A Fire Breathing Fetish of Sickly Proportions

Wow, it feels weird (but good) to be back here writing up a post!
I am recovering well & slowly moving back into the swing of things, and it's just been too damn long.

Maybe I'll share the second half of the horror story sometime in the near future, but I have been enjoying those times I don't have to focus so much on what the hell I went through back there, so...

Today I want to talk to you about weird fetishes which are of a non-sexual nature, and
A self- observation I haven't been able to deny all my life.

Wrong shit entirely!
I'm not sure what's she expected to do with those, but it's almost frightening to think about.
"Slap me with a waffle & call me Charlie Sheen."

I'm THAT sicko..... No, not the one above, but who doesn't enjoy waffles & storm troopers now?

(Just keep them miles away from my bedroom or my lady parts.)

• The one that eats jars of vinegar peppers (Pepperoncini) because I'm addicted to the burn.
• The one who eats their pizza STRAIGHT out of the oven because it just doesn't taste good enough if it doesn't leave a welt on the roof of my mouth.
• The one who eats that insane, spicy yellow mustard at Chinese restaurants (It's boss on chicken wings).
• The one who used to stand outside Taco Bell as a kid & have "fire sauce contests" with my friends. (Pussies. I remember them dancing in circles, panting with their eyes bulging out, nearly in tears.)
• And the one who can finish an entire one of those long, hot sausages from the Italian import store that even make grown men cry & choke to death from a single bite.

I don't suggest you ever try any of those at home, unless you're a straight up fire breathing dragon.

Or in this case, fire breathing corporate nerd.
Sometimes you gotta work with what you can.

Now, some people can handle this shit well. Some, on the other hand, not so well at all.

But then there are the sickos who seek out this sensation/experience.

No, dickhead, me.  Creepy fucking owl trying to steal my thunder.

I once bit into a slice of pizza so hot, not only did it leave a welt, but the skin on the roof of my mouth actually peeled off. =0. While speaking of creepy, the creepiest part about this was that I felt satisfied for days.

I had the battle wounds to prove it, as I still continued to burn my mouth in any way I could the rest of that week.

Is this a sign of lacking something emotionally, physically?

My guess is probably just a disturbed person being disturbed, though it would be cool if it had any kind of theory behind it.

No, I'm not going to go out & snort Wasabi like Steve-O, but it's a rush & a thrill for some people.

My mother & her father actually both suffer from the same insane fetish.

These folks also eat orange peels & the like, so maybe it's irrelevant.

Though, I still think my 2nd degree pizza burn was a first for the history books.

Deadly pizza, you hurt me so good. <3

If my bowl of soup isn't at nearly boiling point & doesn't burn with intense heat all the way down to the point of involuntary twitching, I simply have no interest in it.

I have yet to throw a bowl of soup at the wall, but I'll make sure to be wearing a wife beater with spaghetti stains on it when that day comes. I think that's kind of a requirement for throwing soup at the wall.

I once threw a plethora of cold cuts (and some chicken cutlets) behind the couch when I was a kid, but I also don't think that's quite relevant here.

My bologna's first name was destruction.

(Floppy food is funny).

"I gots me attire for my first date with a lady friend."

It's like that chick at the prom wearing the long & proper gown when you know quite well you need the slut standing outside in the mini skirt for any kind of real thrill.

She'll probably burn your ass, but she'll be worth it & you'll never forget her.

Esp. for the following weeks due to the effects of the burning, but that's what you get for messing around with crabs.

Spicy food is a dirty whore!

(Bologna is just wrong in every way.)

Just keep Habanero out of the family chili. Nobody else will appreciate it & think you're an asshole.

I'm like, no good at photoshopping.
Shit, I don't even have photo shop. I lied to you.
(I did put habanero in the family chili, though.)

Some people like being lied to. It's their fetish.

As much as it's against my morale, I'd lie to you if you wanted.

I just won't spank you with waffles. Wtf do you think this is? 

Nor do I think I'd pierce my tongue, as much as I love torturing my mouth.

You should really see the way I can throw back things like deadly, straight Whiskey & Tequila, though.

That's a good look for cousin Cletus.
Let's do this, people!!
We can play beer pong with Jim Bob's eyeballs after the explosion.

Irresistably appealing.

You've missed me (and my sanity), admit it.