Feck

Had the pleasure of having an Upper GI test this morning. Holy feck...here's the rundown.

1. Drink two huge glasses of barium sulfate (read: two big glasses of a foamy mess with the consistency and nutritional value of drywall paste)
2. Resist the urge to vomit.
3. Proudly display two empty cups, then proceed to crush them on my forehead, while shouting "Woot! Woot!", "Boo-ya!" and so forth.
4. Wait 20 mins, catch up on Sambora/Locklear/Sheen/Richards divorce tomfoolery.
5. Sport a fancy gown and socks.
6. X-ray
7. More reading.
8. Enter the "robot" room, where I laid on a table under an enormous Transformer/Armatron controlled by the doc. He remotely controls this device to press me into the table.
9. Magically, the table stands up with me on it.
10. Eat some magic crystals and a shot of water, chased by another half glass of plaster of Paris.
10. And so forth....ad nauseum (quite literally)

Good times, good times.