My 50-Year Medical Mystery Was a Fucking Milk Fart.
Alright. Let's talk about the miracle of modern medicine. A truly inspiring story of fifty years of brilliant, cutting-edge, state-of-the-art fucking guesswork. For half a century, my body was a crime scene, and the detectives were all Inspector Clouseau. They had a long list of suspects, a whole rogues' gallery of ailments. They called it a "nervous stomach." They called it "Bipolar-Lite™." They called it "bad luck." They called it "getting older." For fifty years, a long line of well-dressed, over-confident, six-figure-income witch doctors looked at a simple case of the fucking milk farts and saw a grand, baffling mystery. And the whole time, the real culprit wasn't hiding. It was sitting right in the middle of the table, smiling, waving a flag, and pretending to be my best friend. It was the milk. It was the cheese, it was the yogurt, it was the butter, it was the whey, it was every goddamn creamy, dreamy, milky-white a...