I get a bad trache-tube

Chicken, pepper & feta sammies, beer beer beer (and a little cheap vodka)

I'm at a wierd villa, it has a sprawling layout and a central square tower that soars probably 10 stories. I don't know why we're there, and I don't know how many of us. R is there, myself, maybe Rob T? Maybe Josh? I don't know. It's art related, though, and there's some competitive aspect, or maybe even danger. I have very important skills. I think I have a cough or something, and R insists that I get a trache tube. I have my tube, and now she insists on feeding me through it. She has a very "How hard can it be" attitude. I'm dubious, but she will not relent. I'm seated in a high backed wooden chair, carved, in a vast, ancient hall within the villa, hung with red velvet drapery and golden light. R steps up and basically rips the breathing tube from my neck hole. A great howling rush of wind screams from the tracheotomy. We are all pretty unprepared for that, but R struggles forward and shoves the syringe-backed tube into the opening and forcefully syringes the contents down into my stomach. The clumsy trache insertion, however, also perforated my stomach, straight out through my belly. The liquid food sprays in a thin stream out of the perforation-- my stomach has sprung a leak. I'm tired of it all, and I don't want to deal, so I just put my finger over the thin spraying stream to keep R from noticing.