I think I need to first point out I am a huge hot sauce collector. At one point the entire bottom shelf of my fridge was nothing but hot sauces from around the world. The hotter they are, the better they are.
Last night I went to a giant burrito restaurant and I ordered one of the big boys. I watched in much anticipation as my burrito was pushed down the line for toppings. I had cheese, beans, lettuce, salsa and jalapenos. Not just jalapenos, but four heaping fistfuls of jalapenos. This is literally how the conversation went down:
Burrito maker: "Anything else"
Mentally-challenged customer (me): "Yeah. Put some jalapenos on it."
Burrito maker: "That good?"
Mentally-challenged customer (me): "No. I want you to make me find Jesus."
Burrito maker adds jalapenos until he has added two cups. I can no longer see other toppings.
Random customer: "Just give him some Habaneras.”
The burrito maker looks back at me and I nod for him to proceed. He then turns around and pulls out this ladle full of black death and pours it across my burrito.
Mentally-challenged customer (me): "Yeaaaaah perfect!"
Like a salivating dog I then sat at a table and proceeded to add more hot sauce and peppers.
Looking back on the event, I would do it all it all over again.
It's now 7:15 am and here I've sat since 5:30 am this morning with my laptop sitting on an overturned laundry hamper, now writing what could possibly be my last words to Dave. My legs are numb; and as soon as I am able to walk again I will be going to the hardware store to buy the most comfortable toilet seat I can find - maybe something plush and gel-filled, with cooling misting jets and some massaging action.
Not only have I found Jesus, but I believe I found Buddha and a few other worshipped deities. This is like some Native American spiritual journey trip except without the peyote and hotbox to make you find your inner spirit animal.
With every violent convulsion of my intestines that release this magma from my anus, I find myself suddenly Finding Jesus all over again. I call out a violent war on sanity as a torrent of screams in what I can only imagine is praying in tongues erupts from my mouth. Some guy ate waaay too many peppers one night; and during his journey to purify his soul, he began praying to Jesus while on the throne, begging His Savior to let him live through this horrific ordeal.
At this time he was then caught off-guard mid-prayer and braced himself against the walls, with his arms above him; when all of a sudden a solar flare release moved past his anus and a flurry of prayer became flesh once again. It demanded human form in a cyclonic whirl of gibberish and arm flailing. I know because I had ridden the ride before.
Let me just end in saying this: While we have all felt raw at one point in our lives, I believe I found a new classification of the word. I know at some point I have to stop this madness and rise from my porcelain sanctuary. And, after much thought, I have settled on receiving the boon of the removable showerhead to be followed by patting myself dry with giant, fluffy balls of cotton administered by none other than myself, as my girlfriend has made it abundantly clear there will be no 'helping' of any kind.
