Yes, I Like Pina Colada.
- By Vonzig Darke
- Published 09/2/2008
Vonzig Darke
Vonzig Darke was thrust into this world somewhere in the bicentennial. The 1980's nearly drove him insane as he he watched The Day After and had subsequent nightmares for the next decade thus causing him to cancel plans during Reagan and Gorbachev's Iceland summit.
After dawn crept into the window, I decide to begin a career as a lumberjack-hey, nothing
else has worked thus far. I attacked the pecan tree and learned a few lessons, namely: objects above may be a lot bigger and closer than they appear. I was jacking my lumber when I got the chainsaw stuck (for the first time...) Let's say it didn't end in giggles.
I was in a realm beyond tired. I had been jacking my lumber since 9 thirtyish and it was well on past five. When your heart's on fire, SWEAT gets in your eyes. I despise sweating and don't recommend it to anyone. One of my first relationships ended because of this. It wasn't an issue of body odor. When we were intimate, she thought I only lasted three minutes at time-not true-I would excuse myself and stand in the refrigerator door. "Are you eating?" She called out. "Not yet, my Eskimo pie." I answered. It was never to be. She explained she was frustrated and I told her I only went for a few minutes because she was so gorgeous. I did care for her. Hey, I had to pony up for the salt lick when we went on dates. She finally said goodbye when I innocently asked if we could make love in the walk in cooler of the convenience store she worked in. I broke into a sweat and left.
Back to the morning wood: Sure I am exhausted but I want to live it up-like my wild and crazy young days I often fabricate. I over did it today but I really pushed the bounds of reality by nightfall.
I fell asleep with a remote control in my hand. I got a bit SKEERT because I suddenly couldn't remember what it controlled and what buttons I might have pushed during the light slumber. Either I had turned the television to something silly or some kid was scared of runaway controlled car. It didn't matter.
Before I spill the contents of the tragedy, I would like to make excuses for myself as to why this happened: 1. Recent attempts to straighten up and fly right a bit with the singed feathers that remain. 2. An unexplainable regression which is digging KISS. This is SICK. I have problems. Just the other day as I was viewing all six hours of the KISSOLOGY box set, I grabbed two ink pens and kept time with Pete on the arm of the couch to 100,000 YEARS-yes, the 17 minute drum solo. Who needs a life? Not me, I just went WILD. I am back.
I am parched. There are an assortment of drinks on the counter-exactly where they go-all I knew was that it had a lid and I thought it said PEPSI...
...it
said FLORASENSE ISLAND COLADA (simmering potpourri liquid.) on the counter-exactly where it went. Yes, I've ingested some questionable things in my time, but at this point guzzling my own urine would have been a delicacy. I thought NEW COKE was bad. I once shot a coffee cup of SWISS ALMOND CHOCOLATE schnappster when I was a wee lad. Did a line of Peach Vodka as a teen-McCormick's at that. Barracuda 151 straight. I hit the vanilla extract when there was no more 151. Pineapple juice from a rusty can...
I've never drank the following concoction, but it is the closest sensation I could describe: One part clabbered milk (2%), a mixture of half cigarette ashes and half acetone, a squirt of Summer's Eve (Hint of Hooka Luau) blended, heated, aged and fermented in the arses of desert nomads. I got on the horn to the poison control center.
"Poison control center."
"I am inherently stupid."
"Okay, do you have an emergency?"
I gave about ten excuses before 'fessing up to what I had done.
"Dude, I was tired...thought I was Gene Simmons breathing fire over the Budokan audience...my childhood was deplorable...I thought it was Sierra Mist but I didn't like it and didn't inhale when I should have blastnostricated."
"ALRIGHT. How much did you drink?"
"I didn't DRINK it. It was an accident."
"DID YOU SWALLOW ANY OF IT?"
"Yes. Yes and I spit out a mouthful as well. (I was insane-the Pina Colada taste was merging with the metallic taste of fear-I had to do something) I usually swallow...but..."
I thought he forced a chuckle-or perhaps he just said something foul under his breath. I didn't care about his breath, mine was heaven-just not the taste. I started blowing (see above) just to inhale the scent. Then I felt sick.
"Taking any medications?"
"Ummm, yes. Probably why I am in the mess."
I tell him what meds I am on. He continues with the makeup of the substance I had chugged-usually oils. USUALLY? Probably? Maybe?
"Should I just put my fingers down my throat and get it over with?"
"I see no reason for it."
"So, do you get this a lot?"
"Yeah. Usually at a different time of year."
(Hey, what do you mean by that, man? I wondered. You think just because a guy
sips potpourri he can't start a riot?)
I went on with him as if it were a crisis hot line. (You hang up and I'll do it, man. I'll even break out the lilac and lavender-then how will you control poison?)
The call ended like so many of mine do...
"It's not going to kill you."
else has worked thus far. I attacked the pecan tree and learned a few lessons, namely: objects above may be a lot bigger and closer than they appear. I was jacking my lumber when I got the chainsaw stuck (for the first time...) Let's say it didn't end in giggles.
I was in a realm beyond tired. I had been jacking my lumber since 9 thirtyish and it was well on past five. When your heart's on fire, SWEAT gets in your eyes. I despise sweating and don't recommend it to anyone. One of my first relationships ended because of this. It wasn't an issue of body odor. When we were intimate, she thought I only lasted three minutes at time-not true-I would excuse myself and stand in the refrigerator door. "Are you eating?" She called out. "Not yet, my Eskimo pie." I answered. It was never to be. She explained she was frustrated and I told her I only went for a few minutes because she was so gorgeous. I did care for her. Hey, I had to pony up for the salt lick when we went on dates. She finally said goodbye when I innocently asked if we could make love in the walk in cooler of the convenience store she worked in. I broke into a sweat and left.
Back to the morning wood: Sure I am exhausted but I want to live it up-like my wild and crazy young days I often fabricate. I over did it today but I really pushed the bounds of reality by nightfall.
I fell asleep with a remote control in my hand. I got a bit SKEERT because I suddenly couldn't remember what it controlled and what buttons I might have pushed during the light slumber. Either I had turned the television to something silly or some kid was scared of runaway controlled car. It didn't matter.
Before I spill the contents of the tragedy, I would like to make excuses for myself as to why this happened: 1. Recent attempts to straighten up and fly right a bit with the singed feathers that remain. 2. An unexplainable regression which is digging KISS. This is SICK. I have problems. Just the other day as I was viewing all six hours of the KISSOLOGY box set, I grabbed two ink pens and kept time with Pete on the arm of the couch to 100,000 YEARS-yes, the 17 minute drum solo. Who needs a life? Not me, I just went WILD. I am back.
I am parched. There are an assortment of drinks on the counter-exactly where they go-all I knew was that it had a lid and I thought it said PEPSI...
...it
I've never drank the following concoction, but it is the closest sensation I could describe: One part clabbered milk (2%), a mixture of half cigarette ashes and half acetone, a squirt of Summer's Eve (Hint of Hooka Luau) blended, heated, aged and fermented in the arses of desert nomads. I got on the horn to the poison control center.
"Poison control center."
"I am inherently stupid."
"Okay, do you have an emergency?"
I gave about ten excuses before 'fessing up to what I had done.
"Dude, I was tired...thought I was Gene Simmons breathing fire over the Budokan audience...my childhood was deplorable...I thought it was Sierra Mist but I didn't like it and didn't inhale when I should have blastnostricated."
"ALRIGHT. How much did you drink?"
"I didn't DRINK it. It was an accident."
"DID YOU SWALLOW ANY OF IT?"
"Yes. Yes and I spit out a mouthful as well. (I was insane-the Pina Colada taste was merging with the metallic taste of fear-I had to do something) I usually swallow...but..."
I thought he forced a chuckle-or perhaps he just said something foul under his breath. I didn't care about his breath, mine was heaven-just not the taste. I started blowing (see above) just to inhale the scent. Then I felt sick.
"Taking any medications?"
"Ummm, yes. Probably why I am in the mess."
I tell him what meds I am on. He continues with the makeup of the substance I had chugged-usually oils. USUALLY? Probably? Maybe?
"Should I just put my fingers down my throat and get it over with?"
"I see no reason for it."
"So, do you get this a lot?"
"Yeah. Usually at a different time of year."
(Hey, what do you mean by that, man? I wondered. You think just because a guy
sips potpourri he can't start a riot?)
I went on with him as if it were a crisis hot line. (You hang up and I'll do it, man. I'll even break out the lilac and lavender-then how will you control poison?)
The call ended like so many of mine do...
"It's not going to kill you."
Spread The Word
1 Response to "Yes, I Like Pina Colada." 
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said this on 03 Sep 2008 3:47:18 PM EST
You are hilarious! I very much enjoyed reading your entry! I'm a swallower too, but never had to call poison control. I had apple cider vinegar as a child thinking it was apple juice. Your story is just so much juicer. Yummmm!
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