Generally I try to eat pretty well. I haven’t really eaten drive-thru since Fresno. Once in a great while, however I wake up after a night of drinking and realize that I’ve done the unspeakable. The slow realization that I’ve committed a drunken crime to my body more shameful than hooking up with a shady stranger at a hipster bar. I’m referring to “The Zombie-eat”. This is where in a drunken daze you eat the absolute shit out of something you, under normal circumstances would turn your nose up at. The Zombie-eat session follows with passing out to sleep then waking up not remembering consuming said atrocity but slowly start finding evidence of it. With me, its usually blurry pictures of the food on my camera.
I woke up one morning (afternoon) after a going-away party feeling unusually refreshed. I puttered around the house, whistling a jaunty tune until I entered the spare bedroom and saw it:
Is that… Is that fucking taco bell? Not only did I zombie-eat an entire mexican pizza and two tacos, my dog decided to mock me by digging the wrappers out of the trash and strewing them across the bed as an homage to my disgustingness. The rest of the trash untouched, I knew she was trying to shame me for dropping those processed crap-bombs on my guts. I rounded the corner to my living room and there she was, waiting for me:
That’s right you ate that shit, bitch. Yes you did.