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loving Jalapeños or how to take a dump inside a volcano crater

March 3, 2018 - whoneedslove -

every here and then i visit a city near-by or far away and check into a motel, bring a bunch of beer cans and order pizza.

i’ve lived out of a tent, truck and lately in a camping trailer on a small island on the West Coast for four years now. still – every here and then – a trip to leap into day- and night life of a big city is a must as a contrasting program, even though living in a small space offers huge capabilities in terms of creative work many wouldn’t believe and few ever experience. but that’s a different topic.

for 27 years of my live my daily diet routine was structured like this:

1. breakfast: (cold) cereal and / or buns, bread with cheese, breakfast sausage, tea.

2. lunch: (hot) noodles / rice / potatoes with veggies and often meat.

3. dinner: (cold) bread with butter, cheese, cold meats, tomatoes

as i kept growing and growing i learned that this routine was lived also through my mom, who chose to be a mom in a traditional sense, while working on the side. friends of mine with both parents focusing on ‘careers’, or merely the accumlation of some unstable wealth weren’t so lucky and fed with processed garbage only a little bit better, than what the poor livestock is beefed up with in european industrialized slaughterhouses. ok, this is not going to be a rant about the industrialized food sector, which i’d call shit too, but anyhow, shit:

every time i check into a motel i order a large pizza with: tomato sauce, mozarella cheese, half feta, half goat cheese, pepperoni, baby spinach and Jalapeño.

as i pour beer down my throat, indulging my pizza, the TV leaves commercial scar tissue along my brain cell paths, while the hot peppers find their way into a belly bathtub filled with beer.
i hope you think now ‘that’s not going to end well’ and i guarantee you IT DOES NOT. ever since i found love to hot food i knew my body – especially when alcohol is involved – can’t handle the combo. by 4 am latest, i wake up with my stomach cramping and a light layer of cold sweat on my neck. gross. but wait it get’s grosser. i wait for about 15 minutes until the cramps are accompanied by the urgent need of finding the washroom (in the dark), before the Jalapeño find their way out of my body orchestrated by farting into a bowl beneath me that feels like my butt just landed inside a crater of the most active volcano.

does that make me a Jalapeño-adventurerer, or just stupid, because i obviously don’t listen to my body and torture my lower intestines. but then Jalapeños are so hard not to touch. they’re awesome and they deserve to be devoured even if it ends in agonizing pain.

thank you Jalapeño!

sorry butt!

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