Ugh, I helped myself to a glass of hard egg nog last night. It was the first time I had consumed rum since the September 13th unpleasantness. Here's the conversation that ensued between me and my stomach upon my first sip.

MATT: Time to wet my whistle, for I am quite the dapper knickerbocker, har har.
TUMMY: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!!
MATT: Guh? You talkin' to me?
TUMMY: Yeah, and we'll both be talking behind the porcelain podium in a moment if you swallow another drop of that crap!!
MATT: But its just nog. You love nog.
TUMMY: Aye, that be true, but that hardly be mere nog, ye be sipping, matey.
MATT: Why are you talking like a pirate all of a sudden?
TUMMY: Don't change the topic, you goober!! I taste rum!! I don'ts likes the rum no more!!
MATT: But think of all the wonderful times we had with your buddy rum.
TUMMY: Here, lemme remind you of the LAST time we had some rum!!
MATT: *gulp* That's quite all right. Point taken. Shall I get us some non-alcoholic nog?
TUMMY: YOU DAMN WELL BETTER, BEEEE-YATCH!! I LIKES THE NOG, BUT I HATES ME THE RUM!!
MATT: I'm so confused
TUMMY: SHADDUP!!

Now, admittedly, the last time I drank run, it was half a bottle $8 sugared rubbing alcahol bottled in Lewiston, Maine, and I paid a hefty price for it, but cripes, why does my stomache have to be a tea totling jerk about it? And really, why did it break into pirate talk?