It looked so delicious, sitting there on the shelf.
I pondered the act of buying and consuming this foodstuff, but my hunger made the decision for me. The next thing I can recall is holding on to the package tightly and grinning like a madman.
As I sat upstairs on my lunch break, chewing stick after stick of spicy hot goodness, I wondered to myself why it had been so long since I had enjoyed this particular treat. It's flavorful, zesty, meaty, and portable. It's a snack lovers dream food. Why on earth would I avoid eating this incredible piece of ground meat in synthetic casing? I must have been foolish to deny myself such a pleasure.
What harm could one or two sticks do?
As I sit here now, six hours later, I am in the throes of gastric distress. (I know you all wanted to hear that.) I feel like a special effects stand-in on Alien. I expect that eventually the sticks will combine into some sort of Voltronesque horror and come ripping through my abdomen. I will be powerless to stop them as they go on their rampage, quite possibly leading to the end of civilization as we know it. Buildings will burn, cites will fall, and mankind will never be the same.
Or maybe I'll just take some antacid and call it a night.
(P.S.- That's right Joe - I fucking referenced Voltron. Top that, bitch.)