[086]
11/26/2010 03:06 p.m.

The Mexican cart on the corner sells chicharrones fried in the fat of pure dissonance. You buy bags of them regularly for one dollar and twenty five centers, and pick them up between three fingers, thick and sticky and viscous. Delicious.

Each bite send a rattle of scattered electrical impulses through the wending paths of your head-meat.

This is your primary reason for purchasing these chicharrones (seeing as most chicharrones are empty), for the dissonance they've been fried in causes a rapturous burst of dopamine to spout straight from your ear canals and into your blood stream.

You hallucinate wildly.