Crumbs…

First, let me just begin by saying that I read, and for the most part heed any instructions and especially directions that the packaging of the food items which I am attempting to prepare, have to offer. A lesson learned from once deep-frying Taquito’s in the nude. You only do this type of thing once – and I am lucky enough to have the battle scar from this incident as a constant reminder of stupid things done while preparing a midnight snack. That having been said, I must also mention that it’s my fucking house and what I do in the nude and at what time I do it is my fucking business! It’s my house, my nudity and my food – so fuck you!

Now, I typically don’t have such an adventure while snagging a snack in the dead of night to ease my munchies. I usually perform this task stoned out of my mind, and in true Mission Impossible style, tiptoeing into the kitchen in the pitch black somewhere in the wee butt-crack of dawn hours, trying not to disturb the dogs or sleeping folk in the house. Tonight, I had a blatant disregard for the other members of the household – probably because, contrary to the norm – I wasn’t stoned. This will explain the lack of paranoia for awakening the sleeping bodies! These people (and alleged guard dogs) will sleep through a train rumbling out of control through the house filled with armed robbers and an elephant in tutu’s… a fact which is often forgotten when under the influence of marijuana!

Usually there is a minimal amount of thought of selectiveness applied to my midnight snacking. I wander into the dark kitchen, open the cabinet and blindly grab for a package of yummy goodness, whatever it maybe. My mind is programmed to recall the general placement of the good shit – and I rely on this time after time. It never has failed me before tonight.

I wander into the kitchen in the dark, open the cabinet and blindly grab for my delicious snack surprise. BUT ALAS! My hand touches nothing but the bare shelf. WTF? I fling open both cabinet doors and put my head closer to the shelves trying to see as I feel with both hands… I feel nothing but the not-so-sexy figure of Mrs. Butterworth and bare shelf. WTF? I don’t fret, however. I think rationally – perhaps the munchies have been relocated to the top cabinets in some attempt to thwart my mission. I’m a ninja-snacker – I think of everything. I open the upper door of the cabinet and reach for where I suspect the munchies to have been moved…. And yet again… bare shelf. WTF!? So I turn on the light. Apparently I am distraught, and I must see what I fear in the darkness… NO MUNCHIES! My heart begins to race as I contemplate having to drive to Allsup’s for a fucking Chimi – and suddenly a ray of light from the sky illuminates a small box of microwave Popcorn. The transparent ghostly image of Orville Redenbacher appears and his fragile hand gently guides mine to the box of heavenly snacks. I can hear a chorus of angel singing HALELUJA in the distance. Seriously folks, it was fucking amazing.

“Yay” I think to myself, “Popcorn. I like popcorn – and I am mostly capable of operating a microwave without incident!” I have been saved from eating an Allsup’s Chimi without the necessary intoxication required for keeping said Chimi down!

I open the package and then I see it. A sad marketing attempt of a disclaimer; an imminent warning of harm to stoners and midnight snackers around the world that has been caused by their product.

USE CAUTION! Contains Hot Oil & Steam.

I ponder this warning, recalling my post-accident request to the makers of the Taquito’s that caused temporary bodily disfiguration some years prior, that they warn nude consumers of the possibly ensuing tragedies while cooking their lovely Taquito’s. I think – Not yet it doesn’t contain hot nothing! Fuck it! I’m dressed so anything that happens won’t be too bad! I can hang with popcorn!

Microwave on high power for 4min while on rotation. Ok. Into the revolutionary appliance it goes.

Now, there is no adjusting of power on my microwave – not because the appliance lacks this feature – but simply because I am satisfied with the amount of radiation I receive while peering through the cute little window and watching my food magically become hot. I wouldn’t want to risk subjecting my body to more radiation than it is used to causing some strange side effects and deterring me from using the microwave, leaving me to rely on cold cereal and dirt as my sole source of nutrition. So there will be no adjusting power on this microwave – if it’s not done when it beep, ZAP THAT FUCKER LONGER. That’s that. Four minutes until snack time bliss. I turn off the light and leave.

I got distracted. I wandered too far away from the kitchen in some type of hunger driven daze to listen until the popping slowed or stopped, as the instructions suggested in order to achieve popped corn perfection. I was somewhere in another room when I heard the beep from the microwave informing me that it had accomplished its goal of preparing my food! I return to the dark kitchen and open the microwave. The scent of charred corn fills the house. I grabbed the bag on the vented side, allowing HOT OIL to trickle on to my hand triggering the instinctive reflex of throwing the bag across the fucking house!

Burnt popcorn has the same aromatic properties as dead carcasses and mold. An odor that will knock a person down and linger for years in even a well ventilated room; Febreeze has nothing on burnt popcorn, though it has been effective in masking the scent of dead bodies. I open the freezer and nurse my blistered hand on something that I can only assume is frozen package of bacon as my bag of popcorn lays smoldering on the living room floor.

At this point I begin to wonder how hungry I really am and begin debating whether a drive to get a Chimi is really that bad of an idea. I decide that I have eaten worse shit than burnt popcorn and even remember most of those things – so popcorn it is.

It wasn’t that bad, there were a couple chunks of ash, but it fulfilled my hunger. I didn’t expect the painful thirst it instilled in me. AH HAH. Another mission into the dark kitchen! I grab a glass and wander to the water cooler/bottle thingee, push down the knob and wait to hear the refreshing trickle of pure, clean water prepared by reverse osmosis and delivered right to your door! ALAS YET AGAIN! Nothing. I tilt the damned thing – still nothing.

[WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THE MISSION THWARTING TAKING PLACE TONIGHT!]

I decide to settle for a carbonated beverage made by Pepsi – however upon opening the refrigerator, I discover that the Fridge Pack of heaven no longer resides inside my fridge. In fact, aside from a trickle of milk dated weeks prior to now, nothing of the liquid sort resides in my fridge other than Corona. AH – Corona. The never fail friend from south of the border! In any situation, you can count on Corona.

So here I sit, dictating tonight’s adventure in the company of my third Corona as a reminder that, tomorrow, I should probably go grocery shopping.