Death By A Chicken Wing

So last week I unintentionally changed the course of my desire to ever eat spicy foods again. I ingested something so hot, so painful, so unbelievably not for human consumption that for the better part of the night I sat in the shower and contemplated calling the hospital. And it was all for a bloody t-shirt.

Let me give you a little back story before I admit to eating pepto pills off a public restroom floor because to not have would have meant certain death.

Over the past few years I have been obsessed with spicy food challenges, hot sauces, peppers and really anything that makes a mouth unhappy. I really can’t answer why this has been such a fascination of mine but I will say if there is a person to blame, I blame Adam Richman of Man vs Food. Since its inception into the Travel Channel lineup, I have seen him ingest some of the hottest and most insane eating challenges this nation has to offer and every episode ends with me stating “I can to that”.

No I can’t.

East Coast Wings is a franchise that originated about five miles down the street from my house and it’s obvious what they specialize in. There must be about fifty different flavors of wings and over fifteen levels of spice starting with the meek mild and going all the way to the absurd. But there is one level to rule the other levels of heat. It’s the Insanity sauce and it’s so hot you have to sign a waiver and you can only eat one wing at a time. This was something that I had to try.

I have come to believe that many waiver forms for amusement are just gimmicks meant to lure people in thinking they are doing something dangerous when in all actuality, the real danger was the drive to the event. I have such a skeptical view on these challenges when you are asked to sign your life away. But “…external and internal tissue damage…” did catch my eye.

I forget how I managed to talk my girlfriend into accompanying me on this adventure but after a long day of football and drinking, I think she wanted to witness this about as much as I wanted to earn a t-shirt. Because it was such a long day of said activities, I had an empty tank and was pretty hungry so it was a challenge enough not to eat the Texas toast that was meant to qualm the fire I was about to ingest. The sugar and milk? That’s for babies.

Finally the “Insanity Wing” had arrived and it was go-time. There were a few spectators at 11:30 on a Saturday night who wanted to see what was going to happen but I didn’t even think about the possibility of giving them any entertainment other than watching a half-drunk guy look uncomfortable for a few minutes. It’s not that I was being cocky or even overly confident, I have taken on a few of these challenges before with little more than heartburn to speak of. I have even eaten a whole ghost pepper and while that was extraordinarily stupid, I survived and recovered a couple of hours later. This was only one wing, after all.

Stop you idiot! Stop! Put that wing down!

There is only one speed to take on these challenges and that is FAST. I ate this wing as if it was still on a live chicken. It’s not really something you can savor. I will say the burn on the mouth and throat was pretty intense but not nearly as bad as I have had before. But just when I thought I had this challenge beat, it hit my stomach. And that’s when my Hell began.

I have never had that happen to me before! In less than a second I had a burning coal trying to break through my abdomen just an inch below my sternum. I quietly excused myself and walked purposefully to the restroom praying that it wasn’t occupied. Thank God it wasn’t because the second I got there I collapsed wanting to throw up. But all I could do was sit on the floor of a public restroom in sheer hollow pain. Agony.

I would have gladly offered a finger to break if it would have subsided the waves of intense burning. My poor girlfriend opened the door to make sure I wasn’t dead and she found me with my back against the wall and asked if I was okay. I replied with a “NO! BIG MISTAKE! I’M SERIOUS!” She gave me a bottle of generic Peptic Relief pills and I greedily chewed a couple up and swallowed them. I could not coat the stomach fast enough. In fact, in my frantic state I may have dropped a couple on the floor of the restroom and I may have not given a shit and ate them anyway. That’s a level of discomfort that I am not accustom to.

Soon enough though, I managed to get a hold of the situation and take the walk of shame back to my bar stool where I asked to just go home. Oh, and I also wanted to give my shirt back. They said I earned it, but in my heart I felt defeated.

I felt a little better by the time we reached home, though my pride was definitely dented. I was once the master of the ghost pepper and Tai Spice #5 and one wing took me down. Literally down to a public restroom floor. This is a stretch, but I felt like a champion boxer who was play-fighting with his kid nephew and was accidentally knocked out only to demand a rematch and then the kid not only knocks him out again but writes “wuss” on his forehead and raises his boxer shorts up on a flagpole. I was injured and insulted.

Do you see that it looks like I still have wing sauce on my face? Well I don’t. That is the skin burn from the frick’n wing. I couldn’t feel the burn on my face though because the sheer pain of my stomach could have masked a femur break.

I went to bed thinking the worst was over. That was until an hour later when I woke up FEELING AS IF I JUST ATE THE DAMN WING! I couldn’t believe that this feeling was back and just as intense. I sat on the floor writhing in agony, eating pepto pills by the handful. It was all I could do.

After that episode I turned on the shower and sat in the tub because standing was not an option. All I could repeat was “So stupid. So stupid.”. I couldn’t help but dwell on the waiver that stated “…internal tissue damage”. I really thought the next step was to the hospital. OVER ONE DAMN WING!

Let me sum up the rest of the night: Wake up in pain, eat a bunch of antacids, curse myself, try to go back to bed, doze off, wake up again and repeat. Pretty awful. It wasn’t until around 7:30am when my wonderful girlfriend went to the store to buy every form of Mylanta and antacid did I find any relief. And by relief I mean I no longer felt the need for a bite stick.

Well, I survived and now that it has been a week since the challenge and when I began this disaster of a post, I can say that there was no internal tissue damage. I hated that I acted like a yard ape, rolling on a public restroom floor showing my lady parts to the girlfriend. I have decided, against better judgement, to take this challenge on again. This time I will eat AND not drink any liqueur before this challenge. Also, I will do this without anyone that I want to impress and have a life alert bracelet on. Oh yeah, and perhaps I’ll bring a mat incase I decide to do yoga on the restroom floor again.

“I don’t want to think about death when I’m eating chicken”

Moral of the story? I never learn from my mistakes.

October 31, 2012 11

VeggieMacabre Revisits Savannah, GA

Sometimes you just have to get out-of-town and if there is a opportunity to mix a getaway with a business trip, I say do it. Fortunately for me my adventures have brought me back to an old haunt, so to speak. You may remember last year’s trip to Savannah when I took a look at some supposed haunted pubs that I knew of and managed to knock out some power lunges for the un-rested dead. This year was pretty much the same but it was a solo trip that included a bit more nightlife and a stay in a haunted room. Let’s recap my trip to one of the weirder places in these great fifty states!

I pulled into town late morning and wasted no time finding a parking deck because if you forget where you parked on the street and the meter lapses, expect a $100 ticket. This is a tourist city and they thrive on idiot dollars. The ticket clerk was nice enough to provide me with a map of the city, where to find college girls and drew boobs to show the places to most likely find them. All of this information was voluntarily provided. I just smiled and nodded. That was the first creepy event of the day.

There was still a few hours before my check-in time at the hotel so wasting no time, I headed back to the Moon River Brewing Company for an early lunch and hopefully a seasonal beer or two to make my Uncle Nat jealous. You may have remembered this place from last year.

This is their famous “Apparition Ale” and holy macaroni is it good! I get it almost every time I come here and this year is no different. It’s a bit hoppy but overall not offensive to any of the senses and most would agree, this beer has to be guzzled in a place renown for it’s haunted prowess. In fact, like a typical tourist with no sense of shame for asking, I questioned the bartender if anything spooky happened lately and she proceeded to rattle off at least ten events over the course of a couple of weeks that left her shook up enough to never go to the basement or upstairs office without someone else. One event involved something four feet tall in a top hat showing up behind people. If I saw something that is four feet tall in a top hat, I would punch it. I would punch it so hard. I don’t do short creepy things.

So after a couple glasses of courage and some really awesome crab cakes, I once again ventured back down to the basement where numerous people have not only seen but have supposedly been attacked by a…thing. Without company, I went alone to say hi and snap some pictures. Luckily for me I have an app on the phone for a timer and a stool so I was able to once again do this. Albeit a little quicker.

I am not really sure why this is becoming a Moon River tradition for me but when I am down in the basement where people have died and an evil presence dwells, I feel like the gift of physical fitness is the only thing I can offer. I didn’t get choked or possessed so perhaps it is appreciated. But most likely, if there is something we can’t explain in this cellar, they probably just feel bad for me.

Just before I said goodbye to the Moon River Brewing company I needed to make a pit stop at the restroom and was greeted by a four-year old pooping in the urinal. I can hold it. Off to River street!

Savannah is older that just about any English settled city in America and much of the structures and streets are just as they were almost three hundred years ago. To get from the Main street down to River Street much of the way down looks like this. Never mind the Exorcist stairs, try getting down these after a night of boozing at the club. I am almost positive that people have died on these but this town is so macabre, it probably went unnoticed.

Somehow I always end up back at the Pirate House. Even though we have a special history, I have to say that this place officially sucks. I chalk it up to a Disney restaurant on the outskirts of the park. It’s gimmicky, the staff (at least the ones who served me the last two visits) are rude, the food is laughably overpriced while it tastes like something pirates would eat, the historic atmosphere is plagued with campy pirate shit and most of all, the part that makes this place cool is completely covered up! You would never guess that a tunnel runs directly under you that led hundreds of unsuspecting travelers to their doom. Nope! But you can get the kids eye patches with their kid’s meals. I hope Black Beard hammer punches someone in the nose for what they did to this place. arrr…

After that disappointing trip to the Pirate House it was time to check in and boy was I looking forward to this, for this was no ordinary room. This room is said to be haunted and was investigated by numerous paranormal groups over the years and I just happened to get a last-minute reservation for…way too much. I’ll just say that. But no matter, this blog needs better material and I am willing to battle the forces of the dead to do so. See? I do care.

As I was checking it, the room checker-inner advised me to stop by the consioure desk for a brief history of the room and a guest waiver. I kid you not, I had to sign a waiver before going up to the room! Whether it was a gimmick or not, I will tell you I got a bit nervous signing a waiver to sleep alone in a hotel room. And that’s when I was told why they think the room is haunted and so many leave to either switch rooms or check-out totally. Here is the conversation. By the way, the conseour guy’s name is Scott. I am tired for misspelling consiourre. I think there is a ‘g’ in it.

Scott: “All we ask is that you are respectful to any of our guests that may be present, whether they are seen or unseen. There has never been anyone hurt though many have been frightened by occurrences like noises or things moving. If you decide to leave for reasons of this nature you will receive a full refund. Just sign here noting that I have explained this to you and you understand.”

Me: “Why do people think this room is haunted”

Scott: “Because it is. The cleaning staff will only clean the room with the door open and usually it is two people cleaning it.”

Me: “What happened in the room?”

Scott: “In 2006 a gentleman took his life in the room. People have reported incidences since.”

Me: “2006?!?!?”

That immediately sucked all the excitement and wonder out of me. 2006? This is more of a tragedy than a hokey night stay in a place where some folklore was said to have taken place. Also keep in mind that there was no expression in Scott’s tone. He was friendly but very matter-of-fact. I kind of believed him.

Here it is. It’s a pretty small room that is far from special and very much over priced. I couldn’t tell if it was the waiver that I had just signed or Scott’s “serious” face but this room was deafeningly quiet. I don’t know if there is a trapped and tormented soul from beyond there but the area was so small, I couldn’t help but think that it could only be feet away.

It was oppressively sad and I am sure it was all in my head but you just can’t help but feel bad. I really wished I didn’t ask and carried on the idea that some civil war soldier still occasionally camped there. I turned on the TV, took a shower and changed clothes, all will eyes and ears open, maybe wanting to experience something but also hoping not. I needed to get out for a bit so I headed out. I left the TV on. Hopefully the ghosts like Everybody Loves Raymond as much as I do.

Back on the bustling streets of Savannah I felt a little better. I mean, I was taking pictures of a dog in sunglasses so obviously I was in a better place. I did, however, accidentally tip that guy a five dollar bill in the dog’s water dish by mistake. Oh well, it spends that same.

And this place, ladies and gentlemen, is where I spent the majority of my night. The Crypt Pub is a horror bar during the evening hours and some kind of vampire dance club after midnight. Luckily, I am a guy who is long gone by the time that transition happens. But until then, it was a blast with great people and interesting drinks.

The whole bar had those changing portraits that look innocent enough until they morph into some hideous beast. I love them. The walls are blood-red and everywhere you turn there are skeletons posed as patrons or bats swinging from the rafters. This is not a Halloween themed bar but rather a good taste of the strange and spooky Savannah. I can’t think of another city where this kind of bar would survive. And the drinks?

This is a “Frankenberry” and it is glorious. It does taste like Frankenberry cereal but that isn’t why I love it. I love it because I am still a twelve-year-old in a thirty-four year old’s body. It has dry ice and looks like something that the Munster’s would serve. Brilliant and I bought at least three…that I can remember. Look at it in action!

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Everyone seemed to be in great spirits that night. No matter where I go I always seem to make a couple of friends. The couple next to me were doctors from Michigan for the same conference I was there for. Although it seemed a bit strange that cardiologists were in a macabre bar, I took it at face value that Savannah can cast a spell on even the most high in stature. We toasted our foggy drinks to health and fun. Then I watched more horror portraits.

The staff was a lot of fun, too. Shut up.

As the night wore on I decided to say my goodbyes and head out to the crazy bustling streets and try one more bar before going back to the infamous room. It was an English pub that I had visited before and I really wanted to catch the second half of the UGA game so I grabbed a seat at the bar and got into a great discussion with a really cool bartender over pumpkin ale. We all watched the win and pretty soon other people joined the bar including a bunch of frat-looking guys around my age. And wouldn’t you know it, one of them grew up in the same neighborhood my parents live at? What are the odds? The night was going great and I was having a great time until…

That scene actually happened to me. These gentlemen were cool, MARRIED, guys who tell their wives that it’s guys night out and in less than a second they went from high-five football gurus to people wanting to go to the bathroom to do…well…you can assume. I don’t know what’s more shocking; the 180 degree shift in demeanor or the candor in which they assumed I would be okay with that. Now don’t get me wrong, some of my closest friends are gay and I love them to death but they would never come on to me that way. For a brief second I could understand how chicks at a bar feel. Emasculated, I paid my tab and headed for the room. But not before stopping one more place when I was waved down by my bartender friends for a beer. That made me feel a little better.

Soon it was time to depart because I am an old man and 1:30am is like a young man’s 5am. I can’t believe I paid so much for a room that I dreaded all night to come back to. It was an ever presence in my mind and soon it was time to face what I asked for. I am glad for tipsiness because no matter how freaky something could get, nothing was keeping me up long with four bubbly rum drinks in my bloodstream.

Did anything happen that night? I don’t know. Sure there were times when I thought the facet was on or something moved but really, besides the ice machine dumping causing me to do practically the same, I can honestly say it was uneventful. Had this been a popular haunt with historic significance, I probably would have approached it differently and been disappointed that nothing happened. But this felt wrong. I felt like I was as guilty of exploiting this guy’s death as much as the hotel. For whatever reason, I hope he isn’t stuck there. It’s a pretty dull room and there is no AMC channel. Double farts.

So who knows if all these paranormal things are real? It seems that there are plenty of reality ghost hunting shows to say otherwise but it is kind of funny to think they all might be one big snipe hunt. Someday, I am sure we will find out. Until then, I’ll watch Poltergeist and think, “wouldn’t that be cool?”.

Here’s a Joe Bob Briggs breakdown:

Trip Totals

Beers 15

Bubbling Death Cocktails 4

Boobs 0

Friends 8

Unwanted Advances One Too Many

Beating Galaga 1

Pirates 100

Cool Graves 1,000’s

Ghosts ?

September 24, 2012 17

Goodbye

Well, I guess this was coming. I mean, I post about as regular as Jamie Lee Curtis. (Activia joke) I need to get a different forum and narrow the topic to a specific direction. While Veggiemacabre has been great, I am a different person than 2007. Maybe better or maybe worse but not the same. I loved this place and the people I have met through it.

I know Matt ended X-E and started DinosaurDracula. This is sort of the same thing but going forward you will see more of a media side since I have invested so much into software. I have a vision and as soon as the know-how happens you’ll see. Thank you for a wonderful five years. Watch below to get the skinny.

By the way, Veggiemacabre.tv will still be here. Just leaving this blog.

Good Journey!

June 11, 2012 21

Surprise Wolf Shirt. We Had A Good Run.

They say bad things happen in threes and I am really counting on that to be a truism. In one day I had to replace the entire rear brake system in the car, destroyed my iPhone and the epic shirt that has come to be known as the “surprise-wolf” shirt is stained beyond wear because I do laundry about as well as this guy can lull a baby to sleep with a lullaby. The brakes and phone are just a fact of life but I can’t get over the loss of this shirt. For five dollars at a Value Village it has brought me fame and fortune. Well, maybe not that but it has complimented my version of style. Let’s take a trip back to 2008.

I had just recently moved to the great white northwest and trying to blend in I figured that corporate attire might not translate so I figured what better way to show the natives that I too was down with style of the time. So I bought a wolf-scape shirt and was eager to grow a beard to complete the transition from suit to mountain man. (minus the Cubs hat)

The joke was kind of on me though because most people in rural North Idaho freaking hate wolves. I mean they will shoot them and leave them on the side of the road. Apparently these majestic (once endangered) creatures like to rove in packs and destroy all in sight. And they just do it for fun too. It’s not uncommon to see a bumper sticker stating their approval of the “kill all wolves bill” that was actually voted on in the state congress.

So it is completely my modus operandi to rock this shirt to a bar where 9 out of 10 people believe that by wearing this wolf shirt I am not only a bleeding heart liberal but also with the Taliban. I felt like I showed up to a breast cancer awareness rally sporting a shirt that says “I’m more of a butt and leg guy”. So the shirt only had a few wears until I moved down from the mountain and to a more progressive city where it was looked at as more of a hipster shirt than my real intension of wanting to be…tough?

There was a particular party that a little hidden gem was found in this infamous shirt. While mingling with the masses as I proudly sported my wolf shirt a girl stopped and paid a compliment to my “beautiful four wolves on the tummy”. Four wolves?? From what I had known there where just three but before I jumped to conclusions and poured my beer on her head for confusing math with feet I went to the restroom to take a closer look. And I found a…

FUCKIN’ SURPRISE WOLF…IN A TREE!!! This blew my mind. There were so many thoughts running through my mind like why did I never notice this before? How many people have I met while wearing this and told them how proud I was of my three wolves (Alex, Joan and Dale)only to look like quite the fool to leave out the surprize wolf that has since been named Paul? Why did the artist put this wolf up in a tree? Does he/she just like to draw wolf heads? So many questions.

Well, I came out of the bathroom enlightened and proceeded to show off the surprise wolf to anyone who would listen. It may have been similar to a two-year old carrying around his potty to a dinner party gathering showing what he did. Regardless, that night changed the scope of that shirt and I walked a little taller knowing I had a shirt with a wolf in a tree. Or standing behind a tree trunk. No matter.

Today I look at the stained shirt and after writing this odd obituary I am not yet ready to let it go. No, I think there is a time and a place where I can get away with this shirt that has survived my time in Idaho and reminds me all the time of the most beautiful people who are still in my life. Strange how such silly things bring back the best memories. So when I wear this and people comment on its less-than-white appearance I will ask them who the press secretary is. FACE!

But I will admit there was a grown man who cried in his shirt when he thought he ruined it.

March 18, 2012 8

Just When You Thought It Was Safe…

Do you have completely irrational fears? Not like a fear of being trampled to death at a Miley Cyrus concert or a fear of the moon falling into the Earth, because while those are odd fears and highly unlikely to happen, they are plausible. I am talking about fears that defy logic and reality. I am about to share one of mine with you and it all started on a summer day in the year 1985 when my Uncle Nat introduced me to the movie, Jaws.

I can’t think of a single movie that had that much of an effect on me. Going to the beach every summer always had a shadow of a shark looming in my head and I was content to just make sand castles for my micro-machines, drink Ecto Cooler Hi-C and get grit in my mouth from eating Doritos with sandy fingers. But when I was told to go rinse off, that music, oh that music started in my mind and I was ever so quick to get in and get out while other kids played in the surf. No surf fun for me. I saw what happened to Alex Kintner.

Since that fateful day in 1985 I have had this lurking unease that a giant great white shark could appear at most any body of water to include lakes, ponds, SWIMMING POOLS, jacuzzis, baths, really hard rains, full sinks and toilets. I even had a dream that there was a free-floating shark roaming around my house and I had to hide in the fridge to escape being eaten. Then Rue McClanahan showed up and things got weird but that’s for another post. I need to stay focused.

Even today as a rational, working and (maybe) intelligent adult, I still get an unease that somewhere there is a swimming devil that wouldn’t mind chewing me up. This plagues my soul and got me thinking. Have you ever read the Stephen King book, Mist? I might be mistaken but essentially the military accidentally opens up a…something, and all these horrid creatures come out and kill people in the worst ways imaginable. What if (stay with me here) a parallel universe crossed with ours and air-breathing great white sharks that can fly showed up and could hide and attack when least expected! I seriously have thought about this. And I think it would look very much like this: