So there I was, standing in Buc-ee’s snack aisle—America’s Mecca of beef, beavers, and bad decisions—when my lizard brain whispered, “Hey champ, ghost pepper jerky can’t be that spicy.”
Fast-forward to 10 p.m. I’m annihilating said jerky when I start getting this uneasy warm feeling in my stomach. Cue the Metamucil. But why stick to the recommended single scoop when you can double-fist fiber like an overachieving geriatric? I felt like I needed triple the dose to calm my poor stomach.
Midnight strikes. My stomach starts sounding like it’s microwaving quarters, at the same time my intestines file a hostile work environment complaint. I race to the toilet because if I had waited even a second longer I would have turned my sheets into a cursed Jackson Pollock painting. Friends, God’s cruelest joke isn’t mosquitoes, stubbed toes, or Nickelback, it’s the brilliant idea to install capsaicin receptors in the human anus. It felt like Satan himself was pressure-washing my colon with boiling mud, every blast echoing like a shotgun through a tunnel made of hamburger meat. That’s the scene. I’m gripping the towel rack like a Titanic survivor, sweating out every life choice since 1998, and praying the smoke alarm doesn’t misinterpret the situation.
Somewhere between my third round of Ring of Fire karaoke and bargaining with the universe, I accepted my fate. After all was said and done it felt like my anus got fucked by a fist covered in sand paper.
TL;DR—Ate an entire bag of Buc-ee’s ghost pepper jerky, washed it down with three times the recommended dose metamucil. Learned that capsaicin receptors in the exit hatch are a thing.
Comments
Bro turned himself into a Bunsen burner
Ghost Pepper, Carolina Reaper, you’re playing with fire if you fool around with those strains.
You picked the wrong pack, pepper pooper.
You wanted Tums, not fiber.
The only reason I had to stop eating 7 alarm jerky was because the spice train wanted to leave the station while I was driving to work the next morning on the interstate. I’d be white knuckling my steering wheel ready to phone my boss I’m having a personal emergency and will be in late. So good though, chef’s french kiss.
I hope you mixed the psyllium husk with the appropriate amount of water. If not properly dissolved, it can cause a bowel obstruction. Then you’d have all that ghost pepper trapped inside.
Dropping Metamucil into the volcano probably didn’t do anything. The eruption would have come anyway. You wanted an antacid or sucralfate. That Buc-ee’s ghost pepper jerky is no joke.
I learned this on day two of taking Metamucil. I skip my dose when eating anything remotely spicy
Fiber is not Pepto-Bismol, friend. Fiber will not settle your stomach, it will cause it to revolt. Overdosing on fiber to settle your stomach is about as effective as throwing leaves on a fire in an attempt to stifle it. You gave the beef jerky an ally with which to more effectively punish you for your misdeeds.
This was unhinged. Thanks for the laugh.