Salsa

The salsa was too spicy.

Tortilla chips melted inches before even having been dipped in its red gooey-ness. No one knew who made it, it just appeared one day in a Tupperware jar with a posted note attached to its lid which said, "For the one who knows little and seeks much." Pat assumed it was an odd neighborly gift left as an awkward exchange of amicability from the apartment adjacent to his. He brought it inside and placed it in his brand new General Electric half freezer half fridge with the intention of buying some chips for later on that day. He shuffled on about his day, purchasing goods and making transactions as all the while the salsa radiated next to a jar of blackberry jam in its chilly new abode. It was far too hot.

Pat took his mom's pant suit to the dry cleaners, watered his cactus, cleaned his fish tank and last of all headed off to the Grocer's Garage for a few much needed supplies. In the check out isle his eyes searched the surroundings for something which might make his expression more interesting, when all the sudden his mind was flooded with thoughts of rivers of thick, blood red salsa. He had to have corn chips. He informed the next customer in line of this fact as he dashed towards isle number nine and all its crispy bounty. Uncharacteristically, Pat turned off the too loud stylings of the Beastie Boys as he made the first right turn on the long journey from the G's G to his quiet apartment.

The car was still in drive when the driver's side door flung open, it's occupant holding a bag of Tostitos with all the luminescent brightness of God's personal sitting cloud in his hazelnut eyes. Mindless and drunk with a passion for flavor he forsake the welcoming door frame in favor of a James Bond like barrel role through a large window leading to the living room. With the grace of a drunken peg leg he arose from a pile of shattered glass and hobbled wide eyed into the moon lit kitchenette. His eyes saw a normal refrigerator, but his mind's eye was glowing in a transcendent vision of bubbling salsa concocted with every enticing and tongue fucking pepper our earth has ever produced. Halfway to the fridge his tongue jutted unconsciously from his foaming mouth led by a team of inbred and rabies ridden taste buds with a blood lust for spice. They cooled themselves against the white metallic surface of the fridge door as Pat unbuckled his pants and shucked off his undergarments as if they were aflame. The yellow light basked all about his body like the relieving light of heaven's gates when he pulled open the door to what was sure to be the ultimate taste experience of his pathetic existence. He located the jar and crushed the posted note roosting coolly on its top. The top hit the wall. Hands hit salsa and scooped, giving the glory to his heaving tongue. Lights erupted from the earth around his feet and above his head, cutting him like the blades of a pair of laser beam scissors snipping off a serpents head. Pat felt his body ascending towards some fantastic upside down caramel waterfall which spilled into a tributary of a far off world's waste management facility. Though his body had been obliterated by the fall up the sugary sweet water spout , Pat felt as if he were spinning and rotating at an enormous speed which only seemed to increase exponentially as time's arrow shot ominously towards its target. At his conscious mind's breaking point a searing pain emanating from his mouth snapped him back into reality.

A reality where he lay naked from the waste down, dick first in a small dirt and salsa filled hole in the middle of his freshly sodded lawn.

The salsa was too spicey.