I tried rice pudding for the first time ever yesterday. Not used to the consistency. It struck me as some kind of Crossover shipping fanchild between oatmeal and vomit. Oatmeal if it were cold, and vomit if it were pleasant. It was most definitely a strange specimen. Cinnamon Raisin Rice Pudding to be exact. I liked the taste and so I served myself a small bowl.
But something struck me, and it wasn't the flavor of Cinnamon Raisin. It was something much darker, much more sinister--and that was when I felt it. The slight stinging pain in my side, the rumbly-in-my-tumbly, if you will--as fate would have it, this remarkable family-friendly snack turned my digestive system into a gaseous waste dump the minute it entered my esophagus. No, not even--the very SECOND a piece of rice so much as BRUSHED against a single tastebud. I began to slouch over in pain, fighting to resist the unbearable Potty Dance that would soon be upon me. I had to get through this bowl, this ONE little bowl, but alas