Journals of an Insane Genius - April 2001
Editor's Note: Needing a break, I did not write anything for the Mensa newsletter this month. However, the company I work for is getting ready for the company picnic. One of the events will be a chili cook-off. I was asked to write 'something amusing to spark interest' in the chili cook-off. So, I spent about ninety minutes scribbling what follows out. Since it wasn't for Mensa, I didn't bother following my 98% truthfulness rule that applies to the rest of the journals. Anyway, I submitted it to the company's newsletter, where it was rejected for being "possibly, not by us of course - we think it's funny - but, you know, the company's name will be on it and some people may read it differently and feel that it's perhaps" offensive. Oh well, I gave it a shot. In the end they used the fifth paragraph.
As Rich walked in the door I was fearfully peering over the edge of the upturned dining room table at the strange blue-white light emanating from the pot of chili on my stove.
"What the heck [or words to that effect] is going on?" Rich cautiously asked.
I replied with only a single, whispered word: "Fusion."
As it turned out, just like what happened to chemists Marin Fleishmann and Stanley Pons in the spring of 1989, I have never been able to drink enough to reproduce the results of my successful demonstration of cold fusion. But, oh my, was that a great batch of chili.
With the Company Picnic date of June 16th fast approaching, some of you may be thinking of trying your luck at the annual chili cook-off. Since I am planning to enter, I feel it is my civic duty to warn you, don't bother. I'm sorry, I don't mean to boast or anything, but whatever you come up with simply will not stand a chance against my newest recipe. Not only that, I am a veteran of many chili cook-offs and my chili has never failed to vanquish the competition, the pitiful lamentations of sad, defeated cooks, now looking ridiculously out of place in their "World's Best Chili" aprons, sounding like music to my ears.
The events leading up to the acquisition of my latest recipe are kind of hazy in my mind. I remember I was at Tweeter Mahoney's standing on one foot and sinking the eight ball with one hand while laughing at the guy who had told me, "don't miss," six shots ago. Some people just don't know any better than to put unnecessary pressure on themselves. I decided to celebrate with a victory martini. That's where the story starts to get kind of spotty. I remember thinking that I needed to visit some friends who worked for the bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms because, being in the market for a girlfriend, I figured they were just the people to give me advice about how to please a woman. The next time I had a moment of clarity I was in the encampment of a band of Peruvian Freedom Fighters helping to cook a batch of chili for their Festival de la Mujer Dudosa [Festival of the Dubious Woman] (their words, not mine.)
Anyway, being in a remote area with no local Safeway, we had to resort to using a selection of the local flora and fauna to "spice up" the chili. I'm not too sure about the results. When the analysis of my blood came back a few weeks later it indicated that the unusual soil conditions in the region caused the peppers grown there to react with my allergy medication resulting in the synthesis of a kind of "home-made Prozac" [at least that's what the report said]. Not knowing this at the time, I tasted the chili. I guess if dubious had a taste, this would have been it. I remember not feeling too steady after sampling this concoction, but just then an attractive young freedom fighter named Mala Decisión seemed to be checking me out. I remember saying, "Hola señorita, estoy fugitivo..."
Next thing I know, I'm in the Atlanta airport, dressed up as Buddha, and ranting something about how "habañero peppers negate existence" [which makes no sense as that's something Nietzsche, not Buddha, would have said.] So, I take a part-time job as "guy asking for 'spare' change" and earn enough money to fly back to Arizona in time to get to work on Monday morning. Kim asks how my weekend was and, to avoid a reproachful look, I simply say smile and say, "Good."
Now I realize at this point that you may be asking yourself, "What on earth [or words to that effect] is he talking about?" Allow me to summarize:
1. The Company Picnic is Saturday, June 16th. 2. There will be a chili cook-off. 3. My 'Peruvian Prozac Chili' will win the chili cook-off (Prove me wrong - I dare you!) 4. Judges should be cautioned to get their immunizations up to date. 5. Rich should learn to knock before barging into people's houses.