... and that's why they used to call him Hot Sauce

Hot Sauce always believed he could punch his way out of any situation. He'd laugh, cock his arm back and Whammo! Actually, he'd say, "Wham!" because he would become ultra agressive after a good thorough listening to Fantastic!. He was lanky and mean, and had two fingers gone on one hand and a melty, sour, sore on his other. Hot Sauce was a talented do-gooder, especially when it came to producing offspring, kicking over watermelon stands and forcing his way into packed elevators and saunas. Later he revealed the truth to his online subscribers - he was a real insecure, isolated cry baby with a penchant for hot soup, granola snacks, distant hugs, and great big window views of nature. He didn't even have an arm built for punching, he would claim in a later revelation. His nickname was thus thrown like a frisbee into the wind by his posse.


So, these type of people do exist... lord jesus do they ever. Now, this was a completely irrelevant segway into this, but when I started it all, it had something to do with the two tickets to paradise and my mismanaged brain signaling system. So, grab your cats and hold onto the nearest towel rack, it's gonna be a tilted psychological chess match pitting you against every object in your immediate environment that's vibrating uncontrollably, risking its existence on the mere chance that it may succeed in destroying you.