Jericho: The Last Cheeto

I thought things were going to work out for me. I thought I had prospects. I was the first one in the bag and that sounded like a good deal to me.

Turned out that I sat at the bottom of that bag in some overheated, rat infested gas station for three weeks. When someone finally did buy us, it was some bloated long-haul trucker who thought he looked like Elvis. Yeah, fat, trucker Elvis! Geez!

So, there I was, in the bottom of the bag, waiting. This guy happily munched through the whole bag. He dragged giant fists out of the bag, tossing them in his mouth as he roared down the road humming "Viva Las Vegas". With a mouthful of my crunchy cohorts it sounded more like "Weba Wost Baygis". My turn was soon, this would all be over. A few body tearing crunches, then a swan dive into a pool of churning, hydrochloric, cheese flavored-acid death.

There were only a few of us left. He grabbed up Ted, Larry and Spike all at once. Then he fished out Bobby and Stew. He nabbed Chuck, that guy had thousands of morbid jokes about getting stuck in the teeth and going down the wind pipe. I wasn't sorry to say goodbye to Chuck. Then, it was my turn, there was no one left. Just me. I was ready. I was brave.

Still brave, I waited. Brave and ready.

Yup. Brave. Still here.

Hello? Echo! Heeelllloooooo!!

Can you believe this idiot? He ate a nine and a half ounce bag and managed to leave me behind? How the heck do you do that? I sat in that bag on that seat for days. We drove all over the place. He'd get out, come back smelling like beer and I'd think, sure, here it comes. I mean, what goes better with beer? He wasn't going for it. He left me where I was, sliding around in that plastic bag, waiting to be sat on.

But, I was spared even that kindness. No, he cleaned his truck up for some floosie he met on one of his beer breaks. I was shoved behind the seat with a few dozen Marlboro boxes, a few empty beer cans and a can of tuna. We kept driving. It got so cold I thought I'd snap! Then we drove more, once it was really windy, the doof left the windows cracked open. The wind caught my bag and I sailed and whipped around in the cab of that truck for twenty minutes straight. I thought sure I'd puke up my little, yellow guts!

When he got back in the truck and closed the windows, the bag settled right back down on the passenger's seat! It was like something out of Dante! Eat me, you freak! Just eat me! It's why I'm here, get it over with already! EAT ME!

For weeks more we drove on. Finally, one day, he stopped by the side of the road. He pushed me and the beer cans and other garbage out the door into a grassy ditch. He drove off in a haze of road grit. It didn't take long, the ants came in force. Finally.

Heaven isn't as cool as you'd think. Floating around on a cloud is about like being in that hot truck on that damn seat. Winged Pringles and Doritos flutter and dive through the clouds. The smell of Ultra-Super Hot salsa and Chili-Cheese sauce waft up from The Pit now and then, reminding me it could be worse. I pass my days remembering the truck and beer soaked Elvis-boy. Then, sometimes I think and I ask questions. Questions like: what if the The Big Guy ate me?