So I'm at the supermarket looking through produce, in particular the pathetic excuses they had for oranges, when I find the Grapple (pronounced "grape-l").
"Looks like an apple. Tastes like a grape." says the packaging.
The packaging also says 'Patent Pending' which is fancy advertising talk for 'Genetically Engineered'. You know, the way 'Impact Resistant' means 'Cheap-Ass Plastic'.
So of course I bought some.
Cause you never know when some mutant-hybrid fruit might accidentally cause you to gain superpowers, and since I can't seem to find any fucking broccoflower anymore this would have to do.
Anyways, they do, in fact, look like apples and, at least the one I ate, tasted like a grape.
AND like an apple.
It was kinda in-between.
Nate and Jeremy the Fu-Man-Jew, reported more mixed results.
I needed more subjects for a proper study.
Besides, nobody wants to be a mutant alone.
So I'm happily munching along and I'm looking up information on this wonderfully freakish piece of modern science gone wrong when I discover that it's not really genetically engineered at all, they're just soaked in some fucking artificial grape flavoring.
I'm never going to develop a mutant healing factor or freaking claws or anything with goddamn artificial grape flavoring.
Hell, I'd be happy with just getting my memory back where it was before I got sick. (It wasn't great even before...)
Some of you have heard me talk about this before. Well hell, MOST of you have heard me talk about this before, at length, weather you wanted to or not, because I'm incapable of shutting the hell up about it.
Dying is the only significant thing I've done with my life in the last few years, so I tend to get hung up on it.
Anyways, I think when I flatlined I lost some important brain cells because I have 'holes' in my memory.
A perfect example of this is that I can't remember my cousin's computer.
See, a couple of months before I got sick I visited my cousin in Baton Rouge Louisiana.
A short time after that, pornography appeared on her computer.
Her father, my uncle, apparently made the logical assumption that I (not being a catholic) must have been the one to put it there.
Now I'll admit, I love the porn, but I do have a modicum of tact.
Christ, I was only there for a few days, I had enough magazines to get me through that long.
Besides, I know how to cover my tracks, erase histories and the like. I'm not saying I'm untraceable, but you'd have to be looking.
In short: that just doesn't sound like something I would have done.
The bitch of it is, I can't say it wasn't me, because I can't remember the computer.
I can't tell you what brand, what options, what COLOR the fucking thing is. I can't even remember what room it was in, but I remember being asked to see if a CD burner they had was compatable with it, I remember that I did check and I remember that it wouldn't work.
I just have no memory of actually having done it.
It's not like a forgotten face or name, something trivial. Well OK it IS trivial, but this is the kind of thing I should be able to remember, or at least reconstruct, since I remember all the things around it, but it's like a blind spot, a gap, a bad sector in my brain.
I've got dozens of them.
For the most part they seem to be before the incident at the hospital.
Actually, now that I think of it, they get more frequent in the few months right before.
Significant? Damned if I know.
I guess what I'm saying is if you've got any gene-spliced fruit or vegetables send them my way so I can remember porn.