The following blog entry contains violent, sexual, or graphic content. It may have adult situations -- reader discretion is advised.

I am just extremely sick right now. I am not sure of the culprit... possibly some kind of virus or something I've eaten... all I know is I got so much stuff coming out of both ends of my body, I'd rather be mutilated by Jason Voorhee's machete. I even had to leave work early by 2.5 hrs, because of the unbearable pain. On my way home, I had to make two stops to go to the bathroom... one at a gas station whose "women" bathroom was "out of order." There was a middle-eastern/indian/pakistani/excuse-my-politically-ignorant-self guy working there, and I asked him, "can I use the restroom?" and he replied, straight faced, "for you, it will be five dollars." I smiled, wondering if this was a joke or not. The people in line chuckled nervously, as though they, too, were confused on whether to laugh or remain stoic. At that point, I would have paid $10 to get into a bathroom. Hell, if you were about to have things shooting out of your ass at 50 mph, you'd pay too! So I told him, "I'm sorry. I really have to go. It'll be worth the five bucks." He gave me a key. I ran to the other side of the station, and saw the "out of order" sign glaring at me. I ran to the men's room next door, and opened it, and carried out my business. First time in a men's bathroom, and surprisingly enough, there was NO difference, other than that the toilet seat was up. I did my business, and although I couldn't enjoy any satisfaction (diarrhea tends to come in multiple-episode packages) but I was good for the time being. Mind you, this emergency happening happened merely twelve or so blocks away from work. Yep, I got that far before coming down with an attack. Anyways, I returned the key to the brown-faced clerk (I was liking the brown color so much at that moment), and politely said "thank you" in my most gracious tone. As I was walking away from the counter, he yelled, "hey, what about the five bucks?" By this time, I had regained my common sense, and realized that no trip to the potty costs five bucks, even in LA, so I walked up to counter, gave him a pissed look, and said "you serious?" in my most ghetto/colloquial voice. (Of course I am way too prim and proper to sound anywhere near ghetto...) and he said "nah... you can go." So the moral of today's story is... È­Àå½Ç µé¾î°¥¶§ ¶û ³ª¿Ã¶§¶û ¸¶À½ÀÌ ´Ù¸£´Ù. That's Korean for... you have a different points of view when you enter the bathroom, and exit the bathroom. Let me elaborate: When you gotta go, no price is too high for a trip to see the john. John's price plummets when you leave, because you are no longer in need of that particular item. That's the moral of today's story, but my moral for the day isn't quite clear. Is it to avoid dairy? Carry a bottle of pepto bismol and chug it every now and then? Maybe that's why I have these repeated bouts with what I euphemistically call the "stomach flu." I haven't learned my lesson. But hey, if anal leakage isn't a lesson/punishment enough, I don't know what is.