Look, if you’re still out there romanticizing “fresh,” “farm-to-table,” or any of that wholesome produce porn, this one’s for you. We’ve got a full-blown parasitic sh*tstorm rolling across America right now. Cyclosporiasis — a fancy name for a microscopic bug that turns your bootyhole into a firehose — has already wrecked 843 people across 31 states since May. And that’s just the ones who bothered to tell the government they’re poopin lava. Michigan’s getting absolutely hemorrhaged. Their case count this year is already fourteen times higher than all of last year. Fourteen. Times. These poor soulsd are out here praying to the porcelain gods while the CDC plays catch-up like it’s 1997 and they still use dial-up. The parasite, Cyclospora cayetanensis, is the kind of uninvited dinner guest that shows up on your cilantro, basil, or whatever trendy green you’re virtue-signaling with this week. You eat it. It moves in. Then it throws the wildest, most explosive rager in your intestines you’ve ever hosted. Watery diarrhea that could blast paint off a wall, nausea, bloating, the whole symphony of gastrointestinal betrayal. And the best part? Nobody knows where the heck it’s coming from. No single smoking salad. Just the usual American mystery: probably some imported produce picked by underpaid workers and shipped across the world so you can have “fresh” strawberries in December.
This is what happens when we demand perfect, year-round, Instagram-ready food from every corner of the planet. Nature’s revenge, served with a side of explosive regret.
So next time you’re at the farmer’s market feeling smug about your organic herbs, just remember: somewhere out there, a tiny parasite is laughing its ass off, waiting to turn your brunch into a biological weapon. Bon appétit, you beautiful idiots.
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