Hubert sits hugging his knees into his chest with his head buried into his thighs, the same position Californian schoolchildren brace underneath desks when faced with an 8.4 magnitude earthquake. However, Hubert is dealing with a different type of natural disaster. He is also stark naked sitting on his toilet.
We rewind to a New York City bagel shop on a chilly summer morning. Up until this moment, Hubert had lived a bland life. He strictly wore a uniform of grey creased t-shirts and grey pants. He ate a diet of bagels, unsweetened oatmeal, and broiled meats - all without seasoning. By either the work of God or the hangover from last night’s beer pong, the bagel shop employee tasked with making Hubert’s bagel swapped his plain cream cheese for jalapeño cream cheese. As Hubert took his first and only bite, his body ached with a visceral reaction similar to that of a heart attack. As described by Medical News Today, Hubert’s symptoms consisted of “a feeling of terror that life is ending,” “feeling awful, generally,” and a “face seeming gray in color.”
Apparently, the adrenaline rush was everything Hubert’s life had lacked. After the initial horror, he felt a tinge of release. He tried to brush it off, and he made his way to his accounting job. The duration of his nine-to-five felt like the entirety of the Vietnam War. When he tried to do whatever it is that accountants do, he felt his mind wandering back to the rush of dopamine he experienced from the spice of the jalapeño. The lingering taste danced in his mouth. As the workday came to an end, Hubert still found himself yearning for another feeling of excitement. He stopped into his local bodega, picked up an egg and sausage sandwich, and cautiously took a bite. And then he threw caution to the wind. The sandwich’s short-lived life proved to be the gateway to an odyssey that would leave Hubert both nearly bankrupt and nearly dead.
Tuesday, Hubert put on a mink fur coat and rode a Segway to work (he beat up a nearby mall security officer to acquire such a vehicle). He spent his entire workday tuning out his boss and scrolling through Uber Eats for his week’s dinner inspiration. Tuesday was hotpot. Wednesday was Papa a la Huancaina. Wednesday was also the day that Hubert quit his job via a megaphone announcement in the big boss’s office. Thursday was Chili con carne. When he wasn’t eating a spicy dish, Hubert was trying to find Tabasco paraphernalia. As each day passed, the obsession took over his life more and more. At first, he innocently embarked on scavenger hunts for various hot sauces. But matters took a turn for the worse when Hubert began adding spice to foods that had no business being spicy. Some examples include banana bread and parfaits. Meanwhile, Hubert’s discovery was seeping into other aspects of his life. He began catcalling women using phrases such as “Hey honey bottom” and “I have a huge penis!” Hubert also began exclusively wearing fur, neon colors, and the latest technological advancements, such as smoke machines and bubble makers.
With each spicy chew, Hubert experienced a high like no other. Thursday night, after drinking an entire bottle of Tabasco as a nightcap, Hubert found a contact who was willing to export 50lb of Sichuan peppers to his door overnight for a meager $4090. He put on his LED sleeping gown and went to sleep. Friday, Hubert woke up, attended a conference on the impact of Ghost Chili Peppers, and scoured the Internet for recipe inspiration for his newly acquired ingredient. When the UPS deliverymen unloaded a large crate in front of Hubert’s townhouse, Hubert tipped each driver $200, kissed them on the cheek (with tongue), and carried the monstrosity inside wearing diamond-encrusted Stuart Weitzman Cinderella Slippers. Hubert welcomed the weekend with homemade Sichuan pepper popcorn, with a pepper-to-corn ratio of 75:1.
Saturday morning at 2:21 AM: we again meet Hubert on the toilet. Sweat drips down his face and onto his tiled floor, covered in looming pepper flakes. The Niagara Falls of diarrhea that flows out of Hubert is getting progressively more violent. He hears his landline ringing in the distance, likely the neighbors calling to complain about the gunshot-like sounds coming from Hubert’s apartment. He has no time to regret his short-lived love affair, as he is soon to be knee-deep in diarrhea. Literally. The toilet bowl fills to the brim, yet Hubert cannot contort his body enough to flush. As he waits for the inevitable flood that will overtake his bathroom, it dawns on Hubert that his lust for spice proved too much. Hubert couldn’t handle the heat.
Today, Hubert lives strung out on Skid Row. Hubert isn’t addicted to heroin, but after the 2.1 million dollar slipper purchase, Hubert was forced to sell all of his earthly belongings and hitchhiked to California for a better life. Hubert can still be seen wearing scraps of roadkill fur, begging innocent strangers for sniffs of their nachos and fajitas.