Brain Dead Serious

Imagine Tequila

Imagine tequila.

Imagine that shot glass filled to the brim with that golden liquid of sin

and the gleaming salt crystals around the rim. Ready to tickle your tongue

and wake up the beast inside you.

Imagine the thin slice of lime sitting atop that small mysterious throne,

its citric flavor anticipating to chase away

the bitterest memories.

Imagine the glass getting nearer and nearer

your nose.

Imagine the aroma…

That aroma…

That most unique of aromas…

Now imagine meatballs.

Meatballs shooting from your throat like cannonballs at 1000 feet per second,

violently splashing into the toilet bowl

or onto your poor friend’s crotch,

shrieking and cursing you like a madman.

He won’t talk to you for a week or two. Good job.

Imagine pasta escaping from your mouth and nostrils at the same time

at incredible speeds like racers sprinting to the finish line;

and then red sauce mixed with your stomach’s gastric acid

spilling onto the floor for some unfortunate soul to mop later.

Or imagine lettuce from your dinner last night.

Good golly! That stuff’s still in there?

Rice swimming in your unusually dense saliva,

Liquefied Pringles,

Fluid fish fillet,

Melted nachos,

Super soft and saturated cheese sticks.

Coke, that’s definitely Coke.

Of course it could be your bile.

And bits of pork and beef fibers that something in your belly shredded like those amazing cutting tools on 1-800 TV commercials.

The probability of regurgitated food getting stuck in between your teeth

all of a sudden increasing by 93%,

so you can enjoy the funky taste until you’re able to dislodge it in the bathroom

with extreme difficulty

and revolting consequences.

Imagine that person you’re trying to impress

bearing witness to the unholy work of the god of eternal vomit and puke

making beautiful, earth-shattering retching noises

over and over again

like dying in the most painful, inhumane way

bringing everyone from other tables to the scene

of such splendid, stinky terror

you’ll be having nightmares about forever.

Imagine the morning.

Oh, Jesus, the morning!

Imagine the trauma.

Imagine tequila.

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