with some time and effort, it will become a better blog.

Bodat!