So, the other night I was having dinner with Campbell and our mate Goobermetrics. We were at a Vietnamese restaurant and it was very adequate, thanks for asking. Having pushed back our empty plates (beef for Campbell, squid for Goober, and tofu for me) and in the process of draining the last of our beers (VB for Goober and some Vietnamese brand for Campbell and I), we were talking about my recent trip to India. Campbell had asked me about the Giardiasis I copped just as I returned home and I was recounting the amusing (now, only in retrospect) tale of how I had to see two different doctors in two states to get my hands on the drugs to nuke my little parasite visitors.

“I went to a GP in Victoria,” I was saying, “and listed off all of my symptoms that were textbook Giardia. The doctor just rubbed his hands together and told me to let it run its course. But I’d had diarrhea for a week and hadn’t digested any food in as long as I can remember, I told him; I was weak, I told him. But the doctor just told me it had to flush out and he refused to give me the drugs.”

“How long was it going to take to flush out?” asked Campbell.

“Could be six months!” I exclaimed.

“That’s bullshit,” intoned Campbell and Goober dutifully.

“I know,” I continued, “I mean, I should’ve told him I’d take a photo on my iPhone of my turds so he could see the unique Giardia colour …”

“They’re a different colour?” asked Campbell, intrigued.

“Yeah! Well because the Giardia stops your intestine from absorbing any fat they’re like a greasy …” I began, about to describe this unique colour, but I stopped when I noticed Campbell and Goober turning red in the face and holding back laughter, and followed their glances to the next table where an elderly couple had paused in their eating, forks poised in mid-air, due to mental images of Giardiasis-induced diarrhea.