Ooops, I did it again... And again... And again.

So, after months of responsible socially-distant quarantine, I made my way back to the movies 2 weekends ago.

I don't know what you miss most about the pre-corona "Old World", but for me, and contrary to popular belief, I do not miss bars and restaurants the most... I miss going to the movies.

Don't get me wrong- Bars and restaurants are also gravely missed.  But if I had to pick a common experience that I want to come back first, it would be a barely-filled movie theatre on the opening weekend of a summer blockbuster with some smuggled-in snacks and nowhere else to be.

It's not summer, and there are no real "blockbusters" to see, per se, but there is an open movie theatre just a stone's throw from my house AND last Sunday, I had nowhere else to be.

My 13-year-old son was also free that afternoon, so I asked him to accompany me, and I coaxed him into going with promises of first-rate snacks in our laps and sci-fi wonderment on the screen.

We saw the movie TENET, and I did not enjoy it.

I understood it.

I was able to follow along.

I just didn't like it.

But that's not important, no matter what Jeff Lowe thinks.

What's important is that we went back.  And before we left the house, I told my kid that on our first foray BACK into movie-going we would not be breaking any laws.

More specifically:

1. We will stay masked and socially distant, according to the guidelines of the theatre.

2. We will NOT be sneaking in snacks from the outside.

And that second one is big for me... There are very few things I enjoy more than eating an Italian hero while I watch an Italian action hero (maybe Stallone).

So with these rules in place, we headed off to the AMC.

I ordered our tickets online, and I was impressed with how the website automatically blocked out a halo of empty seats around us as I chose our spots on the theatre map.  Our halo was especially wide because when choosing our seats, I left the pre-requisite "sissy seat" empty in between us... Force of habit, I guess.

I said I was impressed by our protective halo, but I was even more impressed when I got to the theatre and it was empty and spotless... They were arguably understaffed if crowds were to all of a sudden show-up, but they were perfectly staffed to provide a nearly empty theatre with a sanitized corona-friendly movie-going environment for my son and me along with just a handful of complete strangers who would be sitting multiple sissy seats away from our exposed knees.

There were, of course, small tweaks to their normal business practices, which were mildly annoying.

The self-serve soda station was fully operational, but there were no napkins, straws, or cup lids in their adjacent dispensers.

Which makes sense, I suppose, because it's impossible to grab just one straw, or rip out just one napkin, or peel away just one cup lid without touching (and possibly contaminating) the straws, napkins, and lids that the next person might grab, rip, or peel.

Easy enough solution: I just simply marched over to the concession stand and the young broad behind the counter was more than happy to give me everything that my fat ass required.

She was also kind enough to point out that the self-serve butter dispensers were no longer functional, but she did this only l after I asked her to fill my large popcorn tub only a third of the way up so I could then dummy it up with that salty butter-flavored oil/poison.

Since self-serve was no longer an option, she fetched me 3 small cups of butter/oil and then filled up my corn in third increments... Allowing me to pour, salt, and shake at every stop.

Now... Armed with a large bag of peanut M&Ms, a large over-"buttered" popcorn, and 2 medium coke/seltzer mixes my son and I entered into the theatre to watch TENET.

Again, the movie was just okay... Maybe 70 out of 100... But the popcorn was FANTASTIC, and we tore through the whole bucket as if we had a tip on a famine.

I don't know if the popcorn was especially delicious because it was freshly made... Or because it was so sorely missed... Or because I hadn't eaten anything that morning but had a couple of White Russians the night before, so my body needed something other than stored fat to provide it with some sustenance.

Either way, we left the theatre that afternoon relatively stuffed and my son left relatively rested because he fell asleep for a good 25 minutes while the kid from Twilight explained to a poor man's Denzel that sometimes time moves backward in Christopher Nolan films.

I got home sometime around 4 and basically did nothing.  It was just a typical lazy Sunday afternoon in The Large Household, and after a quick nap on the couch, my other liabilities began to openly discuss our plans for dinner.

Typically, I cook dinner on Sundays... Nine times out of ten I make a Sunday sauce (not gravy) that would make the ghost of Paul Sorvino cry (not dead).  But this week I had nothing on the stove, and with limited dining options in town (thanks COVID!), my family was hard at work coming up with a viable restaurant to hit.

Somehow we settled on the local pub, and I was excited about the choice because this place happens to serve a very good French onion soup.

--- I am not sure if I need to capitalize the "F" in French onion soup, and I don't care to look it up. ---

So we loaded up the truck and headed off to MacMurphy's. 

Town was uncharacteristically packed that night, so we parked about a block and a half away from the establishment.

We were seated immediately and when the waitress came by to take our drink order, I opted for a seltzer because my stomach wasn't feeling that great after my performance the night before plus the syrupy fountain coke and 8 ounces of liquefied "budder" I consumed on my popcorn just hours ago.

When she returned with our drinks we threw in the order- My bride, daughter, and I ordered the soup.  My oldest ordered a chicken pot pie.  My middle guy (and movie buddy) got a cheeseburger.  And then I ordered some wings, nachos and onion rings "for the table"... Like a fat fucking slob.

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Lemme take a break here, and ask you a question: Why-the-fuck are you still reading this blog?

I am almost falling asleep as I type this piece of shit out... I can't imagine you're at the edge of your seat now that we're nearly twelve hundred words into it, and so far, I basically saw a movie and ate some soup.

I really hope this picks up soon... For both of our sakes.

I will do my best.

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Back to the meal...

My soup was lovely, but my daughter wasn't a fan, so in typical morbidly-obese fashion, I ate hers also... Along with a good percentage of the aforementioned "for the table" white-trash appetizers.

The check came soon after, and we were on our way.

And here's where I get a little reflective- As we were walking back to the car, I realized something.

I have a pretty fantastic life.

My wife and I are still madly in love with each other's genitals even though we'll be married 22 years in May.  My sons are respectful young men who are without track marks and my daughter's immediate trajectory does not involve a pole.  I have a great group of friends, a job that I love, and (for a fat guy) I am in relatively good shape.

It was this sudden epiphany of utter contentment that actually stopped me dead in my tracks as the 5 of us sauntered back to the truck.

Literally... I stopped walking while my family moved on. 

It was a perfect time for me to reflect on how lucky of a man I am.  And, sometimes when a person reflects on such things, they also reflect on whether or not they deserve such blessings.  And, sometimes when I person comes to the conclusion that they do deserve such blessings, they can't help but wonder if their luck is going to run out at some point... It's actually a lot to process when you think about it.

And it was during all this higher-level cerebral reflection that my body made a physical decision for me without me even knowing it.

The part of my brain which controls my bodily functions was able to carve out just enough unused gray matter to deduce that my family was sufficiently far away from me so that now I could openly gas into the night air without them smelling or hearing what I had done.

And gas I did.

The only problem is that limited amount of gray matter didn't take into consideration the worst-case scenario, and my luck did truly run out at that moment because I wound up shitting myself.

Dammit.

Before I go any further, I feel compelled to defend MacMurphy's here... They weren't at fault for the gastrointestinal distress I endured.  French onion soup is a natural laxative, and I had two of them.  And that was AFTER I had nachos, wings, and onion rings.  And that was AFTER I had 3 shot glasses of movie theatre liquid butter flavoring.  And that was after a night where I swallowed more White Russians than a Moscow whore... I was a shit-filled powder keg at that point, and the soup simply lit the fuse.

By the way... Who-the-fuck still drinks White Russians?

Me.

And, even after all that, it wasn't a total shit-tastrophe.  The feces barely made it to the athletic boxer briefs I just started wearing recently... If I was still wearing blousy boxer shorts, I would've been safe, but the support these new athletic briefs provide have been wonderful as I get older and my testicles start to sag lower and lower, so no regrets.

As a matter of fact, I threw away almost all of my old boxers, and now I exclusively wear Tommy John's athletic midway briefs.

But back to me shitting myself... Luckily I am suffering from late-season allergies, so I had a folded up Bounty paper towel in my pocket.  I riped that bounty in half, used one half to quickly wipe my ass, and then threw that soiled paper towel into some nearby bushes.  I re-folded the other half of that super-absorbent napkin into a canoe-shaped Man-Pon that I slid in between my cheeks, and then awkwardly limped towards my family as they were getting into my truck.  They never turned around, so they were none the wiser.

My wife was driving (as she so often does), so I got into the passenger seat, but I never committed to sitting down just in case there was some residual spotting or a pocket of feces I missed with that quick swipe.

So instead of collapsing into the passenger seat (like I normally do), I kinda laid across the seat and into the area above the center console... Laying on my side and trying to keep my torso stiff and un-bent.

Now, my wife is no idiot, and after 21 years of this circus, she knew immediately what was going on.

She simply said, "Did you?"

And I simply responded, "Step on it."

Which she did... We made it home in record time, and I leaped out of the car and turkey trotted up to my bathroom to clean myself up before the kids even opened their car doors.

When I came downstairs, I was as clean as a whistle, but the fact of the matter remained- I shit myself.

This was 10 PM on Sunday night.

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The next morning was Monday... Which is not a "hot take."  Mondays almost always follow Sundays.

However, this particular Monday was a particularly busy day for me because I had morning radio and then a golf tournament... And not just any tournament, but the annual event thrown by my best friend and radio co-host (at least for now), Willie Colon.

If you know anything about Colon functions, you would know that they are always first class affairs.

--- By the way, I just typed "If you know anything about Colon functions" in an almost condescending way, meanwhile I just told you the story about how I wasn't fully aware how my colon functioned the night before this Colon function... The English language is funny sometimes. ---

Since Will had so many (golf) balls in the air with his charity event that afternoon, I hosted radio by myself that morning.  And I really put a lot of effort into it because I was unaware at the time at just how much we, as a firm, don't give a shit about those cheap bastards over at Sirius.

I rushed out of the studio as soon as the show was over, jumped into my illegally parked car, and hustled my way over to Canoe Brook.

And what an absolute HONEY of a day it was.  The temp, I think, was in the mid-60s.  The sun was shining.  And there was a small-but-refreshing breeze surrounding me at all times.

After I checked in and dropped my clubs off with the starter, I made my way to the locker room to change, and then made my way out to the patio for brunch before tee-off.

The brunch was fabulous... I had a couple of transfusions to warm up my liver and then ordered some eggs Benedict.

--- Is Benedict always capitalized?... FUCK!... Food is hard to type. ---

When my meal came, I dove in mouth first and began to devour everything but the garnish.

As I'm chewing, I took a moment to reflect on how beautiful of a day it was.

I was surrounded by good people, I was golfing for a good cause (The Willie Colon Foundation), and it was a helluva lot better than being at work.

That's when the trouble started.

I don't know if I have ever shared this with anyone, but I sometimes suffer from something called dysphagia. There are a number of different types of dysphagia, but mine involves food obstruction.  

Every now and again... Maybe once every two weeks... I will be eating something and it will inexplicably get stuck in my esophagus.  When the dysphagia from food obstruction happens, I can still breathe, but it’s typically painful, and always uncomfortable.  My esophagus just essentially constricts for some reason.  

I was scheduled to have an esophagogastroduodenoscopy during the pandemic, but that esophagogastroduodenoscopy was canceled due to COVID fears.  And with the huge backup in rescheduling esophagogastroduodenoscopies, it looks like I won't have it looked at for at least another month.

But when I do finally get this thing checked out, you can be certain it will be through the use of an esophagogastroduodenoscopy.

Often times, when this thing hits me, I simply throw up whatever is blocked and it eases my esophagus back to normal.

When it happened at Willie's outing it was painful, uncomfortable, and potentially embarrassing.  Plus the obstruction this time was abnormally large because of the giant pieces of Benedict I was trying to cram in my maw when the incident occurred.

Luckily, I was alone at my table when it happened, and since I had just come from the locker room, I was familiar with how to get back.  

So I calmly got up from my meal and awkwardly stumbled towards the Men's Room while a huge glob of transfusion and egg moved up and down my upper esophagus.

As I made my way towards a stall to vomit, the 2 stalls were both locked and occupied, so I quickly turned around to puke in the garbage, but it was too late... I yakked on my own chest.

I cleaned myself off best I could at the sink before either of the occupants left the stalls, and then I slinked my way over to the pro-shop to buy a clean shirt.

I tossed the original, put a windbreaker over the new one (so I didn't look like an asshole wearing the course shirt on the course), and no one was the wiser.  But the fact of the matter remained- I vomited on myself.

This was at 11 AM on Monday.

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So now... I have regrouped.

I am clean.

I am calm.

I go back out to the patio and I am (re)fed.

I report to my cart for the shotgun start, and at 12:30, I am playing golf on a very nice golf course on a beautiful day and with a very good foursome.

I am even hitting the ball fairly well.

I used to play a fair amount, but now I am more like once or twice a year, so I have very little muscle and even less muscle memory on how to consistently swing a club correctly.

Still, I am not the worst player in the foursome (Willie was), and the beers, vodka, and cigars are going down rapidly and smoothly.

We get to maybe the 7th or 8th hole before I have to take a leak, and when nature finally did call, I excused myself into the woods behind the tee box to rip a wicked piss.

Here's the thing... I mentioned earlier that I switched from boxers to athletic briefs not too long ago.  And one of the negatives of this new style is they're obviously WAY too easy to shit into, but that's not the only thing that's concerning.  Some of these briefs have no fly or a fly that is hard to access, so you will often have to pull down the waistband in order to unfurl your penis and relieve yourself in the woods.

Which is exactly what I did.

The only problem here is that I was smoking my third cigar at the time, and inadvertently inhaled a huge toke while I was draining the dragon.

This caused me to convulse slightly as I started to cough.  That slight convulsion was enough to cause my athletic waistband to slip from under the thumb that was holding it down.

As the waistband shot up, it threw my penis straight up in the air with it, and I pissed on myself.

Nothing too obvious... The urine that hit my windbreaker beaded and ran right off, and the portion that soaked into my shorts was easily covered by a golf towel I then hung off my belt... So my foursome was none the wiser.  But the fact of the matter remained- I pissed myself.

This was at 2 PM on a Monday.

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Because social-distancing has ruined everything, the elaborate banquet following Willie's outing was downgraded to an outdoor barbecue... Which was fine, but I found myself just wandering from table-to-table, molesting people who were trying to enjoy a quiet meal.

There was an especially accomodating foursome of gentlemen sitting at one of the tables, and I wound up sitting down and spending the rest of the evening with their group.

Winds up, they were all doctors, so after many drinks, I couldn't help but ask them about my dysphagia.

And talk about my choking obviously led to me talking about my vomiting on myself... Which led to talk about me defecating on myself... And then ultimately to talk about me urinating on myself. 

To which one of my new friends/doctors asked, "You did all that to yourself in under 24 hours."

And I responded, "Well, yes I did, now that I think about it."

And he said back, "In the retirement home I make house calls in, the orderlies there call that the 'Triple Crown'."

To which I gasped, "HUH!...'The Triple Crown' ?!?!?...What a beautiful term for such a non-beautiful achievement!"

And we all laughed.

But then I got to thinking, and I had to excuse myself rather quickly.

My table-mates asked, "Where are you going, Large?"

To which I replied, "You'll see."

And I went right back to that bathroom where I threw-up earlier in the day... And I went right into one of the stalls that were occupied earlier in the day... And I went right to stripping down naked (as I so often do)... And I went right into masturbating furiously.

This next part is a tad inappropriate...

As I was about to "arrive", I pointed my ample member towards the floor, and finished on my own naked foot.

That was at 8 PM on Monday.

Sorry to be so rude, but it happened.

I then proudly marched back out to my new friends (who were just packing up to leave), and I informed them that I wasn't satisfied with 'The Triple Crown' achievement that could've been accomplished by just about any old incontinent cocksucker, so I took matters into my own hands and dropped matter onto my own foot.  

And I ended my evening with them by saying, "So the next time someone mentions 'The Triple Crown' like it's some sort of grand achievement, you make sure to tell them that you were there the day Large 'Hit For The Cycle'."

Enjoy the weekend.

Take a report.

-Large