Burning Sensations.

Today I took my bottle of Blair’s Mega-Death Sauce to work.

If you’re just stumbling in, BMDS is a sauce I bought while passing through Hell, Michigan?

How to describe it? Well, take a smoky pepper, one with hints of fruit from the habanero, add in the brightness of a jalapeno, add some salt, swirl it around some vinegar for tartness’ sake, and then add the crushed souls of harp seals and rhesus monkeys… and napalm.

Is it as hot as a bhut jolokia? Not. Even. Close. But it is zippy.

Only two co-workers had the testicular fortitude to try some today – Rectified Diode and The Dude.

Diode did really well and identified some of the flavors but then stumbled – stumbled hard – when he licked his lips. The burning sensation on the lips is a force that one must take seriously. He took his leave rather suddenly to go find some pop in the lunchroom. I cannot mock him for his response – it’s a powerful burn to the lips. Hey, he was one of two to even try it.

Next came The Dude. He and I regularly eat thai food, vietnamese, and korean food and always loaded with chilies, and we have roughly the same tolerance. He also recognized the flavors and appreciated the smokiness. It was his opinion that it’d go great in some guacamole or perhaps a bowl of chili. I concur.

Then the evening got interesting.

I went into the boss’ office with the bottle and a coffee-stirrer. I said “Squatting Bear, only two people – Diode and The Dude – had the balls to even try this. No one else had any guts whatsoever. So I figured I’d give you a chance.”

In guy-speak this is as good as calling a guy a p*ssy in advance if he refuses to try it, or basically the equivalent strength of the dreaded Triple-Dog-Dare.

Note: For reasons we will not go into I gave my boss that nickname years and years ago. Yes, he is aware of it. No, I do not call him by it.

He had to try it, he had no choice, really, and I am a soulless bastard for manipulating him so cruelly.

I pulled the coffee-stirrer straw out of my pocket and unscrewed the lid, placing it directly between us. Then I arched an eyebrow Spock-style and non-verbally dared him to do it.

He looked at me, dipped the stirrer and stared at it. I think the part of the label that says “Not to be consumed directly, dilute in food” might have spooked him a bit.

I sighed and tipped the bottle and coated my index finger with it and smeared it all around my tongue and showed him my spotless finger. I told him he could just touch the straw with his tongue as there was a decent amount on the straw. He rebelled against the very idea because I had bound him with a socially-binding contract – he’d been backed into the Triple-Dog-Dare corner even though I never actually had to utter those words.

He touched it to his tongue and started getting that “Oh no” look.

With gusto I took the stirrer from his trembling hand and licked every last bit off the stirrer and said “MMMMM-mmm, damn that’s good. That’s some serious gour-MAY sh*t there, boss.”

He grimaced and said “It just hit my throat.”

I said “Yes, I’m a bastard.”

Here he made pantomiming motions that should absolutely be interpreted as “Blood from The Alien splashed into my open mouth and just burned through my lower jaw and then splattered the ground”. He pulled it together and said “I am not much of a spicy food eater.”

“Never too late to start, SB! Have a great evening!”

In retrospect I probably should have weighed more carefully the possibility that he could fire me at any moment but it sure seemed like a fun idea at the time.