Friday, February 8, 2013

Bugged, Big Time

I'm not normally a chip guy; were it not for my overwhelming need to self medicate in the moment I'd never buy them. Beyond that I generally abhor hyphenated chips (ie: bar-b-que, dill pickle-sour cream) even more than the tasteless types; the sight of a powdered chemical bath on my fingers, the quickly slimy goo that's intended to replicate flavor and color to make crappy foods palatable, only makes me more sick than I get eating the chips themselves.

The store was out of plain ol' ordinary junk and so I stood there like a moron for maybe 10 minutes like I do in front of a nearly empty refrigerator, trying to pick the least of the evils staring back at me. I marveled at the price chips command, reaching out to squeeze a few bags at the point where the chips end and really expensive air begins, and then swore under my breath at what a rip off they are; as if I'd never seen a freaking bag of chips before and hadn't done the same damn thing a thousand times.

Finally I grabbed a bag of nacho cheese tortilla triangles, the local convenience store brand so as to save nearly a dollar on what is really more a drug for me than a treat.

I got em home and nearly tossed them without even opening the bag, as I might have had I bought a pack of cigarettes and caught myself being stupid, before sucking one down in a single, satisfied and soon to be guilty breath.

But the flesh is weak and I dragged my nacho buddies to the shack, (an outbuilding I constructed for the purposes of writing and other really cool boy stuff) thinking I'd check my mail, write a few finely worded whines and sate my need for processed punishment by loading a few more pounds onto my growing profile with hydroginated crapola flakes.

I sat, flipped on my monitor and popped the bag open, grabbing the first handful and setting them on my desk so as to bathe in their aura. Then I noticed a little bug running from the area my chips were piled, trying to make it's way to the dark underside of my printer without being noticed.

I'm not sure what the bug was as my squisher instinct is sometimes well ahead of my insect identification search engine. It may have been a spider, it was black, a little shiny and ran like Usain Bolt once the shadow of my finger crept over its head.

All in all it was no big deal, but it does offer a dilemma.

I haven't seen any bugs in here besides a few European beetles; those yellow ladybugs that bite like rabid wolves the moment you think they're quite cute. So I have no clue where the bug might have come from.... unless, it was from the handful of chips.

As a card carrying boy, I'd eat bugs on a dare though I wouldn't like it much. If it's the symbolism of my manhood at stake, I'd eat light bulbs if I had to. But since no one's watching...I didn't have to debate chewing arachnid, I only have to debate what might be left in the bag if I dig deep enough.

If it did come from the bag, what if it was female and it laid eggs? What if the eggs are the same color and appearance as those tiny black splotches that tortilla chips sometimes have; so I wouldn't have any idea I was munching nacho cheese spider eggs on toasted tortilla chips as if they were some perverted reality TV canape'? What if those eggs hatched and I reach into the bag and a million little spiders suddenly leap onto my hand and quickly crawl past the orange crap the chips have left on my chubby palm and aim toward my face where they can try to nest in what's left of my hair and make even more teeny baby spiders?

I spose it might have been an ant....

I wonder if little ant footprints leave behind some kind of scent and if I eat chips infected with ant-stink I'll be attacked in my sleep by some freaking ant predator who smelled my breath from miles away.

Fuck. I was hungry too. Well, I was sad really. Same thing.

1 comment:

  1. Heh! Great story. Not sure I would have eaten them, though!

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