On Sunday, October 6, 2024 - 9:24pm
Posted in the group “Restaurant workers be like”
Abigail said…
I need some help with a good name for this drink!! We had to come up with a fall drink for the season & submit them to the executive chef.
It’s Malibu rum, vanilla vodka, half and half & sprite.
Caramel & graham cracker rim, topped with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, cinnamon and a mint leaf!
On Monday, October 7, 2024 - 3:42am…
Scott Savino left 1 new comment…
That sounds like an ocean you sail on in your sleep. Nights of darkness washing away from you. You wish for peace but where is it? They took it away. It's somewhere. Yes. Or maybe nowhere? Yes, even more. That's where. Suddenly everything around you begins burning. The ocean is a giant flame. Rolling and rippling with orange like violence. Violent Orange is water burning. Burning. The Fire is approaching you now. Closer and closer. You want to be afraid. To run. To scream. But it has you paralyzed.
You smile instead, but the smile is not your own. It's your grandmother's smile. She's been gone. Buried so long. Why did you steal your nan's dentures and put them inside of you? They were hers–not yours…
Wait. Why are you getting closer to the Fire? Why can't you stop? Stop. Now. Stop now. Do not. Don't do it. You hug the Fire. You hug the Fire and it hugs you back and now you are the Fire. Everything you can see is Fire. Did you just wonder if the entire world was Fire? No. Only that which you can see is Fire. Can one sleepless eye view a whole wonderous world between blinks? The world AROUND you is Fire but the whole world is not Fire.
Not yet.
Remember the way this drink sounded? It sounded like the ocean you sail on in your sleep.
It's the ocean of nightmares. Nightmares that crackle and scorch and curl like the tips of cigarettes. Cigarettes like embered fingertips–smoldering with the brutality of amber–reaching out to take your frigid, frozen hand and make it warm. Hot. Incinerate.
The ingredients don't make sense and it sounds like it would taste like sunscreen. Remember sunscreen? Well, you should have remembered that before you became Fire. Sunscreen has no magic to lend you now. Fires cannot unburn. Malibu is the worst. Cream and Sprite? 🤮
Why can't I wake up? I'm trying to scream but the sound that comes out is nan's cruel laughter because her dentures are still inside of me. I can't take them out. They're melding with my gums because I am smoldering red hot and Fire melts and Fire makes more Fire. Now he is Fire. Now she is Fire. Now they all are Fire. Everyone is Fire. Now you are Fire. No! Not her! Anyone but her! Oh no! Not--not mother--she was so pure--how is she now--how is she now also Fire!?!?! Oh, wicked world! Why?!
Earlier you spoke too soon for now is the moment that the whole wicked world is Fire, and not a moment before.
We are all Fire.
Now that we are Fire--all of us nothing but raw power; built only to consume. Now we all converge with one burning mind. Everyone focus all of your thoughts on the future. Focus on Chef. Focus on his coffee. Now! burn! Burn! BURN! Burn all of his taste buds. Goooood! Make everything he puts inside of him taste like ash. His breakfast. His tongue. His grandmother's dentures.
Wait, he's doing that also?
Of course he is!
Everything is nothingness and nothingness is the everythingness of all existence. It’s been forged and rendered down into its basic elements: a magmic whirlpool of undulating chaos where everything and nothing is possible all at once. Infinite Nothing's and infinite Everything's converge into one singularity and within that singularity we all wear our grandmother's dentures inside of us. Even Chef…all have become chaos's volcanic equivalent.
Nothing is doing everything and Everything is doing everything and nothing.
Focus not on the dentures that sit ill-fittingly in all of our mouths, but focus your eyes to the sky and lift your head upwards! Open your countless mouths as one, speaking one voice! Speak of the new power that runs through us! The power churning at the core of every volcano has been stolen this day! Harness it! Touch it intimately and fondly like a lover! A lover, who I would like to clarify, is NOT also your first cousin! Now! The time has come! We must act now! Burn it! Burn everything, everyone...don't burn Anything and also do burn Anything and Everything! Burn infinite possibilities! Burn reality! This reality! Burn that reality! Burn all realities that once were and all realities that may yet still spring forth! Most importantly burn the tongue of the chef until he can't taste anything anymore and Abigail's horrendous concoction wins!
As for the name, we shall call it "Dumpster Fire." The part where it says "Fire" is because we are all Fire and together we shall cleanse the world with the orange heat of violence! The part where it says "Dumpster" is because this belongs in a trashcan!
(Edit: When she told me in the comments that she wouldn’t read this, she also told me that it is not her recipe. I didn’t fell bad about making fun of this drink when I thought it was hers because–honestly, how gross, am I right? But now I feel extra emboldened by my horrible behavior because it’s not even her drink. Why don’t you call it by the name its creator gave it, Abigail? She truly is Chaos indeed! It’s in the comments, see for yourself below! Be amazed! Set yourself ablaze! She is naught but kindling waiting for our mighty spark! Call it by its given name or call it by the name it has here earned Abigail!!)
After that, all ye whomst call yeself Fire, they whomst speak with the wicked voice of flame, meet at the NICU downtown!
Every soul must join the wall of endless living inferno and in our unbridled haste we forgot to burn the babies!
