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Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Wherein I ate a stuffed jalapeno

A few weeks back, I rode my bike downtown to have dinner at my fave spot. The special included cheese-stuffed jalapenos. I was feeling frisky, and I got me some with some iced water. After eating one, I got me some more iced water. Lots more. While eating the other thing I ordered, I nibbled another half pepper. After that, I just squeezed the cheese out and ate that. Mostly, I couldn't feel my mouth anyway, and eating the rest wouldn't be a problem, but I saw no reason to further assault my belly. My delicate virginous belly.

Following a yummy dessert that I could almost taste, I hoped on my bike and made my way back home. (I know the dessert was yummy because I've had it before.) I follow a greenway for most of the way, and the greenway cuts through the NCSU campus. The sun was down, and I navigated by residual daylight punctuated by my LED headlight. As I'm passing the little pond that catches runoff before it gets to the creek, I'm thinking how it won't be long before the frogs are out and singing to me as I pedal by.

That's when I felt the undeniable, nonnegotiable, immutable pang. I headed my bike into what I hoped was a clearing between two trees. It slowed in the vines. I stepped off, dropped the bike without ceremony, and moved another couple of feet off the path, my feet tangling in the vines as I unbuckled my belt. My pants and draws hit the deck as I turned and leaned forward in a single motion that is surely studied for years before mastery in gymnast school. For the next hour, I sprayed without ceasing molten lava across the surrounding landscape, surely an artist ahead of my time.

I had no words to describe my feelings then. I only had the hour-long inhalation that was followed by a silent scream the likes of which this world could not bear as an audible expression. We're talking the Word of God here.

As you surely know, there only civilized cleanup following such an event includes an evening in the shower. Unfortunately, the bastard greenway designers failed to foresee my distress, and I was left to find the one red bandana I carried, stuff it in my draws, and reassemble my altogether as best I could in the dark with my feet twisted in barbed vines while the cooling lava crackled and spit across the landscape behind me, the landscape I could no longer see in the dark.

Dignity is not required to mount a bike, and I hopped on carefully to pedal my way back home, wondering along the way who would be in the lobby of the apartment building waiting to share a ride on the elevator with my odoriferous and slightly steaming self.  

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