Rob Smith, aka Acidman, is really sick and in the hospital being treated for peritonitis apparently caused by a perforated ulcer. The stubborn old cracker is lucky to be alive having ignored my excellent advice, and that of about 300 other people over the last week, to call a doctor right away. This after he had already suffered a week with the symptoms thinking it was a simple case of "traveler's sickness" from his Costa Rica trip.
In any event, having become rather fond of the cantankerous curmudgeon, I'm glad he got to the hospital in time, even though the Viking funeral he asked for sounded kind of cool. I've always thought I would like one of those myself ever since I saw that Kirk Douglas movie. But they apparently did immediate surgery and he's going to be all right. The only thing holding him back now is he can't pass gas.
Now this is a sublime irony. Acidman is a professional gas passer. The man blogs about farts at least once a week. He barely has a single story about his life that doesn't feature the foulest, loudest, gale force breaking of wind. To hear him tell it, he could launch ships and level barns on a good day. And yet he's stuck in a hospital bed because he can't manage even a wimpy little gut rumble.
So to help the guy out, I'm organizing a food drive to send him a a case of this stuff. It comes with a guarantee to generate a legendary blast able to clear tall buildings with a single sound.