I thought that it would never happen to me....
I was young, innocent, naive....
I thought that I was special, somehow above it all. I didn't look at you all with the dignity you truly deserved in light of your noble struggles against the forces of the... KILLER RUNS!
Flashback.
It's saturday morning, June 21. I yawn a long satisfied sigh after my extended slumber and roll out of my sleeping bag, touch my toesies to the floor and admire the rippling ocean outside of my parent's boat. "freedom at last," I think to myself. No more early wake up calls. No more hauling 150lb bags of luggage, nothing. Naturally I decide to celebrate my liberation with a hearty meal consisting of four eggo waffles bathed in maple syrup and lovingly massaged with butter. I devour the meal like a Kodiak bear in a jelly belly factory.
A few hours and about fifteen bite-sized peanut butter cups later, it's lunch time. I'd had a grueling day of sitting on my butt, so I decide that a hearty portion is called for. I anxiously sit down in front of a deep bowl of seasoned beef buried in freshly whipped mashed potatoes. I obliterate the stuff it with ease and seal it off with two cans of pepsi. Quite satisfied with myself, i let out a belch of accomplishment and decide to lie down in order to prepare myself for more sitting.
The clock ticks a little further. I reminisce over my times at Malibu. Hangin' with the boys, singing songs, throwing dirt clods at Elise... good times, good times....
The sun begins to sink on the horizon as the boat pulls into port in Sidney, just in time for dinner. I slip on my shoes and night cap and head out the door towards my destination: the Rum Runner Restaurant. As I walk towards this new sanctuary I glance down at my tummy to gauge its payload; it's protruding slightly, but not nearly enough. "I'll take care of that," I think to myself.
Little did I know, that Mr. Tummy had his own gameplan, a trick of the utmost cunning; I was gonna get it and he was gonna give it to me. He was gonna rape and pillage me like a savage buccaneer. But like I said, little did I know....
I push onward towards the Rum Runner. Ominous bells ring and a blackbird sings a gloomy song. I stoop to pass underneath an open ladder, and swiftly hop to avoid a black cat. I few more steps, and I'm there, ready for action. Ready for... the LAST SUPPER.
"Throw it at me, waiter," I bark as I seat myself. "Give me all you've got! I've whacked weeds, blown leaves, trimmed trees, I've payed my dues!"
"Indeed you have," Judas Iscariot replies as he walks to my table. "How may I repay you?"
"With your choicest calf, roasted in the finest spices in judea," I reply.
"I can do better than that," he says with a crooked grin.
"Oh?" I say.
"Certainly," he says. "May I suggest the nachos? They are as vast and expansive as the temples of the ancient pharaohs, and tastier than Eden's fruit."
I ponder his suggestion for a moment, wondering if these nachos will really satisfy my desires. I study the words on the menu, run them through my mind back and forth until my head spins. Eventually, I decide that nachos indeed will suffice. I proceed with my mission.
"Judas," I say, "I shall have the nachos."
A dark light glints in his eyes, a look of conniving mirth fills his face. "A wise decision," he says as he scribbles on his notepad. "And, good sir, will you be having the small... or the LARGE?"
"I think you know the answer to that question, my good man," I reply, rubbing my tummy.
"Understood sir." With that, Judas spins around and disappears into a dark corridor.
I wait tedious minutes upon minutes for my meal to arrive, ready to attack my food with bloodthirsty aggression. I twiddle my fingers in anticipation. Finally it comes. Judas prances over to my table holding the plate with his arms outstretched as if it were a bomb waiting to explode. Carefully, he sets the plate down, snickers and sneers at me briefly, and quickly departs back to his hole. It's just us now, just me and dinner.
I survey my opponent: a mountain of nachos with a vertical reach rivaling Everest, doused in an ocean of cheese and smothered with ground beef, beans, and lettuce. It's a large helping for 3 grown men, maybe even four. For one man to confront such an adversary would be completely out of the question, suicide maybe. But I wasn't turning back. Not now. I had a mission, a quest worthy of song.
I grab my silverware and hurl it onto the ground. Such weapons would be useless against a beast of this magnitude. I roll my shoulders back, lean forward, and prepare my trusty hands for battle. War drums sound in the distance as I inch my fingers toward the enemy. Confidently, I grab ahold of the first victim and punish it for its defiance, crunching loudly.
"That's one!" I yell to the nachos, pointing a cheese-covered finger. "But it won't be the last!"
I dodge in my chair to the left and then to right, and swoop down my talons for a second victim, a sad looking chap, covered with beef and beans and having little will to live. I hurl him into my mouth, this time crunching even louder.
"TWO!"
I beat my chest and engage myself in a secret maneuver. I fake quickly with my right hand, twirl my left in a circle for distraction, and, seeing that my enemy has lowered his guard, I surprise him with a DOUBLE ATTACK: two hands at the same time. I capture a chip in each hand with the speed of a cat and shove them simultaneously into mouth.
"THREE and FOUR!" I scream at my opponent. But there is no reply. I sense that the nachos are lowering their defenses, demoralized by my blitzkrieg tactics. I waste no time to ponder the situation; I smell fresh blood and rush to the scent. Like a flash in the night the fifth chip disappears, then the sixth, then the seventh. My limbs begin to move like bolts of lightning, mere blurs to the average bystander. Chips fly into my mouth at every possible angle and trajectory, some arcing into the air like rainbows. All miraculously land in my mouth and are devoured with ungodly speed.
The mountain turns into a hill, the hill turns into a mere lump. The war is going in my favor, but I begin to grow weary. My attacks slow. My hands begin to tremble and my eyes cry out for rest. But still I push on, a valiant knight on a white horse. I grit my teeth and throw my hands at the opponent. They grab onto a chip, but shake violently and lose their grip. A failed attack. Having no time to lose precious ground, I pull out all the stops for one final, devastating blow. I rear my head back and thrust my face into the nachos, mouth open wide. The enemy screams in agony as it is smothered under the pressure of the warhammer that is my head. I manage to capture one solitary chip in the midst of the assault, and chew it slowly, bite by bite, until it dissolves into a fine paste and is drained into my stomach.
It would be my last kill, I could fight no longer. I sit up straight and stare at the enemy nachos, waiting for a counterattack. But it never comes. They are demoralized beyond belief. No man had ever conquered so many nachos by himself. Not even legend tells of such great feats. The enemy nachos begin to bow down before me and raise white flags of surrender. I nod my head in approval and stand before the lump that was once a mountain, and a smile of satisfaction fills my face. I may not have finished all of the nachos, but that was OK. Man does have his limits.
I walk away from the Rum Rummer a triumphant and satisfied man. Judas screams at me and gives me the finger, but I don't care. I glance down at my stomach and grin in admiration: max capacity; I look like Callista Flockhart pregnant with triplets.
So great is my satisfaction that I don't even see the blackbird laughing at me, fully aware of my foolishness, my ignorance of my impending doom.
So I climb back onto the boat and settle into my sleeping bag, with not a care in the world. As I rest my head in my pillow I am comforted by delightful memories of Malibu, like the time I saw Matt Ford naked. My eyelids get heavy, my breathing slows, and sleep overtakes me. I look like a happy little kitten, slumbering softly on a feather bed, purring with glee. No one would guess that this happy little kitten was about to blow up like a prehistoric volcano.
Time passes. The stars twinkle in the sky and the moon scoots along its path, bathing the air in its soft glow. Little fishies hop along the top of the water and dance to the rhythm of its motion. All is peaceful and serene.
THEN IT HITS ME.
I am thrown awake in an instant and my stomach churns and growls with the intensity of a freight train in your living room. I gasp in agony, eyes bulging out of their sockets and entrenched in fear. Sweat seeps from my pores like water from a sponge. Mr. Tummy, now an industrial strength battering ram, pounds on the walls of my torso with frightening rage.
"IT'S ALL COMING OUT!" Mr. Tummy screams!
Not in the mood to argue I throw myself out of my sleeping bag and run to the bathroom as I've never run before, crashing into the toilet and slamming the door. I am filled with dread. Mr. Tummy pounds rapidly, trying to escape.
THUMP
THUMP
THUMP
SUDDENLY Mr. Tummy roars a barbarian yawp and the first payload breaks free like a geyser of chocolate milk. I grip the towel rack with all my strength to avoid being blown up through the ceiling.
"WAR HAS COME!!!" Mr. Tummy yells.
It's payback time and I know it. I instantly regret ever setting sight on a nacho or looking at it the wrong way. I try to apologize and make a truce BUT THE NEXT WAVE COMES TOO FAST!
PFFFFTTHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! The dam explodes and the chocolate Nile breaks free!!
"GOOD LORD IT'S TERRIBLE!" I scream.
Still the Nile gushes free, paying no heed to my frail petition. Wave after wave it comes, an endless Attack with ferocious dedication. I am pale and helpless, unable to stop the REVENGE of MR. TUMMY. His tactics baffle me; never have such substances been emitted from that region. So liquidy, so... powerful....
The attacks suddenly stop. All seems peaceful, but I know better. I look down at my stomach: still quite full. Bad sign.
BOOM BOOM BOOM goes Mr. Tummy! "Hey Buddy!" he yells. "where o where shall the nachos go? Up above or down below? HERE THEY COME TO SAY HELLO!"
Suddenly I find myself thrown into a two-front war. In an instant I'm forced to jump out of my seated position and pull a quick 180 onto the floor, throwing my head down on top of the throne. Mr. Tummy blows the nachos out the high road with savage power and they're the worst thing i've ever smelled. The process is repeated, again, and again.
And then Mr. Tummy opts for the low road--oh noooo! Again I bust a 180 to resituate myself seated on the throne and the river breaks free, erupting voraciously.
TIME FOR MORE NACHOS! 180. Head down. shoulders back. brace yourself... BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! BLAHHHH! BLAH! Blah....
and it ends.
I fall limp to the floor, a victim of devilish wrath. I am shadow of the man i once was.
I lift my head and survey my surroundings. A sorry sight, and scent. It's the worst smell the world has ever known, to say the least. And I speak not of the chocolate river; we all know that smell. I'm talking about the nachos. In the regurgitated paste form they are truly hell on earth--enough said. This is not to mention the countless peanut butter cups, eggo waffles, and mashed potatoes that helped to constitute this particular paste.
Indeed it was a hard, tough battle. When all was said and done, all rivers run, and all chunks blown the battle required a total of seven toilet flushes, and endless eruptions on both the high road and the low road.
But I survived. I survived the KILLER RUNS and live to tell the tale. Many others have battled the KILLER RUNS. They too have a story. Listen to their story. Do not be ignorant of the runs like I was. Avoid mountains of nachos as they could be your undoing. They may taste good going down, but I guarantee that they do not taste good coming up.
Sincerely yours,
John Brubaker --Killer Runs Survivor