What you may know, as I believe I’ve blogged about it at least once, is that despite his fairly impressive culinary skills, particularly those centered around a grill, Red’s favorite food on earth is Chipotle. Loves the stuff. Burritos, bowls, everything, it doesn’t matter. He inhales it like the air he breathes. So it did not surprise me one bit when I got a text from him yesterday stating two things:
1.) Chipotle had been ISSUED A SUBPOENA (Legal document stating either a.) You’re in trouble come here now or b.) Dude what the fuck?) for making poisonous-ass food and that two
2.) This would not deter him in the slightest from continuing to ingest the toxic Mexi-merican cuisine he has become so ravenous for.
And like a lot of things most well adjusted human brains simply move on from, this got me thinking: for one of the more low-key members of our tribe, Red has a number of sneakily-dangerous habits, hobbies, and ventures. Put them altogether, the odds of him making it to the night of his nuptials are actually quite bad. So what will be the thing that sends Red to his eternal resting place? Hmmm……
Things That Definitely Will Not Kill Red
We know this because we already returned. And believe me, Vegas tried. There was ice, fire, booze, gambling, insomnia, booze, a gin and coke, and still we all came back in one piece. No, the City of Sin was not to be Red’s final downfall
A Complete Longshot But Must be Noted
I don’t have much in the way of science or scenario here, I just know our fearless leader has developed quite a penchant for these lip puckering brews and there’s something not quite right about it. It only takes one wrong hipster pouring one wrong orange beer and that could be it. How? I dunno man. Just could.
Improbable But Definitely Possible
Another Dog/Dog Owner
Listen I fucking love dogs and I have awesome friends that have dogs but let’s face some facts, people without kids that have dogs are a fucking WACKADOODLE breed. They hold their dogs in the same regard as they would their kids. So I can totally see a scenario where Red’s dog gets a little too frisky with, like, a Shih Tzu whose owner just ended a 10 year bid in Walpole and is none too pleased that their psuedo-child has been besmirched. One tire iron later and it’s curtains. That or the dog itself isn’t a Shih Tzu but an ill-tempered Doberman that decides that the owner must pay for the dog’s misdeeds and Red gets Ramsay Bolton’d. All in all this is highly unlikely but you never know.
When I was 13 I spent two weeks of the summer on Outward Bound. Basically my parents sent to stop being a pissant camp. Part of the experience was living and sleeping in the White Mountains for a week. There I learned about giardia, a parasite that makes freshwater undrinkable until you treat it with iodine. Long story boring if you drink water straight from a stream, no matter how clear and clean it looks, you are going to start shitting a lot, possibly to death. I can imagine this is what Chipotle has in store for Red, but 12 times worse. The more I think about it maybe that’s just it? Maybe it is some sort of BDSM/thrill fetish where he doesn’t know if this refried bean will be his last before he literally rides the porcelain pony straight to his grave. Pretty fucked up.
This Might Kill Red
Ahhhh, the lifelong nemesis. Re-adressing the whole BDSM thing, Red has continuously put himself in positions where he is at war with Boston traffic of all kinds, never unleashing his fury, just quietly bottling it up and letting it simmer. At some point, every man breaks. Whether it is a road range incident he comes out on the wrong end on or a quick detour off a bridge, the poorly laid plans of our city’s streets could certainly spell Red’s doom.
There you have it. Red has constructed himself a windy road to the dog days of summer and tying the knot. Let the tightrope walk begin. Wear a helmet.