We were young.

We were reckless.

The sausages we ate injected saturated fat and cholesterol into our philistinic hearts.

We kill ourselves by lacking to care.

"But sausages are good. We'll live forever," you said long ago.

Now you're dead.

Death by sausage? Not quite.

It was a McNasty car accident that did you in.

If adjectives had ethnicities, 'nasty' would be Irish.

The car accident was (No No No) nasty, but Irish at the same time. Consolidation. McDonald. Nasty. Hence, McNasty.

"Not Donald Nasty!" the midwife shrieked seeing the car accident in the distance.

"SHA-RIEK!" a passerby said laughing to himself.

He had not thought of Applied Chaos and "The Butterfly Effect." What you do does indeed fuck the future.

A man calls the police. Says, "I think someone's in trouble."

"Okay, calm down, sir. What happened?"

"I heard a man outside shriek."

Congratulations, midwife.

You wasted taxpayers' dollars. What are you? British or a just a bitch? It can't be both. No way, José. One way or no way. No how.

***

The cause of our "sausage youth¹" comes from our hatred for everyone else. It also comes from our undying love for everyone else (while we hate ourselves, obviously).

We cannot end like this.

We must move on.

"And we must become vegan."

"Shut the fuck up," an attractive woman said.

Somewhere behind a one way mirror an FBI agent watched the scene unfold. She was suspected of weapons smugglings but could never be convicted. Sorry to ruin it for you.

No, it's okay.

Good because I'm not sorry.

God damn it, Fred. Shut up.

Fred nailed the accelerator and rear-ended the car of Donald McNasty.

-
¹ The words of Dr. Gerald Accordion carved into a toilet stall.

There were two men sitting outside watching us. Normally I don't like to stare but my eyes locked with theirs' and there was no turning back.

"They are ready for you," Diego said. "Go inside and order to espressos. You will be escorted from there."

Carl paid him and we walked in the café. It was a dirty place but much nicer than some of the other places we have found ourselves in. The cigarette smoke smelled more expensive. We picked a table near a window and sat down.

"This is it," Carl said.

An overweight man with a curly mustache came to take our order.

"Two espressos, please."

"Si señor," said the overweight man and he motioned for us to follow him. He led us through a door in the back, down a dimly lit stairway.

A hand came out of the darkness and got Carl, and another got me. A rag went over my mouth and the sweetness of chloroform filled my lungs. The dreams began almost immediately.

Lilacs and whiskey in an extravagant hotel suite in Las Vegas. I was on top of the world but no matter how much I begged could not get room service to bring me a glass of whole milk.

Panic set in. I ran out into the desert but my legs melted in the heat. I became a puddle, stationary, looking up at the sky. A kitten sat next to me, purring, staring at me with a curiosity only a kitten could possess. It began to lap me up. I was the milk...