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The original was posted on /r/tifu by /u/get-my-brown-pants on 2025-06-28 05:47:47+00:00.

Technically not today (this was back in 2015) but most certainly a fuckup.

I’m partial to a good drink, and I’m also an enjoyer of various spicy foods, to the point of growing Carolina Reapers in my own garden. (Great for chili, btw. Adds a nice, fruity heat.) So a combination of the two should be fine, right?

Yeah, about that.

Being a mid-twenties guy with questionable decision-making skills, I came across a habañero Bloody Mary mix in an American import store. Being from NZ, you don’t see this kind of thing often, so I decided to pick it up. Can’t be too bad, right?

Cut to about a month later, and I’m at a party hanging out with some old friends. I’d brought along the Bloody Mary mix and a bottle of vodka. I’d also made the executive decision to drink this tasty concoction out of a gigantic champagne glass, making it look I was drinking from a portable tomato soup lake the entire time. Night ends without a hitch, and I decide to sleep off my alcoholic haze. Woke up at 7am the following morning with a standard hangover and a desire to be back at home in my own bed. I fired up the shitbox (lol) I had at the time, and began the journey home.

So, the place I’d been the previous night was about 35km away from my home at the time, or just under 22 miles. Combine NZ’s volcanic, hilly landscape and labyrinthine rural roads and you’re looking at a 30-35 minute drive on a good day.

It was 5 minutes into this drive that a sharp, terrifying pain shot through my gastrointestinal system and landed square inside my rectum. Instinctively, my cheeks clenched. Sweat began popping out in beads all over my face, giving me the look of a glazed ham. The desire to unleash a cayenne-forward ass blast became my number 1 priority.

I was in the middle of nowhere. No-one was coming to help me with the 13th labor of Hercules my sphincter was about to go through. I was determined to avoid the embarrassment of dropping my trousers and showing the nearby cows I could hang just as good as the rest of them. What lay ahead was the most intense test of my will and determination I’d ever faced. My baptism of anal fire. I was staring into the abyss, determined to avoid the brown eye staring back. The road twisted and wound through the countryside, almost as if it were vicariously taunting me for my foolishness. With each minute, my body trembled more and more with increased pressure. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles so white they’d put mayonnaise to shame.

I could have stopped at any of the gas stations I passed on the way home, and yet I didn’t. Why? Because I knew that the moment I stepped out of my vehicle, I needed an obstacle-free path to the commode. Any possible delays would risk the dam breaking and drowning the residents of Crotchopolis. I needed to reach home, where a clear, unbreakable path to the bathroom waited for me to break the land speed record. Against all odds, I pulled into the driveway and turned my car off. I probably looked like a disheveled beige raisin, hair plastered to my forehead, sweat dripping off my body in buckets.

I don’t remember what happened on the way to the bathroom. All I remember is once I entered that fortress of solitude, I ripped all possible clothing off my body and threw myself onto the seat, finally hitting the release valve that had been threatening to break for the past 30 minutes.

What happened next was an unholy explosion, accompanied by a roar that would have sent any 3 year old in a 500 metre radius fleeing in terror. There was no solidity to this movement; there was only liquid. Foul, viscous and reminiscent of a sulphuric mud pool, but infused with the demonic spirit of the Bloody Mary from the previous evening. In between bursts of colon calamity, I made a mental note to not trust one fart for the next two weeks out of an abundance of caution.

I came out of that experience a changed man. Curled on the bathroom floor was a pallid, shrivelled husk with 30% of his body weight missing, all while the toilet emitted a malevolent fog that was not dissimilar to mustard gas.

I slept for 12 hours and vowed to never touch that unholy mixture ever again.

Tl;dr: Drank a habañero Bloody Mary and gave myself life-altering diarrhea.