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The assignment of this thread is to tell a "self own" story.
Somewhat inspired by the poster who accidently quoted himself and talked shit about his own post.
(Or at least it appeared that way)
I'm talking miserable failure here. ... got it?
_____________________
I want your stories. Don't be shy.
Hit me with your best shot.
Your most glorious failure.
in the spirit, I will lead by example.
But the spoilers will remain until several other people share so as to at least attempt avoid this being a thread about me or my story,
that is not my objective here.
____________________
"No one is the bad guy in their version of the story"
We live in a world where everyone is selectively editing out the portions of their lives they share to create this bullshit image that life is a bunch of maragaritas and vacations and everyone is always happy and everything always goes perfectly.
Somewhat inspired by the poster who accidently quoted himself and talked shit about his own post.
(Or at least it appeared that way)
I'm talking miserable failure here. ... got it?
_____________________
I want your stories. Don't be shy.
Hit me with your best shot.
Your most glorious failure.
in the spirit, I will lead by example.
But the spoilers will remain until several other people share so as to at least attempt avoid this being a thread about me or my story,
that is not my objective here.
____________________
I was 21 years old and drunk in New Zealand.
At the time of this story I had been drunk every day for the last 5 months* On semester aboard at Hamilton University in Waikato NZ .
*I took precisely 1 day off during that 5 month stretch from early July to the end of November, and only because I had woken up that morning throwing up blood. Felt like that was a sign that a day off might be in order.


Anyway, on this particular day I went to a Cambodian restaurant for take out dinner.
I picked something out and the hostess said something along the lines of:
"are you sure you want that? It's really spicy."
To which I responded:
"I'm drunk and I smoke. My taste buds are charred.
Tell the chef- hit me with your best shot. You cant hurt me."
well... my oh my... how very very wrong I was about that.
I put that entree away no problem.
"That wasn't even THAT spicy." I thought to myself
I love spicy food. My stomach is used to it.
My asshole.... totally differnt story.
I had no idea food could turn my asshole into a fire breathing dragon.
Apparently there are levels to the game and "ring of fire asshole" was a level I had never even contemplated the existence of prior to this humbling experience. Lesson learned.
When I tell you I was shitting fire... I had to stay at the hostel I was at (private suite) for an extra day because I could not risk being out in town and encounter a fire situation that I was not able to extinguish properly.
It turned out the Cambodian restaurant chef could indeed hurt me.
At the time of this story I had been drunk every day for the last 5 months* On semester aboard at Hamilton University in Waikato NZ .
*I took precisely 1 day off during that 5 month stretch from early July to the end of November, and only because I had woken up that morning throwing up blood. Felt like that was a sign that a day off might be in order.


Anyway, on this particular day I went to a Cambodian restaurant for take out dinner.
I picked something out and the hostess said something along the lines of:
"are you sure you want that? It's really spicy."
To which I responded:
"I'm drunk and I smoke. My taste buds are charred.
Tell the chef- hit me with your best shot. You cant hurt me."
well... my oh my... how very very wrong I was about that.
I put that entree away no problem.
"That wasn't even THAT spicy." I thought to myself
I love spicy food. My stomach is used to it.
My asshole.... totally differnt story.
I had no idea food could turn my asshole into a fire breathing dragon.
Apparently there are levels to the game and "ring of fire asshole" was a level I had never even contemplated the existence of prior to this humbling experience. Lesson learned.
When I tell you I was shitting fire... I had to stay at the hostel I was at (private suite) for an extra day because I could not risk being out in town and encounter a fire situation that I was not able to extinguish properly.
It turned out the Cambodian restaurant chef could indeed hurt me.
"No one is the bad guy in their version of the story"
We live in a world where everyone is selectively editing out the portions of their lives they share to create this bullshit image that life is a bunch of maragaritas and vacations and everyone is always happy and everything always goes perfectly.
