Banana Bowels

I was going to write a blog post on online reputations and social media – this is not going to be a blog post on online reputations and social media.

Instead, I have decided to make a mockery of myself with another story. Great.

Throughout your life you’re told to eat your five a day. I try, or my mum tries, to apply this rule every day; giving me at least half a plate of vegetables every evening meal.

You see, my mum takes healthy eating very seriously. If I am hungry my wonderful mother will tell me that I am not, forcing me to drink a glass of water to “prove my hunger.”

So one day I felt the need for food. The usual happened: I was told to have a glass of water. No thank you.

I was done with the drinking-no-eating rule and instead I decided to eat a banana – you know the bananas that are not ripe but not brown either, and the ones that are hard but don’t take ages to chew. Those were the bananas that my mum bought. Those were the ones that did my digestive system no good.

And as I mentioned before, I was hungry; one banana was not sufficient enough for my appetite. So I had 7.

Did you know that you can die from having 7 bananas? Neither did I.

Obviously I haven’t died, however that night I felt like I was going to.

I was lying by the couch watching The Simpsons, or something like that, and I felt my stomach churning and making gurgling noises. Bearing in mind this was about 5 hours after the incident, I had sort of blocked it out of my mind (which was probably why I began to question if I was pregnant. I wasn’t.)

This gurgling continued for about 10 minutes until I started to violently shake. I physically couldn’t stop. At once point I was moving so much I actually dropped to the floor like a fish on dry land; flapping around, hoping for a way out before I die.

Okay, okay that last paragraph never happened. Although in a weird way I hope it did.

(Warning: gross)

As I was watching the TV with the soundtrack of my bowels I felt the urge to fart. But I knew that it probably wouldn’t be a “clean” fart, if you know what I mean. The kind of fart that can either go two ways.

So I waddled to the toilet, holding on tighter than Rose on her wooden plank in the Titanic.

As I was bending over everything came out; and kept coming until I was empty inside. I couldn’t even brush my teeth in that bathroom for a week without gagging for fresh air.

I did warn you.

Well there it is; my incredibly revolting story, of which the moral is: stick to the water kids. Stick to the goddamn water.


Until next time.

Best wishes,



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