The Saga of Freakish Salsa, Part II

As I conjugate verbs into the past-preterite form and fantasize about The Last Airbender, I present to you...

Part II: In which I am warned of the dangers of The Salsa, and give an eyewitness account to its effects (no exaggerations included).

(Fast-forward to a bit later, when I'm actually at my friend's house.)

First of all, we spent quite a few too many minutes driving around a very dark, unfamiliar neighborhood in complete confusion. It sounded like

"I don't see any house numbers at all. It's too dark."
"Have they ever heard of streetlamps?"
"I guess not. Do you see it?"
"No. Do you?"
"No. Do you?"
"No."

And eventually:

"MY GOODNESS, WHERE IS THE FREAKING HOUSE?! I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!!"

Except that last part was in my head. I was about thisclose to screaming at the top of my lungs, though. But after all that, we finally found the house. (Of course, they turned on the front light after we'd spent fifteen minutes driving in circles trying to find the house.)

The first things that were said once I got in the door:

"Hey, Nightshade!"
"Hi!"
"Glad you made it."
"Heh, yeah. Almost got lost seventeen times, but we got here all right."
"Heh, sorry about that."

Immediately following that, a very short boy of approximately eleven years old (that I'd never seen before) ran up to me and tugged on my arm.

"Eh?" I said. "What?" (Well, it was better than "Who the heck are you?", which was what I was thinking. But that would've been quite rude.)

He pulled on my arm again, so I bent down (he was a short kid). "Don't eat the salsa, okay? It's mild," he whispered, then smiled in a way that I generally associate with chainsaw murders and exploding wedding cakes. A smile like that, coupled with the command "Don't eat the salsa," is quite frightening, especially when you have no idea who the kid is.

"Uh... why?" I said. I noticed that my friend was staring at the kid with a go-away-NOW! expression that's generally applied to younger siblings.

The kid pulls me a few feet away from my friend, then makes me bend down so he can tell me.

"I made it super spicy," he giggled. "Like, super super really extra-spicy."
"Uh," I said.
"Want to know how I made it?" His whole face lit up, like he'd just won the contest for a year's supply of Pixy Stix.
"Um... sure?"

Just then, my friend tried to step in with "Uh, hey, you don't have to-", which was interrupted with "Shhh! Go away for a second! I gotta tell her something!"

"I put in green peppers, and some garlic stuff, and cayan pepper-"
"You put cayan pepper in salsa?!"
"Yeah. A LOT of it, too." At this point, I could only stare at him.
"But... why?"
"Because [my friend] can eat really spicy stuff, and I wanted to see if he could eat it."
"Oh. Um... that's interesting."
"Yeah. So it's mild, okay?"
"Okay. And by mild, you mean mild, right?" (I put air quotes around "mild.")
"Yeah." (Another evil chainsaw grin.)
"Okay. I'll... uh... stay away from it."

Then my friend pulled the kid away and told him to leave. "That's my brother," he explained.
"Ah," I said. "That explains it."

At this point, I noticed another of my friends staggering around the kitchen, gasping for air. I also noticed that his face was unusually red.

"Uh," I said. "What's with Bob?" (Not his real name.)

The kid smiled.

"He ate the salsa," he said.

Bob was now chugging a glass of milk while some other guys stood next to him and laughed hysterically.

"Oh," I said. "That's some strong salsa."
"Oh, no," the kid said. "It's mild, remember?"
"Right."

I watched as Bob tried to scrub his tongue at the sink. He also attempted mouthwash.

"Dude," my friend said. "How long's it been since you ate the salsa? Like... five minutes? Ten?"
"At least ten," someone else said.
"It's been ten minutes?!" I said. I was starting to seriously worry about the state of my health while inside the house.
"Yeah."

I looked at the kid, who was giggling so much I thought he'd explode.

"You're evil," I said. "The salsa's that bad?"
"Thanks. And yeah, it is."
"Mm."


About five minutes after all that, after my mom had left, Bob was mostly recovered from The Salsa.

"Hey," I said.
"Hi," he wheezed. (Seriously, he did.)
"How's the salsa?" I asked. He just coughed and shook his head.

Needless to say, no one else had any salsa. Except...

"Dude." (Friend of a friend.)
"What?" (The original friend who invited me.)
"You should eat the salsa."
"What? No! I saw Bob eat it! I'm not stupid."
"Yeah, yeah! Eat it!" (The kid was back.)
"No way!"

Then the kid ran over to the table, where another guy was staring at The Salsa in complete awe. He grabbed a chip and piled a giant scoop of salsa onto it, then held it up.

"EAT IT!" he yelled, as only little brothers can.
"NO!" my friend yelled back.
"Please?"
"No. Not that much, anyway."
"Wait, so you'll try some?"
"Fine. Sure."
"Dude," I said. "You're going to eat The Salsa?! You saw what happened to Bob!"
He shrugged.
"Sure," he said. "A tiny bit."

I swear he touched the corner of a chip to the salsa, then walked back and showed all of us. It was probably about a millimeter or two wide.

"Here we go," he said.
"Dear God, please don't eat that," I said.
"Do it!" his friend yelled.
"Seriously, don't-"

He ate it.

We all stared at him, waiting for him to scream in pain and run for the kitchen for some milk.

He didn't say anything.

"Well?" someone said. "Is it good?"

Still no answer.

"Watch, watch," the same guy said. "He's going to be all manly and not say anything, but then he's going to walk away and be like 'Ahh! Ahh! It burns! Ahh!'" (At this point, he staggered around, gasping and holding his neck.)

My friend started to walk away.

We started laughing really hard.

But then he came back.

"Just kidding," he said.
"WHAT?! How are you not dying?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. It's not that bad."

There was some general staring all around.

"You're insane," I said.
"Yeah, pretty much," he said.

**END PART II***