The Ultimate Burning Ring of Fire

I put this story on the internet because it seems to help my web rankings.
It occurred to me as part of my annual fast. A strange time of year when other horrible incidents can happen to me (you can proceed to that story at your own risk).

It all started in my earlier years of fasting, when I was still developing the concept and tweaking and improving it every year. This particular year my intention was to shoot for a new record of 15 days. This was by far the worst way I ever broke a fast. Fasting is supposed to be healthy, but over the years I learned it was important to prepare your body for it properly, and come out of the fast properly as well. For example, being a big partier, I thought that if during my fast I would switch from beer to Becherovka, a lethal Czech herbal alcohol, it would be okay. After all, herbs are healthy, right? My food consisting of mostly water, you can imagine what a binge on the town made me feel like the next day, and it took me more than 24 hours to recover.
I would also find myself nibbling on the occasional potato chip. Just to satisfy my craving for food, but such a small amount that I still considered myself fasting (which it basically was, because the benefits of a fast work from denial of food and calories, consuming well below the usual intake level).
In the earlier years of my fasting I found I was bombarded by an amazing craving for food. I would not feel pain in my stomach, but I could be walking down the street and my heightened senses would be very sensitive to the wafts of spicy cooking coming out of the windows above. My mind would be continually bombarded by every delicious dish and morsel of food that I craved for. I could practically taste it on my lips and the juices sinking into my pallet. It was a constant war of denial against my mental temptations. Since then I have devised a virtually painless fast, but at that time I compensated for my torment by allowing myself to have spicy broth soup. A small pot at the end of the day which would satisfy my cravings and fill up my tummy with mostly tasty water. At first I would start out innocently by making crushed garlic soup with half a cube of vegetable broth, some black pepper and some chili powder. I asked about this to a friend of mine who seemed very knowledged in health and associated areas, and she gave me the green light that such a strategy shouldn't be harmful to my body or work against my fast. But as the days wore on and my craving increased (I think the little nibbles were what was increasing my craving), I indulged myself to more and more spices. Increasing the amount of freshly ground pepper, a little bit more crushed garlic, a few dashes more of chilli powder and other spices, and an increasing dose of freshly chopped burning hot red peppers. To add to this, I was juice fasting at that time, which is a mixture of mostly water, a few freshly squeezed lemons, a few table spoons of maple syrup and, you guessed it: a pinch of chili powder to add flavour and supposedly to help break down the saliva or something. Since I absolutely love hot food and am in the habit of raising eyebrows among people who watch me eat spicy food, being virtually invincible to any such torture, I was rather liberal in my doses of chilli to my juice fast mixture.
By the time day 15 was near, I was really taking in a toxic level of chilli peppers every day. But I reasoned that, because my body was not really getting any food, it must be consuming all this hot stuff in the empty stomach and why I was not feeling any pain coming out the other end (actually, nothing was coming out the other end, because I was not eating enough).
It was now day 14.5, I was on my way home, walked past a butcher shop and the aroma which penetrated my nostrils almost made me faint. I walked to the end of the block and decided that I will indulge myself in a tasty spicy sausage, and just suck on the juice and spit out the meat on the way home. I sucked about a third of it away on the way home, faithfully spitting out the hard stuff by the side of the road, and when I got to my flat I was about to put the rest away in the fridge.
But I guess after all that tormenting, nibbling, teasing and general denial, something snapped. Perhaps I justified myself because I basically managed the new record (the next year I achieved 19.5 days, also with a bad exit, but hardly as bad as this one). I quickly decided to abandon any further aspirations of self denial, I grabbed the first empty duffle bag I could find, and went out and filled it up with whatever my cravings hollered for. Which was basically about six bags of different flavoured potato chips, perhaps some more sausages, maybe different jars of pickles, probably some beer, and I can't really remember what else. All I can remember is, with great satisfied purpose, laying out the contents of the duffle bag on the coffee table in the living room, a movie running to accentuate the treat, and I was about to indulge myself to a kingly feast indeed!
I pigged out to the fullest of gluttonous fashion, and eventually leaned back, arms behind my head, with a nice plump tummy and a very satisfied grin on my face. The fast was over, I was happy with the new "record", and everything seemed basically back to normal.
Until I guess the next day, or whenever it was when I had to first relieve myself. At first the turds of fire were rather small. I guess the choochoo train of blazing inferno was picking up momentum as the food I began to eat piled up in my intestines and created a bulldozer, pushing ahead of it several weeks worth of accumulated chilli and hot spices.
I truly cannot think of a more painful experience in my life. I think I barely slept for about five days, constantly gently massaging on more hemorrhoid cream in the hope that it would alleviate the pain. Barely made a dent. After each release I would step into the shower, remove the showerhead from the wall and spray freezing cold water up the poop shoot. Heck, after about a day I didn't even bother relieving myself in the toilet and went straight to the shower, pooing right through that freezing cold shower, no matter how slightly relieving it was.
I tossed and turned every night in extreme pain, while my girlfriend at the time simply turned over with the greatest disinterest, as if I could only deserve such a punishment.

This must have been the most painful period of my life. Can there ever possibly be a greater burning ring of fire story to top this???

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After reading this, I assume you couldn't possibly trust any advice I might have concerning
general health
but I have been learning over the years y'know!