It started when I met up with my friends for our annual “get drunk and tell lies” night. We do this the Saturday night before the Indy 500. It is tradition. I didn’t get completely bombed, but I was at the point of drunkenness where I thought every woman had to be in love with me because of my great looks and wonderful sense of humor. Needless to say I went home alone.
Now nothing on this earth is as dangerous as an inebriated man who is all of a sudden is starved out of his mind. I got the pizza flyer out. I had not noticed the jalapeño topping before. It had to be good. Hell, I always sprinkled a few peppers on my tacos. I ordered the large, double cheese, double jalapeño. Now that I think back, I think the guy taking the order was giggling.
I remember cussing the pizza company for their slow service. I had ordered the pizza 3 minutes earlier and it still wasn’t there. After what seemed like an eternity, the door bell rings, I shove $25 into the drivers hand, grabbed the box filled with ambrosia, and was smashing pizza before I hit the couch.
After 4 or 5 pieces and another Budweiser, I became exhausted. I took the long way to the bedroom, 2 steps forward and one step back. I don’t think I dreamed much but I woke up to the sound of a Harley Davidson idling outside my window. As I slowly assessed my hangover, I realized that the rumble I was hearing was my stomach. I knew at that moment I would have to stare death in the face.
I ran to the bathroom with that deer in the headlight look. One hand was firmly planted over my sphincter; I didn’t have a carpet cleaner, so precautions were necessary.
I am not a chemist but I can tell you that some chemical process happen in the body when you mix Jalapeños and Budweiser. The combination of the two turns to acid. Here is the insidious part. The acid doesn’t leave your body all at once. It comes in waves every 12 minutes or so, for hours. I started praying after my 5th trip to the horror chamber. Dear God, I promise to quit drinking if you just stop this pain. He must have known I was lying because there was no relief. By trip 8 to the toilet, I prayed again. Dear God, I promise to believe in you all of the time if you can stop me from this torture. He knew I was lying, nothing changed.
By trip 12, I was becoming weak. I dared not wipe and dabbing was more painful than most people could have endured. I had thoughts of ice cube suppositories and what it would feel like to sit on an ice cream cone but I was just too weak and walking was painful.
I passed out after trip 15. It was over. I had been beaten. I wanted death to take me.
When I awoke up two hours later, my stomach spasms had subsided. I was going to live. I walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a can of cold beer and sat on the couch. I didn’t need God anymore.
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