My tummy hurts.
I had a piece of fried chicken last night, and I could tell from the first bite that something was off. I should have spit it out, but I trusted in my stomach acid to take care of whatever might be wrong. My trust turned out to be misplaced.
I think I am handling it well. I have posted about it on social media, as one does, so that others will know that I am being brave. It is my duty as a member of society to serve as an inspiration to others who may find their tummies hurting.
As my generation ages, we will surely have more tummy aches. Between the beatings we take from the hands of time and the increasing lack of oversight in food processing facilities, it will become increasingly necessary to put a brave face on intestinal ouchies. I imagine that, as the FDA is slowly reduced to a memory, an underground economy for outdated over the counter medicine will arise. Aging Millennials will walk around in their most formal checkered Vans, carrying menus listing Pepto Bismol by date of creation and expiration. These Bismolliers will be an increasingly necessary part of society, eventually becoming a sort of priest class in what remains of The United States. To the South, Mexican cartels will do what they do to keep the pink stuff flowing, as well as a rainbow of antacids in various fruit flavors. Office workers will trade them like Pokemon cards, and bikers will hide them in their crank cases like methamphetamine. Orange will likely be a popular flavor, but there will surely be some far gone individuals who like banana.
It might be a good idea to start hoarding stomach medicine and Grade A toilet paper made from fine Canadian timber. It is probably too late already, but it will not get easier to find. May God watch over you, except when it would be weird.