So, the bike cut out on me yesterday

Right as I was pulling into the driveway.  All the indicator lights, off.  No vroom.  However, I could get the starter to turn over.

What the hell?

I didn't have my service manual yet, so I was a tad bit perturbed.  I pushed it into the garage (thank you Lord for not allowing it to die on the interstate) and waited for the engine and pipes to cool before I started tearing it apart.

Later that night, after dinner (hoooooooo boy I'll write about that later) I go in to the garage and start taking the sides off.  Found the took kit, hiding behind the DynoFlo controller, which I didn't even know I had.  On the other side, the fuse boxes, which were what I was looking for in the first place.  All the large fuses look good.  Smaller fuses I pulled out one at a time.  Good, Good, Good, Good, Good, Not-so-good-what-the-heck?

Spare fuses?  Yes, we have those.  Slapped a new fuse in and grabbed my key.  Could it be this simple?

Yes. 

Indicator lights on.  Hit the start button.  Much Vroom.  Yay!

Got a bunch more spare fuses today, and I'm going to swap out all the old ones.  It's a 17 year old bike, there's no telling what kind of condition they are in.

Now, about that dinner.....

The Mrs had made chicken wings a couple nights ago that were hotter than Satan's farts, and we kept the sauce to make chicken sammiches with in the future.  Well, the future was last night.  Left-over chicken shredded up, sauce added, blue cheese crumbled on top, greenery on top of that, and let's chow down. 

Little did I know that the old sauce apparently wasn't enough to go around, so the Mrs. made some more.  But because we didn't have any more of the original hot sauce, she used what she had in the fridge, which is akin to adding NO2 to a gasoline engine.

Oh.  Maw.  Gawd.

I had sweat running down from the top of my head.  My face was red.  My nose was running.  I ate a sammich and a half, and then scarfed down a pint of ice cream trying to make the burning pain go away.  I managed to go to bed last night with only a slight discomfort in my gut.  And then I woke up this morning, grabbed my usual water, followed by coffee, which today was followed by *gurgle*gurgle*gurgle*

Aw, shit.  Literally.

I made it to the bathroom.  But I didn't have time to grab the ice cubes I needed to cool off the flames shooting from my sphincter, nor did I have time to install the seatbelt I needed to keep from banging my head on the ceiling as the flaming jet fuel shot out of my ass.  I'm amazed none of the neighbors called 911, given the A) howling of extreme pain coming from my house, or B) the waves of toxic, flammable gasses flowing out the bathroom window.

About half an hour later, I crawled to the fridge, grabbed the milk and chugged about a quart of it before I managed to get my legs to stop shaking.  I made it to work barely on time.  The pain had mostly subsided by the time lunch came around, and that was a nice bland ham and cheese sammich.  No spice.  With chocolate milk, just to make sure the fire was out for certain.

I'm off of spice for about a month, maybe longer.