Jalapeno Hot Dog

Do you like Jalapenos?  I sure do.  To me, jalapenos have just the right amount of heat and just the right flavor to make almost anything taste better.  In fact, I'll go as far as to say that jalapenos are the bacon of peppers.  Holy shit!  Have you ever had jalapenos and bacon?  I swear, if you eat a jalapeno and a piece of bacon at the same time, you can hear the angels sing.  That's another story for another time, however.

Okay, so the title of this post might be a little misleading at first.  When I wrote "Jalapeno Hot Dog", I initially thought, "I'm all in!!!"  Then I remembered the story and had to observe a moment of silence out of respect to what really happened.  On the other hand, if you really know me, you'll know damned well this tragedy really happened.  So, here we go.

Me and a couple of buddies decided to go fishing one weekend.  The plan was to spend the night and catch a big mess of catfish.  Because of timing, we each had to drive our own vehicles but we made a plan as to who would be picking up which provisions.  Beer!  Gotta have beer and one of my buddies worked for a beer distributor so he was on that.  Another buddy had the boat, so he covered that and the fuel.  Another buddy bought all of the bait and I was put on buying something to eat for dinner that night.

I throw all of my gear into the truck and headed out.  The plan was to stop at the grocery store and pick something up, but I drove by an old Kentucky Fried Chicken.  The place brought back some childhood memories.  Dad would stop there every once in a while and pick up chicken for a fishing trip.  I just knew that was the thing to do, so in I go.

I don't want to sound like a male chauvinist, but we are talking about a group of guys going fishing.  Man shit, right?  So I knew better than to order all kinds of goofy salads.  We're men.  Men need beer, chicken and a couple of biscuits to make the trip, even if the fishing sucks.  As I am standing there contemplating the amount of chicken to buy, I see this giant ass jar of pickled peppers.  Now I know we need to add peppers to the situation.

The kind lady comes up and takes my order.  I said, "I need about 20 pieces of chicken, 10 biscuits and a big ass container of those peppers you have there in the jar.  As she rang me up she mentioned, "For some reason, these jalapenos are extremely hot!"  In my mind I am thinking, "Yeah sure they are, granny.  Now box up a shit ton of them and get my ass to the lake."

With chicken, biscuits and peppers in hand, I head out the door with a grin on my face.  "If the fishing sucks" I think to myself, "...at least we will have some good ass chicken".  I just knew I had myself and my buddies covered. 

I eventually arrive at the dock and walk towards the boat.  My beer buddy was there first.  He handled his end with 3 cases of ice cold beer.  I showed him the chicken and we clapped, jumped and danced around like a couple of sorority girls.  From the looks of things, this trip should have been illegal.  It was going to be blast! 

Soon after, my other buddies showed up.  Bait guy knocked down his end of the bargain and the guy who owned the boat pulled into the gas dock and filled the tank.  We could have gone anywhere on that body of water and survived for 3 days if we had to. 

We shove off and set a course to one of our favorite spots.  Positioned just right, you could watch half naked girls jumping off the cliffs while drinking beer and catching catfish.  We get there, anchor off and start to get the party rolling. 

After a few beers, right near sunset, we decide to get into the chicken and biscuits.  We are mowing through the fried chicken and beer at a pretty good pace.  Good news was, we didn't have to move nor had we planned on it.  The next thing you know, we are down to just the jalapenos and beer left.  None of my buddies were down with eating peppers.  "Too much beer" and "too much chicken" were the excuses they were using.  I'd never heard such talk before, so I start crunching pepper after pepper and slamming beer after beer.

It's well after dark by this point.  I was about 10 beers in and I finally had to take a whiz.  I grabbed a couple of peppers, jammed them into my beer hole and hopped on the ski board to take care of business.  I present my man plumbing to the lake and grab hold right after biting into the juciest pepper of the lot. 

In my left had was a brand new, icy cold Budweiser.  I had a hold of my man situation in my right hand which was also coated in jalapeno juice, but I was not completely aware of that for about the first 20 seconds of the worlds longest piss attempt.  Then something changed....

Saying something changed was an understatement.  When you burn a hot dog on a grille, it kind of makes them better.  When you burn "YOUR" hot dog with jalapeno juice.... ain't nothing good going to come of that.  Now, I had just enough beer in the system that I couldn't tell exactly what was happening.  I took another sip of beer and started to recollect the entire evening up to this point.  "Put stuff in truck... check.  Drive truck towards lake....check.  Buy chicken, buscuits and peppers...check.  Get to lake...check.  Get on board...check.  Shove off...check.  Anchor off...check.  Eat chicken, buscuits and peppers... check.  Go piss with copious amounts of jalapeno pepper juice all over the hand that you have just grabbed your schnitzle with...check.... Wait a second... what was the last thing?'  Then it hits me!

I let go with the most grievous scream and jump into the dark abyss.  I'm scrubbing, I'm damn near crying and my buddies are laughing their asses off!  I finally manage to get control of my emotions and hop back on the boat.  I drank about 4 more beers and put myself to sleep.

I woke up the next morning and knew I had a problem.  I took a look at the 'situation' and figured I had better take my ass and the rest of me to the hospital and get this thing looked at.  My weiner looked like it had been in a gang fight!  Bumps, bruises, blisters... hell, it looked like it was crying, so I demanded that I be brought to shore for first aide.

One buddy said, "Here, put Vaseline on it."  I didn't know if it was going to work or not, but I gave it a go.  Then I thought, "what in the hell did this guy think was going to happen on this other wise Christian gathering, that he thought Vaseline was an appropriate item to bring?" 

Well, guess what?  Putting Vaseling on it was like throwing gasoline on a dumpster fire!  I poured a cold beer on it, I poured cold ass ice chest water on it and nothing was going to stop the flames!  We get to the dock and I take off running.  I hop in the truck and head to the emergency room.

On the ride, I tried to look at other options.  I could call my mom.... nope.  Mom doesn't know anything about "plumbing".  I could call my dad... again nope.  I didn't need his ass laughing at me at this pivotal, most important time in my life.  I manage to find the hospital and walk into the emergency room door with my tail between my legs.

The lady behind the counter looks at me.  I'm coverd with ice chest water, beer and am half crying and shaking.  She says, "What can I do for you?"  I said, "Put the fire out...please!  I am begging you!"  She looks me up and down one more time and says, "Fire?  What fire?"  To which I reply, "The one on my penis...."  She says, "So let me get this right...  You have a burning sensation when you pee?"  I shake my head and plea with her... "No, it burns all of the time.  Its in horrible shape and if we don't hurry up, I'm afraid the thing is going to be a complete loss."  She shakes her head in disbelief and I just blurt it out, "Lady, I have JALAPENO JUICE ALL OVER MY  DICK!!!"

Even Ray Charles could have seen how dire the situation was.  I'm shaking and crying uncontrollably, pacing, cussing, looking like I was going to faint and she says, "The doctor will be with you in a minute." 

10 minutes later, a nurse comes out and calls my name.  "Mr. Dudley?"  I'm the only person there....  I mean, its not a mystery who the idiot is who has jalapeno juice all over his genitals and I knew damned well that she knew that!  Nevertheless, she asks me whats going on....  I just dropped my shorts and pointed at it.  The first words out of her mouth were, "Holy shit!"  Not comforting, at all.  her next words were, "What is this greasy substance all over it?"  I told her that it was Vaseline and then she went off on a 20 minute diatribe on how you are not supposed to put anything on any kind of a burn, especially on ones genitals.

I told her as resepctfully as I could, "You're not fucking helping.  If I wanted a lecture, I would have called my grandma.  I came to you for help so please, get me some help or call a priest for my penises last rites."  She put her hand to her mouth and walked away.

I'm struggling to regain my composure.  I can hear this nurse discussing the situation with a man.  I can't help but think I am at least on the road to getting some sympathy from the gentleman on the other side of the curtain.  At about this time, the curtain flings open.  Not a little bit, but he whole way.  There lies me and my dying penis, for the entire staff to look at.  The doctor makes eye contact and says, "Good morning Mr. Dudley" and then looks at "the patient". 

The look on his face looked like he had just walked in on his parents having sex.  He slapped his forehead and took a seat on the stool at the foot of the bed.  "Jesus Christ" he says, then continues, "I've never seen anything like this!  What in the hell is the greasy substance all over the place?"  I just screamed, "Its penis tears, God Damn it!  Can you do anything to help, for the love of God!!!"

He collects himself, puts on a pair of inspection gloves and kind of pokes it...  He pokes it again....  "Do you mind if I take a closer look?" he asks.  "Please, for the sake of all things holy!  Do something!  Anything, but quit poking it.  You aren't helping!"  He says, "Well, were going to have to clean it" like he is talking to his little son about a dirty bedroom or something.  I said, "Pain... I'm dying.  Can you give me something for the pain, at least.  I'll take the damned thing to the car wash or do whatever you tell me to do, but you've got to make it stop buring."

He directs the nurse to grab some betadine, some warm wash cloths, some gauze and one of those goofy shaped plastic barf trays that looks like it could have held a banana split at one time.  Another nurse comes in and hands me a couple of pills.  I didn't even care if it were cyanide at this point.  I'm more embarrassed than I have ever been, my penis has been on a 12 hour nuclear melt down and I just wanted something else to happen.

As the doctor is working on the situation, the nurse is standing there grimacing and making odd hand gestures and shaking her head.  Another nurse walks in and asks if she can assist but takes a quick look at what was really going on and excuses herself with a simple but stearn, "Nope!  I'm out." 

By now, the pain meds and first aide are starting to kick in.  The doctor gets done and says, "You're going to want to keep this clean and treat it as if it were any other kind of a burn.  Don't put anything on it.  Wash it and let it air dry if you can.  Keep an eye out for more blisters and if they start to appear, come back in for a follow up.  In fact, I suggest you follow up with your regular physician in the next couple of days."

He helps me sit up and I look him dead in the eye and said, "If this works and the burning quits, you know damned well that I am not going to follow up with the family physician, right?  You also understand that I will NOT ever come back in here, regardless of the situation, right?'  He nodded and showed me the way out.

There I go, hobbling along on the worst day of my life.  Alone, scared and hurt like I've never been hurt before.  I was trying to figure out a way to drive standing up naked or a way to make a quick splint for my wounded warrior.  No such luck. 

I got home and mom asked, "How was fishing and why are you limping?"  "Fishing sucked mom and me limping is the least of our worries at this point.  I could have died."  I went straight to my bedroom and tried to sleep the whole thing off like a bad hangover.  I woke up the next morning and looked down.... there he was, bandaged like a burn victim and I could almost hear him asking me, "Why?  Why?  Why did you do this to me?"

I swore I'd never tell that story, but here I am 31 years later hoping that someone will read this and learn a valuable lesson.  Please consider this a public service announcement and remember that peppers and your genitals are never, ever going to be friends.