Sugar
Our nation is in the midst of a tragedy. Tragedy affects many people in many ways. Some mourn. Soem pray. Some scream and bitch and demand vengeance. I do something else entirely. So desperate to think about anything else, and having been betrayed by television, who played nothing but news (quick question, with 24/7 news coverage, what do they do when Dan Rather has to poop?) for 72 straight hours, I become so incredibly, detrimentally stupid that it should by all rights force my brain right out of my head. I'll start at the beginning.
After a day chock full of rage against something other than the machine for once, I was pretty out of it. I had even planned on sleeping at a half normal hour, but that would have been intelligent. As such, it caught me completely off guard when John announced to us all that Bill was about to perform the amazing.
Let me explain about that. John and Bill and a number of other people who will go unnamed until I decide to name them live in the suite across from where Wendle, Rocky, me, and Terry live. To think of it simply, in 1980's cartoon terms, they are our evil twin, the Faker to our He-Man. Only not really evil, just a contorted mirror version. Maybe more like the Bizzaro to our Superman.
Anyway, John stormed into our room with the bold claim that Bill was about to perform a feat of some degree of amazingness. John and Witt had offered him $20 to eat half of a 5 lb bag of high quality, Walmart sugar. Being the man who has eaten an entire Wendy's hamburger in one bite, and done the same with a slice of pizza, I was quite interested, mainly because there was a chance I could get this $20 myself.
Anyway, using my conniving skills I managed to somehow work my way into this by "joining" Bill's "team." What this meant was that after 1/3 of a large dixie cup full uf sugar Bill was ready to give up, and his "investors" weren't finished being amused, so they decded to let me in on the zaniness. Damn them.
Like Bill, I started out with a glucose cocktail, which is the term I just ivented for a large dixie cup filled to the brim with pure sugar. Appetizing, isn't it? We each went at our cocktails like crazy. That is, until we took our first bites. Then we slowed to a crawl.
Consumption of sugar is not a fast movign process. First, the sugar must be poured into one's mouth. Then the consumer must wait until his mouth can salivate enough for him to force the sugar down his throat. As disgusting as it was, the rule was made that vomitting was allowed, but inducing it was not. Of course, lets be honest here, we were pretty much inducing vomitting through excessive sugar consumption.
It was at this point that tragedy befell my comrade in arms, Bill. During a tragic wrestling accident, his glucose cocktail was spilled mercilessly onto the floor, but the powers that be ruled that he must eat it anyway. If you've never seen a grown man on his knees licking sugar off of the floor, I recommend watching it sometime. It was in fact the second funniest thing I've seen all week (*Note, the funniest thing I've seen all week is also something Bill ate, specifically a Twizzler that Rocky had secretly licked and then stuck down his pants. I'm still laughing about that.).
Anyway, after licking the remains of his sugar off of the floor, Bill was toasted. He was definately sugar rushing at this point, and he had lost his sense of judgement, which explains the licking. I finished mine around the same time, with an act that I believe caused my downfall as well. I attempted to down the last 1/4 of my glucose cocktail in one shot. Obviously I had lost my sense of judgement at this point as well. Hell, I think we both lost it long ago, else we never would've agreed to this.
Bill quit at this point, but in honor of my achievement, he kicked in $5 to the pot if I could finish the sugar on my own. At this point also, a new rule was created. I was now allowed to mix the sugar with water when necessary, to more easily down it. This kept me going, because at this point, even with all the water I was drinking (over 1.5 liters) I was as thirsty as a fish in the desert. This also allowed me to use my advantage, my mad chugging skills, which are normally useless because of my non-drinkingness.
With the power of chugging surging through me I made some serious headway on the remaining sugar, by hitting 70 proof dixie cups. I made it through 3 of these before I started to slow, and even after slowing I managed to down a fourth and final cup, before my effort became useless.
After I finished the fourth cup, I was in a state of sluggishness and hyperactivity at the same time, which I can guess is not a good way to be. At this point I think John decided that if I ate any more sugar I would die a whole lot, so he cut me off. Or maybe he just didn't want to pay me. He took the bag and hid it away in a cabinet, that must've been like 6 whole feet away. Sadly, I was in no condition to move, let alone get up off my ass, so this effectively ended my participation in the contest.
At this point, John got Rocky and Wendel to drag my pathetic ass back to my room to die. You would think that this would end my story, but in fact it did not. And I must advise caution before you read the next part, because the content is graphic in nature. If you have a weak stomach, I advise you to skip the next little bit, which I will relate in the dialogue that occurred afterwards, between Rocky and myself:
[SCUBA] : When You shit, how is it?
[ROCKY] : What?
[SCUBA] : What textures have you shit?
[ROCKY] : Textures? Uh... chunky, solid, mushy, runny... Why, you shit a brick?
[SCUBA] : I think I just invented a new one. I just had crystalline shit.
[ROCKY] : HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The moral is, no matter much it may look like it, sugar is very very very very not good for you. The end.
--Scuba Steve, September 14, 2001