Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Everyone thinks their own body is like this thing that would never hurt them, like a can of Dr. Pepper, or a single lily in a glass vase, but everyone is fucking WRONG. Cans of Dr. Pepper make good blunt objects to bash out people's brains (and, bonus, a tasty beverage is right at hand to quench your post-murder thirst), single lilies in glass vases very often carry switchblades, and your own body... oh shit, it's like if the Taliban was inside you, waiting to suicide bomb your whole self into oblivion. Ever heard of Cancer? Aneurysms? Lungs suddenly bursting into flames? That shit goes on all the time and that's just scratching the surface of how your body can do some motherfucking chin checkin'.
To that list I'd like to add one more item of pure, white hot, internal deadliness: Vomit Burps.
Or "Vurps," if you like.
And, yeah, all you Doubting Dans and Delilahs out there... Vurps can kill. Like trained, gross assassins, they can take you out in the blink of an eye. Perhaps even a blink of YOUR OWN eye. How fucked up is THAT? So fucked up.
Anyway, I know all this is true because I'm kind of this God-like figure who practically sweats omnipotence, but also because... last night... a Vurp damn near snuffed out my candle.
So it's 3am and I'm asleep, dreaming of you... yes, YOU... naked, save for a discreet layer of BBQ sauce, offering me a plate of brisket all, "hey, big boy, would you like me to sauce your beef," when tragedy struck. As I was unconscious and horny at the time, I'm unclear as to specifically what went down, but from what I've been able to piece together, I Vurped... while asleep...
The small quantity of vomit rose up into my throat and, as I was laying down, it stayed there, completely blocking my windpipe. I couldn't breath! After a few seconds of no-oxygen-having, I sprang to my feet, awake with terror, my esophagus burning with somewhat digested Taco Bueno. My eyes and nose began to run with tears and snot, respectively... oh, I'm sure I was a sight. Still handsome as the day is long, of course, but also kind of slimy and wet.
For about 20 seconds, I just stumbled around like a drunk man fighting an imaginary wasp... choking to death, drowsy with nudie meat dreams, slick in the face from my various juices...
I thought, "Well, this is it... this is how it all ends for ol' C-dog. Bury me face down so the world can admire my shapely buttocks!!!"
And then... my will to live kicked in! With my last ounce of sexy energy, I swallowed hard, forcing the vomit back down into the Hell from whence it came (my stomach). I breathed deeply the stale, farty air of my one room apartment. It tasted to me like stale, farty ambrosia.
So let this be a warning to you all, my little lambs. Your body is the enemy. It wants you to die in a variety of terrifying, painful ways. And it wants you to poop a little when you croak so your funeral will be cloaked in shame.
Be wary. Be vigilante. Drink lots of 100 proof liquor to show it just who the fuck is boss. And maybe lay off the Taco Bueno; that stuff is the spark that sets off the war, much like the assassination of Franz Ferdinand (the archduke, not the peppy band).