Salad, We Don't Need No Stinkin' Salad.

Here I sit at close to 2:00 a.m. with a feeling in my stomach like I ate friggin lead for dinner.
What did I have? A Mexican Fajita Salad.
Calling this a salad is like calling the Queen Mary 2 a boat. It had sour cream, avocado, beef, onions, dressing, cheese, tomatoes, and somewhere, under all that stuff, a piece of lettuce or two.
I tried to finish it, but failed miserably. I can't imagine how I'd feel if I did.
I've been downing Tums for the last hour or so. My head feels as if I'd been drinking like in the old days.
Damn, how can a salad wreak so much havoc?

Better still, how can they call this 2000+ calorie thing a salad?

I shouldn't be in so much pain from eating a salad.

Bummer. I get taken out by a salad. I may have to turn in my manly man card.

I've been sick. Yeah, that's it, I'll blame it on being sick.