Bill P., a ring, a worm, and the Quilted Giraffe.

I received the following synopsis from Bill P. regarding the unfortunate incident that had occurred while doing nothing more than eating some salmon, getting engaged, and dropping the troops. Enjoy the story and video:

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1991 – NYC. It’s time to get engaged and eat at the trendiest, most expensive Manhattan restaurant, The Quilted Giraffe. A seemingly harmless piece of “lightly seared” Norwegian salmon, flown in from Norway that morning, passes my lips and enters my digestive system as my wife and I stare lovingly into each others eyes.

1992 – 14 months later. The engaged couple attempts a first: a home-prepared dinner of crab meat. The meal is consumed and a fire rages in my belly. After multiple, explosive trips to the bathroom, a strange sensation emanates from the anus. As I look down into the bowl I see a string-like appendage dangling and wiggling.

I call to the fiancée – “did we eat Spaghetti last night?” Immediately I realize how ridiculous that question is. I look again, and it hits me that I am experiencing a macabre, Alien nightmare.

I call to the fiancée a second time – “get the keys and a Tupperware container – we’re going to the hospital!” After a very long pause, the reply comes softly and without any hint of a question…..”Ok”.

The Tupperware container is passed through the bathroom doorway, and I begin the extraction process. As I engage in this unthinkable, hand-over-hand tug-of-war with my ass, a two-foot worm emerges. After extraction, it is hurled into the bathroom sink.

I examine it under the stark light and observe that it has a spine and symmetrical ridges emanating out and down from that center line.. I scream. But I am struck by the fact that it is outside of my body now, and I may have the rancid crab to thank. Apparently it was “too hot in the kitchen” for the little guy.

We make our journey to the hospital and two Indian doctors are dumbfounded as they stare at the creature in its new Tupperware home. Finally, after what seems like hours of perplexed examination and questioning, I am provided with a prescription. The next day I learn that the prescribed medication has not been manufactured in 2 years.

Finally I see a reputable doctor. He does a “back of the envelope calculation” to determine, based on the length and growth rate of this worm, how long it’s been in my body. About 14 months. And it’s a fish worm that grows from a tiny egg found in raw salmon. And then it hits me – the worm was an early wedding present from the Quilted Fucking Giraffe.