02/21/11

On the one week anniversary of valentines day 2011 Chester Cheetah tried to kill me. It was a cloudy wet murky day in the orange city of phoenix. After a hard Friday of work some of the HPD crew decided to play cards, drink some beer, and have some dinner at the Extended Stay. The party consisted of HPD participants James (Boss, host, and chef), Wayne (Crazy deaf internet Casanova), later on Jeff (Owner of HPD), and me-Roger (Stud and Hero; because I said so, OK). I indulged myself; too much dinner (It was good), too much beer (It was Sol; Awesome). After a while of playing cards on the ironing board we broke out the snack foods one of them being Flamin’ Hot Cheetos which I had tried a couple weeks before and thought they were purty (speeled rong on porpoise spell check) good. The taste of the Sol and Cheetos together was awesome, the combination reminded me of Doritos and Pot (It is fiction mom). As I was jamming red hot dry spicy powdered snacks and sol down my beer hole I started to have difficulty breathing and started coughing and gasping for air, I was desperate for fresh sweet cool air but instead kept getting dry irritatingly hot dust stuck in my throat and I thought this might be it; retard killed by snack food. Thankfully the only consequence was a red face, moist eyes, a desire for more sol, and embarrassment. We continued playing cards and had a great time and then called it a night with the cheeto incident forgotten by all including myself. I went back to my room on the other side of the Extended Stay. Wound down and fell asleep on my stomach. At 2 in the morning Chester showed up in the form of a monster burp that blew red dust into my mouth from behind and woke the sh!+ out of me. Not literally, more like all the air out of me, not actual sh!+. I went to the bathroom…sink and started hand feeding my mouth water and trying to desperately get some air in there. After a couple minutes Chesters’ grip relaxed and I was relieved to survive round 2. On reflection I will never let Old Chester put his dust in my throat again, and hopefully that will be the closest I ever come to snack food asphyxiation. Where‘s the love snack food? That could have been an awkward pearly gate orientation interview. Not the end (Whew!).