I'm a 21 year old gamer from Canada who refuses to accept rational or logical explanations of all things. Armed with a large vocabulary and total disregard for morals and opinions, I fight for Justice. Or Destruction. Which ever gets me teh pwn.
This clip will make more sense when you finish reading this story. Enjoy!
I have needs. Many of them in fact. I need certain things to live. Water, food, shelter are the three basic needs that are unanimous to all human beings. Following that are the needs for friends, sex, and humour in my life. I'm now starting to get into more personal needs, but hopefully, many of you can relate. I need coffee in the morning. I need hot sauce when I eat wings. I need to make myself heard when I feel my views or rights are being downtrodden. If I don't have my needs satisfied, I will take action and things WILL happen. Segue aside, the point I'm trying to make is that when you are deprived of your needs, you will begin to act differently. More confrontational. More....feral. It was once said that the human race is only 3 meals away from total anarchy. It only took one meal for me.
It was 2 years ago. My first summer being 19 and therefore legal to drink in the great country of Canada. This was a right that I abused to no end. Anyway, the tale takes place is the summer resort of Grand Bend, in front of a little Burrito stand on the Main Drag.
I had rented a cottage with friends of mine and we were on day 3 of 8. The first night was spent settling in, having a campfire and cooking steaks on the BBQ. The second consisted of getting shitfaced beyond all belief. Barhopping all down the Drag, we all eventually made it back to the cottage drunker than hell. Today was the continuation of that.
It was high noon. The sun sweltered down on us, making us hide from it's power behind sunglasses and sunblock. A gentle warm breeze blew throughout the Bend. The Drag was bustling, hot rods patrolled up and down the main, Bikers gathered outside of bars and checked out each others hogs. And by hogs, I mean motorcycles. Well, they could have been checking out each others junk, it was 30 degrees Celsius and the were all in leather chaps. Beautiful people paraded through the head shops and clothing stores. Reggae music drifted lazily to its own beat out into the crowds. Laughter could be heard from benches, bars, and other amusements. Gorgeous women were everywhere to be seen, Their breasts loosely restrained by their bikinis. It was paradise.
We were sitting on a bar patio when the hunger struck. Having woken up just an hour ago, we needed to stave off our hangovers and stumbled to the nearest bar. I looked at my friends in varying states of awareness and posed the question of where we wanted to eat. Two of us immediately turned green at the mention of food. the other 5 of us decided to look no further than what was within 30 meters of the patio. Our choices; a Jamaican patty stand, a burger joint, a pizza place and one, seemingly innocent burrito shack. I can't tell you why it caught my eye, but I became enthralled with the idea of a burrito at the moment.
"Have any of you been to that place over there," I gestured to the shack across the street, "The one with the burritos, near the row of port-a-potties?"
Every one made various grunts of negation. A new adventure was in the making. Suddenly, a gravely chuckle came out from the shadows of the patio.
"Heh heh heh. New to the Burrito Shack are ye?" The figure stepped out from the shadows. There stood a squat grizzled old man. He was dressed in white shorts, a white wife-beater and an apron. His face was unshaven and sported an eye patch over his left eye. "Thar blows the most evil and cruel of burrito shacks. Men have traveled from all over the seven seas to come an' meet 'er challenge. Many men have tried. All 'ave failed."
It was an awkward 10 seconds until someone spoke.
"Fuck off peg leg, we're trying to drink here."
The table howled with laughter.
"Fine then," Peg Leg muttered, "Make fun of me an' brush me away, but then ye'll never know 'bout the treasure."
I knew that I should have be smarter than to be baited by I line like this, but I already had 2 beers in me and just the atmosphere of being on the beach, with a man who looks, albeit smells, like a pirate, made the promise of treasure grabbed my interest. I leaned forward and placed my hands together, my fingers forming a Monty Burns triangle.
"Treasure?" I asked. Peg Leg turned back and grinned.
Had he not smelled like piss and burnt hair, I would have asked him to come closer. Peg Leg proceeded to explain to us how the burrito shack had a gimmick where there was a burrito you could order that they claimed that 'no man could eat'. The Burrito itself measured 9 inches long, and 2 inches round. Peg Leg claimed that it had a "sauce so fierce" that it could "render a man impotent with a single bite". That "no man had never taken more than 7 bites" before "purgin' his poop deck". The analogies became more and more vulgar. As he wrapped up his story, a breeze blew up and the smell of the burrito shack wafted over to our patio. It smelled delicious.
We bid our farewells to Peg Leg and paid our bill. We made our way across the street. I was a man on a mission. I was going to tackle with burrito behemoth and I was bound and determined to reign triumphant. As we approached, two men were sitting on one of the picnic tables beside the shack. One lazily sipped a soft drink while the other was unraveling a black package. It was The burrito. He raised it to his mouth, took a deep breath and bit into it. The effect was almost instantaneous.
"HOLY FUCK!" The man shouted. He jumped to his feet, almost tripping over his seat in the process. As he lunged towards the port-a-potties, he threw the burrito away and held both hands over his asshole. He ran up the row of potties, discovering to his horror that each was occupied with previous victims of the burrito. Luck was in his favour however, as he wrenched on the last handle and it sprung open, giving him salvation. The serving staff broke into hysterics, pointing and laughing.
Standing 10 feet from the Shack's ordering counter, no one moved an inch. Mike was the first to speak.
"There is no fucking way that I am eating one of those things."
The group concurred. I however, was still feeling the effects of the liquid courage. I glanced up to the sign of the shack and weighed my options. Half the sign was taken up with the challenge of the "Ass Blaster Burrito". Etched in fiery, red letters, the shack's challenge was simple. If you could eat the burrito in under 5 minutes and not shit your pants, you would win the cash prize that had been accumulating for the past 7 years. I breath in deeply, nostrils flaring, and smelled the air. There was a mix of scents, but most notably the smell of the burrito shack and that of the port-a-potties. The two oddly complimented each other. I felt hunger and disgust at the same time.
"I'll do it."
Anytime a teenage male agrees to attempt something that may endanger his life or his pride, other teenage males immediately devolve into apes. They dance around hooting and hollering, jumping around and hitting each other. Cheers echo into the sky and the act alerts all others to the fact that something either incredibly awesome is about to happen or something incredibly stupid is about to happen. My attempt would walk the thin line separating these two.
As I walked up to the counter, my throat began to dry. There were groups of people to either side of the counter, waiting for their orders. The wait staff greeted me with an energetic hello and asked to take my order. Clearing my throat, I looked him in the eye and announced that I was accepting the challenge.
A sudden silence struck the Shack. The parties on either side of me looked at me in awe. The server looked at me in disbelief. He beckoned me towards him and in a lowered tone, he muttered into my ear.
"Are you sure about that?" He asked. "No one will think less of you if you back out now."
The fact that he was trying to stop a sale, made my stomach drop. Why would he say that?
"What's worst that could happen?"
He motioned towards the row of 10 port-a-potties. I thought I heard the sound of sobbing on the wind. My stomach dropped even further. But, I made a deal with my friends, and I was resolved to meet the challenge. I slapped a $20 on the counter and told him to make it for me. My friends and the on lookers cheered.
It took 10 minutes to make. The beef was brought out and thrown onto the flattop grill. The cook in the back started his show. With speed and grace he added peppers and onions and sauces of all types. It was like watching a wizard work over a cauldron, making a potion of unknown effect. The smell was delicious. I started to salivate. I could not wait to dig into this mother fucker. Patiently, I waited and finally, the Burrito came out, wrapped in the black death packaging. The crowd parted and I walked towards a picnic table.
As I sat down, the group followed and surrounded me. My friends sitting by me, strangers stood all around. Hushed whispers zipped all around me, buzzing in my ears. I unwrapped the burrito and laid it out for all to see. There was a pitchfork and horns seared into the flour wrap. Nice touch. I took a sip from my beer, set it down and picked up the burrito. I took a deep breath and took an enormous bite. The server started the clock. The challenge had begun.
The first thing I thought of while I was chewing that first bite was, what the fuck did I just get myself into. The amount of heat that was burning it's way through my mouth was almost unbearable. I started to sweat from every pore in my body immediately. Chewing with sheer determination, I swallowed the first bite. 4 minutes and 35 seconds left. I quickly took a second bite. This section was easier to chew, now that the first bite had scorched my taste buds beyond recognition. I forced myself to choke it down and lifted the burrito for the third bite. I would never know what the third bite would have in store for me.
The first two had awoken the beast in my belly.
There is an evolutionary response bred into each and every single one of us. It is referred to as the "Fight or Flight Response". Basically, when we are in a dangerous situation, a biological reaction begins and makes changes to our physiology. The heart rate quickens, the reflexes accelerate and blood flow is streamlined to the limbs for use in either running from the threat or for fighting of the menace. Another, more unfortunate symptom of this, is the relaxing of the bladder and the bowels.
Due to the amount of heat radiating from the first two bites, my body decreed that I was in mortal danger. Adrenaline shot through my veins, I could see everything much better and my senses were on edge. Time slowed as I accessed the situation in an instant and my decision came to me like a ton of bricks. A ton of bricks trying to escape out of my colon.
Foaming at the mouth, I shot up from my seat scaring the bejeezus out of everyone around me. People jumped back, a few women screamed briefly and everyone was generally concerned that something terrible had happened. The horror had just begun. Knocking a few people over, I bolted towards the row of port-a-potties. The pressure was building in my stomach. Time was running out. I ran full tilt into the first port-a-potty.
"What the fuck are you doing?" the occupant angrily cried out, "It's occupied!"
I shrilly shrieked back at him and made my way up the row. Each stall was occupied. I banged and wailed against each one, but to no avail. The corn storm that was building in my anus would not be contained for much longer. I clenched my butt cheeks together, but my latrine levees were starting to break. The English activist Guy Fawkes once said, "drastic times call for drastic measures". Like he, I had an explosive situation that was about to blow.
I spotted my answer 20 meters further down the walkway. There stood a lone port-a-potty. The door opened and a small child stepped out and walked out towards a shaded bench 10 meters away. There, a parent and another child were sitting. As the child walked towards them, the second child got off the bench and started towards the port-a-potty.
I started to sprint.
The police report to this day is total bullshit. In Canada, a charge will be dropped if it is proved that it was done as a case of Necessity. For example, you would be exonerated if you shot someone who had taken a group of people hostage and had already executed several hostages. It was necessary that you killed him to save the lives of the others. I felt my "shit-uation" merited an equal claim.
The child and I reached the potty at the same time. Having superior physical prowess than the child, I grabbed him as he entered the unit and flung him out. He soared through the air. I don't know how far he flew, but I didn't care. I was safe.
The first volley shot out with such force, the air pressure in the unit changed and my ears popped. Using my hands to brace myself, my body strained to release the evil that had built up inside me. I screamed out in pain. Suddenly, fists hammered on the outside of the port-a-potty, with angry voices to back them up. It was the child's parent. He told me to come out and that the police were outside. I tried to shout back the horrible reason why i was pushed to such measures. After the fact, my friends would inform me that instead of coherent words, I was screaming in Tongues. Finally, the surge ended. I fell forward. My head hit the lock and my body weight opened the door.
I fell into the waiting hands of two police officers. As they dragged me away from the toilet, the crowd that had formed scattered back as the smell and the sight of the aftermath was processed by their minds. I glanced back at the port-a-potty. That sight will forever be scarred into my nightmares. With my pants around my ankles, I was thrown into the back of the squad car. Both cops hopped in and started to drive off.
But the beast was not finished yet.
Mustering its troops for another wave, my colon released the horror a second time. With the force of a tsunami, shit hit leather and shot across the entire car. To a pedestrian on the street, I can imagine that it would have looked like all the windows in the police cruiser had just turned brown, along side of a muffled "thwump".
The fact that my mother actually came and posted bail was proof to me that a mother's love is unconditional. Unlike my parole.