Shotgun, ak-47, pistol, katana. I don’t want to live long term in a zombie apocalypse, just need the firepower for a bit of fun before I go. After I run out of ammo for the shotgun and the AK, I use the pistol to kill myself - the katana is just in case I get caught short at close range
When my IBS-C was at its worst, a week, 7 days, was not uncommon, and my lord was it painful. I don’t know how my longest wait was, but I was put on a diet of pedialyte and given a medicine derived from E. coli.
This was a reference to a dude a few months ago who needed diet recommendations that would make him not poop for 3 days. He ruled out a few things but for the most part, refused to elaborate as to why.
And then scavenge around a city, getting an axe, a flashlight, a first aid kit, a bicycle (not motorbike because fuel), a survival kit (matches/flint, compass, etc.) and some survival guidebooks such as general survival guide or foraging guide. Now you’re all set for making a shelter in the woods and staying away from everything, making occasional trips to the city for supplies. Maybe you’ll even manage to make a kinda comfy home up a tree or something.
Infinite poop. You sit on the toilet to poop, but the poop never stops coming out of your butt. You have to start flushing the toilet every two minutes to keep up. You try to pinch your butt closed but that makes your insides hurt. The poop accelerates. You call 911. The paramedics call for doctors. The doctors call for specialists. The story trends on Twitter. You turn down talk show appearances. Your septic tank fails. People form a cult. Your toilet is finished. Volunteers arrive with buckets and shovels. You are completely used to the smell. The poop accelerates. You are moved to a stepladder with a hole in the top step. The poop accelerates. The shovelers abandon the buckets and shovel directly out the window. The poop accelerates. A candlelight vigil forms around your house. One of the workers falls over and can’t free himself. The poop accelerates. A priest knocks over the stepladder and tackles you out the window. You land in the pile. The poop accelerates. The force now propels you forward and upward. Vigil goers grab at your legs. The poop ignites from their candles. The Facebook live event hits 1 million viewers. The poop accelerates. You are 30 feet in the air. The fire engulfs the vigil and your house. 60 feet. The poop accelerates. The torrent underneath you is deafening. 5 million Facebook live viewers. You try to close up shop but your butthole disintegrated long ago. 120 feet up. Your house explodes. The poop accelerates. 1000 feet. You are now tracked on radar. You try to change your angle of ascent but you should have thought of that way earlier. The poop accelerates. 4,000 feet. NORAD upgrades to DEFCON 3. Concentric circles of fire engulf your city. The poop accelerates. You have broken the sound barrier. 30,000 feet. You no longer take in enough oxygen to sustain consciousness. 60,000 feet. CNN is reporting on all the world records you’ve broken. 200,000 feet. You are no longer alive. The poop accelerates. Your body disintegrates but your poop contrail remains. NASA can no longer track you. You break the light-speed barrier and we can no longer bear witness. The poop accelerates. Forever.
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