I’m a fan of tomato juice, especially V8. While I like the hot & spicy variety, those fucks have too much sodium in them. So I have to settle for the low-sodium V8. But they don’t make hot & spicy low-sodium V8, goddammit! Just when I thought my life was over, along came one of my longtime friends… Satan.
As I sat there staring at my glass of freshly poured V8, Satan came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“What’s wrong, old bean?” he asked.
“V8 puts too much fucking salt in their drinks, and there’s no firey low-sodium kind. My Blair’s hot sauce is too expensive to put in my V8… and besides I want to save that shit for taco night.” I replied.
“Crepe Ape, I understand bro. But have you forgotten about your brand new bottle of Sriracha that’s sitting in the fridge?”
“Yeah, but I never seem to get that shit right. I either under-do it, and then I add more and overcompensate and fuck up my drink… or I just add too little to begin with, and by the time I sit down and start reading Swamp Thing I don’t have it in me to get off the couch again and get more.”
“Your points are valid, and my black heart feels your pain. Allow me to show you the way…”
After chanting something about extracted essence of the stone, narcotics of the faceless ones, awaking on planet black, freezing moons, and no turning back… ol’ Satan disappeared in a burst of smoke. In front of me was a Sriracha pentagram in my V8. “Could this be it?” I said to absolutely no one. After giving a quick stir and downing half of the glass… it was PERFECT. The garlicky flavor of the Sriracha shined through, but kept the underlying V8 taste. And the heat was PERFECT. It was enough to make your nose run a teeny bit, but not enough to make you feel like you had to chug milk or cold water.
“Thanks, Satan. You’re a true friend.” I said. As I peered out my kitchen window, I saw the hazy face of Satan in the clouds… who shot me a friendly wink. Then he struck a flock of geese dead and faded away into the sunset.