Put your valuables in here. (The Cozy Cook/Creative Commons License)
Disclaimer: While this story is based on 80% lean facts, it does contain a large amount of opinionated satirical beans that may cause comical flatulence.
It began with something simple, something that everyone expected. Jason Kelce lost his Super Bowl ring inside an inflatable pool filled with chili. At the time it felt normal. People lose small objects all the time, why shouldn’t they sometimes lose them in a blow-up hot tub filled with chili? Clawing through handfuls of chili, volunteer firefighters searched and searched, but no one could find the missing Super Bowl ring.
It seemed funny at first.
We laughed about it as we gazed up at the lime-green Sun hanging defiantly in the midnight sky. Then, the Mona Lisa began coughing. Stifled at first, it then devolved into a full-blown coughing fit. It didn’t take long before the bullet proof glass in front of the Mona Lisa was speckled with phlegm. Fortunately, a nearby artist painted her a package of cough drops.
The world paused for a long moment, and everyone heard the distinctive pinging of a dial-up modem connecting to America Online.
Reality had taken an edible and wasn’t handling it well.
You hail an Uber driven by a psychic elephant-sized croissant. You try to sit down, but the car disassembles itself while the psychic croissant stares directly at you and recites the entire Apple end-user license agreement in Hebrew.
Jason "I'm Not Travis" Kelce. (@jason.kelce/Instagram)
This new version of reality made it difficult to think straight, and not just for Jason Kelce. It was like trying to drop acid while inside a lucid dream. All of the elements of reality were converging – Mad Libs-style – into a soupy experience that defied comprehension.
A child was lying in bed, watching the numbers on the clock spin in reverse. Seven hours later, he woke up to learn that three days had passed, and he was now a 100-year-old freelance barista. Cars stopped in rush hour traffic, stood up, and danced in a conga line. Bed Bath and Beyond REOPENED.
Like a rabbit pulling a magician into a hat, reality had become unmoored.
For eleven full seconds, the entire planet was a giant foam party, and then it wasn’t. The president – who was a sentient Cadbury Egg – rolled into a giant microwave and cooked himself on high for eight minutes. This solved nothing. An emotional support dragon switched on a fax machine and it printed out a living baby. The baby cried so hard that it turned itself into Algebra.
Jason Kelce, now a golem made of steaming chili, sloshed toward a podium to announce that he was legally changing his name to Taylor Swift. The chili golem opened its mouth to speak, and vomited a stream of Super Bowl rings that clattered to the ground.
