The woman’s name is Wendy and her scorn comes in the form of a terrifying entity known as, The Baconator™. Before we take a look at this monstrosity that weighs in at nearly 1000 calories (for just one incarnation). How about we begin with groping around with the name shall we?

Words along the lines such as these that contain ‘ator‘ generally mean that something is coming at you in a damn right fire way. Terminator is one of the first that leaps to mind and features metallic Schwarchenegger destroyed the ever-luvin shit out anything that has the unfortunate fate of being in his bulldozing path. Then there’s Trogdor the Burninator, the Shredinator, all kinds of Germinators, Dominator clothing - cars - music - garage door openers (wtf?), and so on and so on. Most of these name imply that they are the best in their particular fields and they kick all kinds of ass while doing so. This inevitably leads us to… The Baconator™.

This beast was first mentioned to me by my roommate Prime. Now Prime is a man who loves food and general, but the more greasy and overwhelmingly unhealthy it is the more he loves is. Therefor, once knowledge was passed to him about such a thing as The Baconator™, it wasn’t long before he was questing to taste it bacony goodness. After deciding it was ambrosia and a diet of nothing but such heart attack inducing goodness should be consumed from hereon out, he gave me the command to try one. Enter today’s events.

As I pulled into the drive-through at the local Wendy’s, I began to notice advertisements for their new flagship burger. At such sights as ‘Careful, it can sense your fear’ and ‘You know your mouth wants one’ I knew I should flee. Such tag-lines fail to bring images of a tasty burger to mind, as a low grade snuff film with a bruiser having some poor victim tied to a chair and referring to his genitalia instructs the poor bastard that ‘it can sense your fear’ and ‘your mouth wants one’. Seriously. Little did I know how close those connotations were going to be to the violation by body was about to experience.

Before I could enact my plan of retreat the scratchy disembodied voice box communicator of fatty death beckoned me to order. This was it; I braced myself for the Gs and placed my order.

The drive home was full of nervous anticipation. Smells of squalid, yet tempting death were permeating my car in a most menacing fashion. What was all this about? What was next?

I arrive home and make quick entry, snatching a bottle of all-important Hunt’s from the fridge and began to unwrap the unknown fringes of my nightmares. Sweet flying spaghetti monster this thing was well… something to behold. On the surface it looked like any other crappy fast food burger, but lingering just beneath it’s ‘premium whole wheat bread’ surface, were 6 strips of seizure producing bacon and 1/4 lb of bacon and cheese beneath it’s dominion. Not allowing time for second thoughts on the matter, I dug in. The deluge of bacon/grease/unknown meat and “cheese” hit me like a tidal wave, causing feelings of lightheadedness, disorientation and I think euphoria (though this might have been imagined as today I’m running off of an hour of sleep and a couple redbulls).

Somehow I was able to finish both it and the large (mistake) fry and had to sit for several minutes contemplating just exactly what I had done. It’s not often that foodstuff has the power to somewhat disassemble my reality into bacon sized bits and have it float maliciously around me in haunting tones. Finally I decided on a course of action that I now regret taking. I logged onto the Wendy’s website for “nutritional” information about my prior consumption. Here is the short version of what I found:

Baconator / Large Fry
Weight(g): 276 / 184
Calories: 830 (HOLY FUCK) / 540 (nearly as bad)
Total Fat(g): 51 / 26
Carbs(g): 35 / 69
Protein(g): 57 / 7
# of days to process: Ugh / Shit

Well… At least I can say I experienced it. What exactly it was is still left up to debate. Tomorrow’s throne activities are something I am ill looking forward to.

Were the ramparts manned and at the ready, arrows honed in at their marks without a moments hesitation then perhaps the castle would have been saved. Had the oil entrapments been perfectly in place, the knights and footmen ready to counter charge and destroy any incursions then perhaps the castle would have been saved. If the Lord-Liege had not been so caught up in matters of irrelevance… Well, what does it matter now? The castle lays a waste amongst smoke and ashes. Carrions blanket the sky awaiting a most delightful feast below.

Surly through the ages great curses have been thrown at the ground and sky above by those both great and small at the infuriating interceding paths of time which choose the most inopportune moments to strike at us from.

Enough dramatic horseshit for one night, it’s time to accept another idiom: life’s a bitch.

*While en route to Alvin’s, a liquor store that’s quasi on the way home but a bit overpriced*

Prime: So… we aren’t going to stop at Alvin’s then?
kushet: No.
Prime: Why not?
kushet: Because I just can’t risk the possibility that they don’t have Schlitz there.
Prime: … What the fuck!?

I keep track of how much more has to pass until I can nap by marking off five minute intervals in the side margins of my notes. The heart races while the brain drags along. What are these words that are being flung in my general direction by some stranger that has limited control on my future? Something to increase my intelligence I’m sure. Smokey aromas continue to waft up into my sense, attempting to help explain why I sit here sweating and brooding over dark thoughts concerning fires, bugs, music and the color red. Everything still itches to varying degrees and I must remember not to scratch lest I be in agony for the remaining of this current hour. Two more numbers marked off, nine to go.

I keep waiting for something brilliant to flow out of the pen in my hand. I feel as though at any moment now, some important bit of wisdom will leap into my mind and make this rambling mess worth reading.

There’s a fly that has recently landed on a bottle of Dasani next to some stranger’s chair. A mere few millimeters seperate it from cleansing, refreshing liquid nirvana (CocaCola should pay me for that one); a goal never to be realized.

Another number is X’ed out of existance and a small bit of my life ebbs in a timeless flow behind me. It’s sometimes an intriguing, yet disturbing idea to consider your life one moment at a time, each second contemplating all the minute events occurring at that exact second, including your own refection on such matters. What pointless details are obfuscated at the fringes of awareness and what are their impacts I sit and wonder. Two more numbers die to my pen; a million tiny details are lost in the meantime. Trying to even attempt to note them all would surely send a person screaming into the depths of insanity. That, or bring about an understanding of our universe on a scale never imagined.

The clock strikes the half hour, packing motions are made. Time to go be useless somewhere else, but more comfortably.

One more night… One more close call. Expired tags were the culprit this time. If there were a more investigative process, perhaps a sobriety test of some sort would have been in order. But thanks to a wonderfully (yet a dick for pulling me over in the first place), delightful, kind and considerate enforcer of the law, I merely have to make the requisite payment for taxes entitling me to my car (again) and make the judge believe I’m a good, poor, college student and everything is okie-dokie.

Wonderful system of law we have.

Simply wonderful.

There are a lot of factors that I have come to accept and standard procedure for the day following a night of drinking. Being hungover, having to sift through fuzzy memories, knowing at some point I probably said the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time, burns on my ankles/legs from half running, half jumping through fire; all ramifications from abusing the finer liquids in life that I have come to accept and embrace as necessary factors in the great circle of life.

This morning has included all those little joys plus the added delight of being fucking COVERED in what looks like a new brand of bubonic plague which in reality are a ka-shit-ass-BILLION chigger bites. For the first time in my life I actually slathered myself in an entire tube of Cortaid. I seriously feel greased up enough to go enter in a ‘Catch the greased up Cortaid guy and win a fucking prize’ contest. I’m not joking in the least when I say that my inner thighs and sweet little ass look like they’ve contracted some sort of super herpes on steroids I have so many various insect bites, so much so I almost feel obligated to at least alert the CDC so as to give the rest of the world a fighting chance. It’s like one of those keg parties that gets entirely out of control because not only do your friends invite their friends, but those friends invite more friends, and those friends bring along with them every living thing within a ten square mile radius to the event and it’s happening (for once I say this with NO joy whatsoever) in my pants.

Humiliation, explosions of atomic proportions going off in my head, lawsuits, random burns/bruises/etc… these are all consequences of getting overly sauced I can handle and be relatively OK with. What I’m experiencing this morning is an entirely new Hell no one should be tortured with.

Fuck the six legged bearers of DOOM.

Write and re-write; thought and counter-thought; intuition and systematical thought analysis… this is the way I have accepted to exist. Certainty is an illusion that evades and undermines my very way of being. I thrive within a system of checks and balances - mostly checks and very little balance, but all the same… It is both very thrilling and horrendously tortuous to have something that rocks the boat so much so that bailing water becomes a delusion unto itself and the Captain must accept the certainty that he is plummeting into depths for which is he not prepared.

What is all this ranting? By merely traveling down this line of thinking, entire new avenues of despair and/or confusing annotations of thoughts previously cemented in that which I had determined to be true are now thrown violently in a spiral of chaos and the unknown. Something perhaps that I’ve wanted all along or something that I’ve been afraid of all along… one in the same?

What is the relevance of it all? Should there not be some rationale within me to stop this bullet train from speeding over the precipice into despair, so as to save the contents therein and (even if meaningless) continue to exist for the sake of existing? Oh… there are… but do I… does anyone care to stop and listen?

There is but within us all one notion, one idea, one concept and belief that keeps us within the general straight & narrow, and that is to smile, and portray to the world at large that everything is ‘OK’; the color might be off, but just please adjust your own tent a little and everything will become quite clear; never mind the static, you must have tuned into the wrong channel, please contact your service provider and everything will be remedied post-haste.

Wherein do you choose to lay - the simple and day to day, or the epic and indefinable? Is there a compromise between the two and does it really matter? What you make matter, matters. What matters to me, is the world and such is such so that in the early hours of the AM, I feel brilliant and could wont for nothing more.

Such is the way of things.

This tune not only gets stuck in my head for hours at a time, but is accompanied by the cute little vixen that performs it, letting me know she’s singing it all just for me.

Click!

This is the nerd equivalent of a 40 year old, high school football ’star’ showing off his (now meaningless) trophies to hapless passer-bys. I used to play Halo for the PC competitively and did fairly well at it. The team was Indigo and I was kushet. As far as my memory goes, I was also extremely buff, popular and filthy rich (which of course I still am, if not more so these days as well)!

http://www.gotfrag.com/halo/story/2363/

http://www.gotfrag.com/halo/story/5656/

I’ll edit this as I find more awe-inspiring articles generated towards my (humble) glory.

I’ve been wearing glasses/contacts for the last 14 or so years (basically since the 2nd grade) and have become quite accustomed to them. Today however, my thoughts on that matter were thrown into a bit of flux as a friend & roommate had a lasik operation performed that I drove him to/picked him up from. For the first time in my life I’m actually realistically considering allowing some stranger to strap me down, put all manners of chemicals directly in my eyes and allow a super pew pew beam to be repeatedly fired straight into my pupil. I don’t remember eating any acid lately, so I’m just going to blame psychotic tendencies promoting masochism on this one.

Apparently the entire procedure only takes about five minutes or so and is supposedly completely painless. I was informed that they allow you to watch other folks having their operations both via glass from the waiting room and by camera, displaying a huge eye on a monitor that stares at you horrified of things yet to come. Watching the other deranged individuals having this done to them, I feel would have an effect of ‘where the fuck am I and what the fuck am I doing out in the middle of this desert’ on me, probably resulting in some screaming and running to the parking lot.

However, for some reason unbeknownst to me, the idea hasn’t quite leapt out of my brain and therefore will probably merit some further research.

For the meantime though, my innermost thoughts on the matter are pretty much summed up here(<—clickity click!).