Dear Stir Chinese Restaurant in Seattle, I ate dinner there today. You probably remember me. I was the only person in the entire restaurant, which, at the time, seemed strange. Now it feels more like a kind of foreboding that I missed. I am writing this while perched uncomfortably on my toilet. I am remembering your delicious General Tso's Chicken with steamed rice and egg flower soup, with each contraction of my bowels. I would enjoy sending you the bill for the two rolls of toilet paper I am using, per hour, and the reduction of my pride. But on what scale does one measure dignity? I have also lost a lot of weight on your "Chinese Cleanse" but all you will receive is a Single Finger Thank You from me. At first, I was excited to have "beat the dinner rush" in your restaurant. But now the only rush I feel, is coming from your food, exiting my body. My stinging anus would like to point out that although people pay a lot of money to go on diets like this one, I doubt that they can sense parasites building little red-roofed pagodas in their small intestine. I am certain I can imagine the result, were I to mistakenly laugh. Or cough. Or sneeze. I will endeavor to refrain from partaking in any of those activities. I would be much like a filling water balloon were you to remove its rubbery sphincter from the spigot and then release your finger grip on the balloon's neck. Thank you for the excellent service though. My meal of intestinal parasites was delivered quickly and with a smile. Although I have never had cholera, I now understand how people die of it. Thank you for letting me see what it is like to live in other countries! It has been an exciting ride.