Okay, here's my story.
Once, a few years ago, my college roommate and I went to a McDonald's that had just recently opened. Now, fast food almost never (and I mean NEVER) upsets either one of our stomachs. We've both ate at McDonald's on more occasions than I can remember. But, for whatever reason, this newly minted McDonald's had Big Macs that literally tore us up on the inside.
By the time we got back to our apartment (about a twenty minute drive) we were both doubling over in pain. We had to do rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to use the bathroom first. I, unfortunately, lost.
So, while I'm standing in the living room waiting for him to finish his business, I'm literally dying inside. It feels like my stomach is going to explode. Finally, after about ten minutes, I simply cannot take it anymore. So, I grabbed a trash bag from under the kitchen sink and went into the abandoned, run-down apartment next door. This was filthy; it was so bad that we nicknamed it Shelob's Lair. There, I squatted with the bag opened as far as it will go and did my business. That's just say - it was fucking nasty.
But that's not the end of the story. While I'm doing my business, the stench becomes so bad that it literally makes me puke. Whatever was left in my stomach that hadn't moved into my intestines by that point came out the other way.
Afterwards, I cleaned up the spot on the floor where I vomited and, I kid you not, it was the only clean spot in that entire apartment.
