With A Diet of Velveeta Skillet Kits and Nearly Expired Hostess Zingers, I Expect Tomorrow’s Poop To Reverberate Through History

Aloha, Eric. Aloha, and Aloha. Buffalo?

Last night, I had a really good night. Stand-up went really well and I had a lot of really nice conversations with some truly fantastic local comics. I got to apologize to another comic for being a dick to her some four months ago, and that felt nice. I went to bed feeling really happy.

Today, not so much. I ate a Hostess Zinger on my break at the library, and Jesus Christ did it undo my stomach. It put me in a really bad mood, sapped a lot of my energy, and made everything around me seem really annoying. Even normal things that I do everyday, things that happen in the library every single day, seemed quite unbearable. Knowing that I was going to be interacting with my girlfriend later, I had the foresight to send her the following text message:

"Hey. Ate a bad Hostess Zinger. My stomach hurts now. If I’m grumpy later, it’s because of that and that I haven’t eaten anything else today. Just a heads up. It’s not you. My stomach hurts."

She replied minutes later,

"Okay, we’ll get soup."

Amazing girlfriend.

Old Eric would have thought, "This is your burden to carry, so don’t say anything about it. Just deal." Or something like, "IT’S NOT ME! IT’S LITERALLY EVERYTHING AROUND ME THAT IS TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE AND HELL BENT ON UNDOING MY HAPPINESS."

So what changed? Instead of looking for someone or something to blame for my own subjective poor state, I starting thinking of ways to mitigate the bad mood, and actively communicate with those around me that I was not at 100%. Because I had the foresight to do this, my lovely, darling girlfriend could have another opportunity to be AMAZING and not get blindsided by my potential bad mood, and definitely-going-to-happen Hostess farts.

And now that we’re both on the same page, and I know I have some soup to look forward to, I don’t feel as bad anymore! So good job communicating in a healthy and effective way.

Now a secret for just you and me: I’ve been farting on annoying patrons at the library.

Love,
Me.

Eric Wong is a writer and comedian. You have no proof of flatulence.

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