All I was going to do was sip on some of the Wild Irish Rose that Matt-Man sent me during the live recording of the I'm With Stupid podcast Saturday night. How much trouble could that cause?
More than you could ever imagine. If I were a stripper I would drink WIR instead of the traditional “stripper fuel” of Moscato or Red Bull and Vodka mixes.
There's fifteen minutes left in a forty-five minute show. I'm fine. I'll just stand up for a second. I'm on my cell phone, which was probably an even worse idea than the Rose, so I can walk around a bit during the “after show.” Okay, no walking around. Gotta get back into the chair.
My tongue is going numb. This isn't normal. Also, I finally figured out the taste. Cough syrup. Who needs to get all the shit for Purple Drank when you can just drink this shit. Did we say goodbye? Is the show over? Okay, I'll hang up now.
Maybe I should get something to eat. Right, I was planning on some shrimp cocktail for dinner with some rolls. I can handle that. The food will slow the explosive rise of the Rose and things will level off. The shrimp is much meatier than normal. Kinda chewy even. Much more flavorful than the last time. And the cocktail sauce! It's exquisite! The perfect combination of heat, horseradish and other ingredients covering up the blandness of the ketchup, but not so much that you can't taste it at all. Obviously kosher salt was used. Amazing given this is Best Choice cocktail sauces and not a name brand.
HOLY JESUS WHAT'S GOING ON HERE? Obviously, WIR is scientifically made to combine with cocktail sauce to at least triple the affects of the alcohol. The world is spinning out of control. Gotta hold onto my desk chair and make sure I don't fall off. Also, tweet. Just act normal and no one will know what's going on.
There are some saltines on the desk. Perfect. The flower in the cracker will act as an absorbent and will finally slow down the Wild Irish Rose raging out of control in my system. OH GOD! BEST FUCKING CRACKER I'VE EVER EATEN! And the saltiest. I didn't even know it was legal to make them that salty. These crackers have changed my life.
GUN SHOTS! Those were gun shots. I know they were. Maybe I should call 911. But wait. I can't. If I do they'll want to interview me. They'll conduct a full search of the my apt under the Patriot Act and will find the empty WIR bottle and my Tea Party bumper sticker. Then I'll be branded a subversive and whisked away during the middle of the night. Never to be heard from again.
Or worse. It might have been the cop in who lives in the building next to mine doing the shooting. The savage bastard might have exploded in an authoritarian rage at some smart ass punk and shot him. If I call 911 they'll get here before he can clean up the crime scene. Then he and his bastard cop friends will have to deal with me. And it won't be pretty.
Fuck it. I'm not even looking out the window. If I try I can convince myself it was just some kid shooting off what's left of his fireworks supply. Yeah, that's it. I'm sure of it now. But, I better turn the lights out and go undercover. Just to make sure.
You know what would be great right now? A Tony's frozen pepperoni pizza. God Dammit why didn't I plan for this possibility? I can't leave the apartment and run to Country Mart to get one because the cop next door probably hasn't cleaned up the crime scene yet. How 'bout a bowl of Frosted Flakes? Yeah, that'll work. The cold milk and sugar will combine to sooth my soul and allow me to sit here calmly and watch Roseanne Cash and Brandi Carlile on Austin City Limits and slowly drift off into to the Great Elsewhere.
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