ding dong! EDF calling!

Okay people. This story is not for the weak of stomach nor those who wish not to know me well. This is definitely in the category of "things I didn't need to know about Stephanie."

Many moons ago, I sent an email out to a few family members and close friends about something I call the EDF. Now, the original email cannot be found, and I've long wanted to re-create it. But, I thought, I should wait until I'm "inspired" again, or it will be lacking that sense of pain and urgency. Well, guess what. It's your lucky fucking day. I'm "inspired."

See, when I was a kid growing up, my mom told me about the tooth fairy, and santa claus, and the easter bunny. There were all these fairy tale figures who brought goodness and joy (and money and chocolate) at night while I slept. But what she never warned me about was the bastard step-child of the fairy tale world: the Explosive Diarrhea Fairy (or EDF for short).

The EDF, unlike other creatures, comes not only at night, but really any time he damn well pleases. He's a small, fat, blading, burly man who shows a plumber's crack at all times. He's omnipresent, lurking around corners and in shadows, watching carefully what you eat, and waiting for the most inopportune moment possible to wave his warped little wand and put a an evil spell of the trots on you. He knows, for example, when I've eaten Mexican or Thai food, gives me about 20 minutes to think I'll be okay, then Poof!

The EDF's spell creates what is essentially an express canal that bypasses all 30 feet of intestinal fortress and directly connects your stomach to your ass. The express canal, when opened, means that within about 30 minutes of eating, you'll be shitting your brains out for no apparent reason. This is the deranged humor of the EDF.

And to add insult to injury, he throws in a little pre-game show in which you must sit and suffer hot flash, cold flash, hot flash, cold flash, wondering why you are sweating/freezing until you feel a gastrointestinal rumble that you know ain't natural. And while you dab at your sweaty brow with a towel, fanning yourself and drinking water, the EDF lurks from afar, waiting to see your EDM (Explosive Diarrhea March) down the hallway, cheeks clenched, as you barge into the bathroom and drop an EDB (Explosive Diarrhea Bomb), consequently clearing out the whole floor and being heretofore known as "the one with the stank ass."

So here I sit, just coming off a hot flash but now shivering, knowing that the EDF is about to strike again. If you see me doing the EDM down the hall, please, evacuate the premises, and if you see the EDF anywhere, tell him I'm coming to kick his ass...as soon as I get off the can.