This past Halloween I embarked on a two-hour road trip in my white-trash Toyota to attend an event which started at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning.    I rushed to the grocery store at 7 a.m. to buy some Fix-a-Flat™ and extra motor oil in case I got a flat or my engine decided it wanted to explode.   I’m neither paranoid nor a Boy Scout – I’ve had approximately 35 flat tires in the last 35 years.  I once had three flats in one day.  One memorable day my tire blew out and the freaking tread caused over $1,100 dollars in damages to my car.  I suspected my tires had been whispering subversive messages to the engine.  Did I mention I’m not paranoid?

For breakfast I bought a grocery store deli biscuit so dry that in an emergency it could have been used as a sanitary napkin.

Raise your hands if any of you really understand acid reflux.  For those of you who don’t, here’s an abbreviated description of foods to avoid and symptoms.

Foods to avoid –

Spicy, fatty or fried foods.  The Remote Control Terrorist does the cooking and likes to include all three with every meal because he thinks he’s the beneficiary of my life insurance policy.

Onions.  These are also included in every meal.

Chocolate.  The day before fucking Halloween?  I don’t think so.  I intentionally bought two bags of individually wrapped mini-chocolate bars for trick-or-treaters, knowing full well I had no intention of giving the little bastards the good stuff.  That’s right, Iron Man and Fairy Princess – grow up, get a job and buy your own good candy.  Until then, eat the cheap shit!

Okay, I think I’ve established why I might have chronic acid reflux.

Symptoms –

Heartburn.  Think supernova.

Regurgitation.  This is the one that matters.

I hit the road and munched on the dry biscuit as I pushed my old car to its limit of 70 mph.  Two minutes after swallowing, a painful lump formed in my esophagus and I couldn’t breathe.  I didn’t panic, even with no place to pull over and being tailgated by several pickups.

It occurred to me that puking might be in my immediate future.  I noticed a towel on the passenger seat, along with several books, some empty cigarette packages, a lint brush, a bottle of cheap body spray, ashes, cat hair, a few leaves, a roll of toilet paper, a fast food sack filled with cigarette butts and an ice pick.  I grabbed the towel and while still traveling the speed limit, placed it below my mouth.

Once the projectile vomiting ended, I looked down at a perfectly dry towel and wondered if I’d accidentally discovered a way to teleport vomit into a toilet bowl miles away.  Upon further inspection I saw a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a purse covered in bile, chunks of biscuit (STILL fucking dry) and presumably – acid.

Ten minutes later I pulled into an empty parking lot and got out of the car.  I poured water onto the worthless towel and began cleaning the vomit off my clothes and purse.  I glanced over my shoulder and discovered a huge chunk of biscuit attached to my ass.  The logistics seemed improbable, just like the theory of the magic bullet that killed JFK. 

I’m hoping Oliver North casts Robert Downey, Jr. as the attorney presenting the case before the jury in his upcoming movie Natural Baked Killers.

Over the top of his black-framed glasses, Robert Downey, Jr. winks at the victim and says,“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.  Picture if you will a dry biscuit chunk shooting out of Kat Nove’s delectable mouth.  It hits the windshield, bounces out the open front passenger window, ricochets off the antenna into the driver’s side back window, dives under the back seat, hits the gear shift, shoots to the driver’s seat and squeezes itself between the seat and Kat Nove’s curvaceous ass.”

While still addressing the jury he turns away and points an accusatory finger at the defendant.  “You must find the defendant guilty of attempted murder.”

The half-eaten biscuit defiantly refuses to sweat.