Actually, this blog title doesn’t really need any additional articulation, does it? It’s sort of the blogospheric equivalent of “Snakes on a Plane.” But since you’re reading already, and presumably gripped, allow me to at least explain how these ribs got into me.
Answer: I ate them. Again, this may be rather anticlimactic (unless, of course, you were thinking that the ribs of which I was speaking were the selfsame ribs I was born with, though that assumption would be really quite unreasonable because “full” so obviously refers to ingested food, and not musculature).
And as you can also likely infer, this entry was written during my current several-hour layover in Houston on the way from LA to Buenos Aires. I arrived, having slept most of the way to Houston, to my immense disappointment (disappointment because sleep on first leg diminished odds of sleep on second leg), then with three hours to kill, thought it would be wise to eat something that would not be available to me for the entirety of my time in Arg: good old Texas BBQ ribs. And now I am full of those ribs. Now, to be fair, given the history of my poor volatile overstressed GI system, eating a mountain of saucy ribs and an ocean of iced tea may not have been the wisest move immediately before getting on a ten-hour plane flight, but what’s done is done.
And as for the intestinal aftermath that will be suffered by me upon my transhemispheric flight, I’ll be sure to update you, O broad readership. Lucky, lucky broad readership.
