Could Be Worse

Pippi · #1

The stream opened up to a view of a bare, cedarwood dining room table. There was a large, black slate analogue clock hanging on the wall. To its left, a white wooden cabinet and bookshelf, one row filled with thumbed-through cookbooks, the rest stuffed with knick-knacks and Christmas-and-birthday-gifted novels, placed in the dining room to make it look like they were under consideration of being read. For several seconds, there was no movement, no sound save for the distant drone of a lawnmower outside and a rustling of paper, much closer to the camera.

Then, arms laden with brown bags featuring the famous golden arches, Laura Hakštok appeared, walking into view from the right hand side. She placed the paper bags onto the table, leaving a gap in the middle of the heap, one of the bags immediately toppling over and spilling a couple of boxes of chicken nuggets across the wooden surface. She brushed her hands, then disappeared again, returning after a minute with a large pint glass filled to the brim with a lurid, radioactive green fluid. She put the glass down, pulled the chair out with a scrape, sat down, placed her hands on her knees, and leaned in towards the camera.

“Sup sluts. It’s me, Thiccstock, here with- why the fuck am I telling you this, you’re on my fucking Twitch, you know who you’re watching - anyway, yeah, it’s me, with something new and something dumb as fuck. So, like, the other day I realised I had a serious craving for nuggies, and y’all know it’s a craving everybody gets every now and then, even through we also all know that the nugs really are just kinda shit. So I got to wondering, what’s the best way I can make sure I don’t get that craving for, like, another year or so? And the answer was fuckin’ obvious, really.”

At this, Laura started to grab each bag in turn, tipping them upside down, boxes of chicken nuggets sliding across the table and threatening to topple her drink over.

“Eat more chicken nuggets than any normal human should eat in their goddamn lifetime.”

She flicked open the box at the top of the pile, showing the ten crispy golden lumps of chicken nestled inside off to the viewers watching her stream.

“We’ve got, shit, something like 300 fuckin’ nuggets here? I can’t remember the exact amount, this isn’t the kinda idea you make while sober, you know? Anyway, I’m gonna eat them all, so if you know me, and you’re in the area, have 911 ready to dial or something.”

Over the course of the next five minutes, Laura ate her way through the first box of nuggets, to the various protestations, revulsion, memes, and tit pic requests from her Twitch chat.

“Okay,” she said, slowly, looking at the empty box, not an ounce of emotion on her face or in her voice. “That was definitely a box of heavily processed chicken byproducts.”

She glanced at the camera, taking a sip of her drink.

“I can already feel those cravings from before vanishing.”

Drink down, gaze back to the empty box.

“Wish me fuckin’ luck, chat.”

“Yeah these really need some dip and stuff, hold on to your dicks, chat.”

Laura hopped up from her chair, vanishing off of the right hand side of the screen. The sound of cupboard doors opening, light clattering, and muffled curses could be heard. Chat started theorising that Laura was McFucking Dead. Eventually, she returned, balancing a collection of bottles and jars and a stack of bowls in both arms.

“Alright fuckers,” she began, dumping her goods onto the table. “I got a whole bunch of shit to try and make this even vaguely tolerable, and then I thought, fuck it, I’m in hell anyway, might as well turn it up to fuckin’ eleven. So we’ve got, uh, ketchup, bbq sauce, hot sauce, another fuckin’ hot sauce, ranch, blue cheese, balsamic, grape jelly, applesauce, maple syrup, and Nutella.”

She flipped open the cap of the ketchup bottle, squirting a dollop of sauce into one of the bowls.

“And I’m starting with the fucking ketchup, cause I’m gonna eat the stuff that actually works together while i still have a sense of taste.”

“Man, no wonder this bottle of hot sauce is, like, still pretty much full, this tastes like ass.

…

Someone in chat currently asking me how I know what ass tastes like, uh, what, buddy, you never eaten ass before? In the year of our lord 2021? That’s pretty fucking embarrassing dude, yo, everyone make fun of ‘rad_badger’ in chat for me, will you?”

“Yo, chat, hot take? Chicken nuggets with this fuckin’... grape jelly, yeah? It’s not that bad. This goes together way too fuckin’ well… either that or I’m already going fucking nutso.”

“Alright, someone in chat is asking ‘Is this some kinda fetish thing’, yo, dude, it’s only a fetish thing if you make it a fetish thing, bro. If there’s someone out there jacking off to some skinny bitch with no tits eating a fuckload of nugs, then that’s their problem not mine. Like, full power to that guy, but also, stay the fuck away from me.”

“Fuck. Fuck dude, wow, god, hey so, chat? Do not dip your nuggets into Nutella okay? I’m serious. Tastes like fucking death. Jesus christ I’m, uh…”

Laura reached out to grab her, now half-empty, drink, taking a swig from it and pulling a horrified face at the camera.

“Christ, I’m not getting the taste of that out of my mouth any time soon, that is worse than ass.”

“God… lemme… lemme check how long I’ve been doing this for… one sec…

…

A fuckin’ hour? And I’ve still got… uh…”

Laura quickly rummaged through the boxes remaining on the table, peeking into them, one by one. Something resembling mild panic flashed across her eyes.

“... all these fuckin’ nuggets to get through?”

She stared off into the middle distance, eyes glassy.

“This was a horrible decision.”

“Fuck, Mountain Dew was the worst thing to try and wash this all down with, it’s all turnin’ into like… cement in my mouth, guys.

…

…

Jesus fuck, yeah, we have a new winner for ‘worst thing to dip a chicken mcnuggey into’ chat, never a-goddamn-gain.”

“So, uh, ‘Karen Ruiz Simp’ in chat - fucking horrible name there, dude, great job - is saying he’s gonna donate $200 if I eat all the remaining nugs with the rest of the Nutella jar… and yeah, it tastes like an fuckin’ unwashed dick… but I’ve still done worse things for 200 bucks, so…”

“Christ, it fuckin’... it doesn’t even fucking taste of anything anymore, guys. It’s just mush. Is this what all that vegan substitute meat tastes like? If there’s any vegans in chat, don’t try and fight me on this, you’re just gonna break your brittle fuckin’ wrists, that’s what happens when you eat nothing but kale and parsley and shit.”

“Am I dying? Is this what dying feels like? Hey, chat, if any of you sluts have ever almost died, or you know someone who’s almost died, lemme know what it feels like.

…

‘One time I accidentally ate a tub of expired yoghurt, and I think I shat my entire lower intestine out an hour later’, that’s fucking great, buddy, looking forwards to that later.”

For a moment, Laura was still. The carcasses of her feast lay strewn around her. The vessel that once held Mountain Dew was now empty. The Nutella jar was overturned, streaks of choco-hazelnut spread smeared across the table. She breathed in, long and heavy, before she spoke.

“Okay. Alright. It’s over. I did it.”

She gave a weak little cheer, limply raising her hand to fistpump.

“I’m gonna, uh… I’m gonna go and-”

A loud belch erupted from Laura’s mouth, sending a couple of paper bags spilling onto the floor.

“Nice. Yeah, I’m gonna go and like… throw up… and then pass out, so… stream over… and shit…”

With heavy, unsteady steps, Laura got up, groaning slightly. She disappeared out of sight, exiting stage left, and just before the stream turned off, you could hear a brand new voice, raised and manic.

“Laura, what in God’s name have you been-”

((Laura Hakštok continued elsewhere))