You’ve heard me mention the amazing Ian Dow before. May I introduce him to you now? Don’t shake his hand, it’s covered in the backed up rot from sewer pipes.
“Lettuce is terrible for garbage disposals,” he tells me. He should know.
City gas stations are always on a corner. It’s smart. There’s a sign on the sign post advertising Amp. An energy drink from Mountain Dew.
The Dew is a gateway cola. You drank Moutain Dew as a kid and got all shaky and realized, “I can handle this.” You demanded more from your soda. Sparks offered to put malt liquor in it, but the government had to step in and remind everyone malt liquor isn’t for children.
“Energy drinks make me rapey,” Seth says as we walk past the sign, the black foreboding can and the green bolts of electricity that comprise the font.
“Yeah,” says Jeff. “You drink Mountain Dew and next thing you know you’re skydiving out of an airplane with a snowboard strapped to your feet. Whattaya think is gonna happen if you drink AMP?”
“You’re gonna rape things?” I ask.
“You’re certainly gonna try. Grocery stores. Hot dog buns. Nothings safe.”
Not sure what I killed, but it all fit in the back of my truck. Ian stood in the road twenty five feet below to stop any cars that might want to be driving past the scene. I used safety sunglasses because things in California need to have panache.
Matt Conway sent me this picture. He didn’t know I spent all last night puking into various trash cans and toilets. Figures, doesn’t it, that I puke up the expensive meal from Delfina rather than the 5 dollar burrito I usually have? Anchovies and black olives coming right up! The third round of regurgitation was just water I’d drank. It hadn’t even adjusted to my internal body temperature, the cool water felt as equally refreshing in reverse.
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