Last Updated on September 20, 2025 by Michael

Spicy Foods to Avoid While Having Diarrhea: A Survival Guide for Your Already Angry Intestines

So you’re reading this from the bathroom. Don’t even try to deny it.

The State of Things

Right now, your digestive system is basically a broken water park slide that nobody asked for. You’ve memorized every crack in the bathroom tile. The plumber thinks you’re calling to ask them out at this point. Your toilet has filed a restraining order.

And somehow—SOMEHOW—you’re eyeballing that jar of ghost pepper salsa like it owes you money.

This. This is why humanity can’t have nice things.

Let’s Talk About Your Terrible Life Choices

There are bad decisions, like buying cryptocurrency from a guy named “CryptoChad69.” Then there are CATASTROPHIC decisions, like eating sriracha when your intestines are already having their own personal 9/11.

Here’s what you’re actually doing to yourself:

You see that last one? Eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos during diarrhea is like trying to put out a fire with a flamethrower made of smaller flamethrowers. Sure, technically something’s happening, but it’s all bad.

The Bullshit You’re About to Tell Yourself

“Spicy food kills bacteria!”

Listen, Trevor. The only thing getting killed here is your will to live and possibly your relationship with everyone who shares a bathroom with you. Bacteria? They’re throwing a party in your intestines right now. They’ve got tiny red solo cups and everything.

“Building up tolerance!”

To what? Pain? Suffering? The inevitable heat death of the universe via your butthole? This isn’t CrossFit for your colon, you absolute walnut.

“Milk will cancel it out!”

Oh brilliant. Let’s add lactose intolerance to the mix. That’s like… that’s like trying to cure a hangover with more alcohol except the alcohol is on fire and so is your entire digestive tract. You know what? Go ahead. Natural selection needs to work somehow.

An Important Message from Your Sphincter

Dear Management,

After careful consideration and recent events, this letter serves as formal notice of resignation, effective immediately.

The working conditions have become unbearable. The latest incident involving “Dave’s Insanity Sauce” was the final straw. Or should I say, the final splash.

No amount of Preparation H can prepare me for what you monsters keep sending down here.

Insincerely, Your Sphincter

P.S. The colon is considering a class action lawsuit.

Shit You Forgot Was Spicy Because Your Brain Stopped Working

Your digestive system right now has the structural integrity of wet newspaper, and these foods are basically assault weapons:

• Pepperoni pizza (yes, that greasy disappointment disk counts)
• Black pepper (a war crime in your current state)
• Cinnamon ANYTHING (your gut doesn’t care if it’s in a churro)
• Ginger ale (it has GINGER in the name, genius)
• Those red pepper flakes that you always use too much of
• Anything labeled “zesty” or “bold” or “kickin'”
• Mustard of any kind (even honey mustard, you monster)
• Ranch with “a kick” (why does ranch need a kick?)
• Marinara sauce (tomatoes are already angry at you)
• That “mild” salsa that’s only mild compared to lava

The Six Stages of Spicy Food Grief (Bathroom Edition)

Hour 0: Hubris “Been 20 minutes since the last explosion. Nature is healing. That leftover pad thai is looking pretty good…”

Hour 0.5: The Mistake Takes bite Instant regret Sphincter sends resignation letter

Hour 1-4: The Reckoning You’re now a permanent resident of the bathroom. You’ve named the tiles. The toilet brush is your only friend. Your family is sliding water bottles under the door like you’re a hostage.

Hour 5: The Googling “Can spicy food cause permanent damage” “How to apologize to intestines” “Is it normal to see God during diarrhea” “Butthole transplant cost without insurance”

Hour 8: Bargaining You’re promising deities from religions you just invented that you’ll never eat anything spicier than vanilla pudding ever again. You’re considering veganism. You’re writing apology letters to your colon.

Day 2: Acceptance You’re a broken human. The hot sauce has won. You make eye contact with a jalapeño at the grocery store and have Vietnam flashbacks.

Why This Is Happening (Science for Dummies Who Eat Spicy Food While Dying)

Capsaicin is oil-based. Your diarrhea is water-based. Oil and water don’t mix, except in this case they do mix and create what scientists call “liquid hell.”

Your intestinal lining right now is basically tissue paper that’s already been used. Adding capsaicin is like… okay, imagine someone with a terrible sunburn. Now imagine rubbing that sunburn with sandpaper. Now imagine the sandpaper is made of bees. Angry bees. That are also on fire.

That’s your colon. Right now. And you want to add MORE spice?

Darwin is spinning in his grave so fast we could use him for renewable energy.

Foods That Won’t Betray You (Boring But You’ll Live)

Since you clearly can’t be trusted to make good decisions:

• White rice (the Switzerland of foods)
• Bananas (potassium and sadness)
• Toast (dry, like your sense of humor after this)
• Saltines (party crackers for the dying)
• Plain oatmeal (gruel for the weak)
• Applesauce (you’ve become a toddler)

Yeah, it’s boring. You know what’s not boring? Not having to call in sick for a third day because you thought you could handle “just one more wing.”

Real Talk for the “I’m Built Different” Crowd

No you’re not.

You’re built exactly like everyone else who’s currently destroying their toilet. Your digestive system isn’t special. It doesn’t have superpowers. It’s not going to suddenly develop immunity to capsaicin because you believe in yourself really hard.

You know who says they’re “built different”? People who are about to learn they’re built exactly the fucking same as everyone else, just dumber.

The Absolute Worst Combinations (For People Who Hate Themselves)

A Moment of Silence

For all the toilets that have suffered. For all the relationships ruined by bathroom occupancy. For all the Charmin shareholders getting rich off your poor choices.

They deserve better.

Listen, Here’s the Thing

Every single person reading this who’s thinking “but maybe just a little bit…” needs to understand something:

That urge? That little voice saying “you can handle it”? That’s the same part of your brain that thinks you can fix your car with YouTube videos, that your ex “has really changed this time,” and that cryptocurrency is “totally going to bounce back.”

That part of your brain is an idiot. Stop listening to it.

What Your Organs Are Thinking Right Now

Stomach: “I’m calling the police.” Small intestine: “This is a hostile work environment.” Large intestine: “I didn’t sign up for this.” Liver: “I’m just trying to filter toxins, not napalm.” Gallbladder: “Everyone forgets about me until it’s too late.” Pancreas: “I’m too old for this shit.” Sphincter: Has blocked you on all social media

The Harsh Truth Nobody Wants to Hear

You’re not being brave. You’re not being tough. You’re not “pushing through.”

You’re just an adult who can’t follow basic instructions like “don’t pour acid on an open wound” except the wound is your entire digestive system and the acid is that Dave’s Insanity Sauce you bought to impress literally nobody.

One Final Warning Because Apparently We Need to Spell This Out

That hot sauce? It’ll be there next week. Those jalapeños? Not going extinct. The Thai place? Still delivering when your body stops impersonating a chocolate fountain.

But you? You’re one ghost pepper away from becoming a cautionary tale that gastroenterologists tell at conferences. “There was this patient who ate Carolina Reapers during acute gastroenteritis. We still don’t know how they survived.”

The Bottom Line

Right now, at this very moment, your digestive system is begging for mercy. It’s waving white flags made of toilet paper. It’s filing workplace grievances. It’s considering unionizing.

And you want to throw hot sauce at it?

That’s like bringing a knife to a gunfight, except you’re stabbing yourself with the knife and the gun is also shooting you and everything is on fire.

Just. Eat. The. Damn. Rice.

Or don’t. But when you’re on that toilet at 3 AM, regretting every decision that led you to this moment, crying tears that could probably be classified as a biohazard, making promises to gods you don’t even believe in…

Remember: You chose this.

The hot sauce didn’t jump into your mouth.

You did this to yourself.

(Now go eat some saltines like a normal person who wants to survive the week.)