:mattLandia:

While walking streets of Bangalore with my resident Reuters guide Miss JLight, you sucker punched our insides, induced panic stricken waves of sweat, knocked our equilibrium entirely off tilt, and forced a false alarm emergency evacuation. The logistics involved in recalibrating the day's mission to include a stop in the sanitary JLight sanctuary cost precious hours that could have been spent bartering for wicked cool gold belly-dancing goddes statuettes. You false alarm fiend!

At least two hit and run shart attacks. I thought I was safe - I was not. NOTE: Beige shorts do not make for good gastrointestinal combat gear.

A fullscale withdrawal from GAP, across the Lennox breezeway into Macy's, grimacing in pain, hands clenched in anger, blazing through the perfume kiosks, reading the signs ("where is the men's room? where is the MENS ROOM? WHERE IN BLOODY HELL IS THE MENSROOM AND WHY AM I SCREAMING IN A BRITISH ACCENT?!"), stumbling gimp-like so as to help reinforce SPHINTER's gateway position between uber-clenched asscheeks, knocking patrons to the side, streaking through yards and yards of hanging panties, bras, and assorted feathered contraptions (what was Macy's thinking putting the Men's room just beyond a sea of lingerie?), barreling into a stall while screaming into the noise reduction tiles overhead: I WILL STOP YOU, YOU EVIL COLON, IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DOO-DOO! (Historical Note: mattLandia has yet to actually stop COLON, but is make long strides in refining gastrowarfare stalling techniques.)