āThis hand sanitizer is juuuuuust right!ā
By CJ Sommerfeld, Contributor
Once upon a time, there was a punk nicknamed Liberty Spikes. He was a high schooler who liked loud music, hair gel and white glueāa product that he substituted for hair gel.
No one knew much about him; he was a bit of a loner. His familyās home was quite a dump from the outside, it had the perfect aestheticā¦ for a haunted house. It was for this reasonācoupled with the fact that none of his classmates had ever met his parentsāthat rumours had forever circulated that he had been birthed from bats.
Perhaps it was this uncanny aesthetic that diverted people from him. This odd thing also happened, where people would get a sudden fever when he stood too close to his classmates, within two meters of him to be exact. Some concluded that this was due to his lisp that had caused him to speak moistly. In speaking moistly, his saliva seemed to fly everywhere, landing on those who were within a two-metre distance of him.
One day, Liberty Spikes decided to go for a stroll in the woods. He went for a long hike exploring both the woods as well as the depths of his thoughts, trying to configure. Why, oh why, was he was such an outsider? Whilst in the forest, he stumbled upon a log cabin. The stone pathway leading up to its front door seemed to be spaced exactly two metres apart. He hopped from one to the next until he reached the front door.
The door was not properly closed before, as it creaked open now. āHello?ā Liberty Spikes called, āhello?ā but not a single reply followed. Bravely, he walked into the cabin, tiptoeing slowly, peering around, until he saw a strange sight. Sitting atop the table there were three very large containers, all of which had a pump. What a peculiar sight. He walked over to the table where the large containers are sitting and pushed down on the first pump placing his other hand underneath the spout. Out of it shot a slightly viscous liquid, its scent reminiscent of tequila. āWhat the fuck?ā He exclaimed out loud.
He looked around but no hand towels were in sight to rid his hands of the liquid he rubbed them together until it was all gone. For some peculiar reason, he thought that this viscous liquid might be very efficient and killing bacteria and viruses. But the smell was horrible; his hands smelt as if they had spent all night in a cantina. āI could never, for example, rub this on my hands anytime I walked into an establishment that had many touchpoints. Even if it were to rid my fingertips of a potential economy crashing virus. This one’s too tequila-y,ā he concluded as he walked over to the second container.
Liberty Spikes
pushed down on the second container thinking that a seemingly identical viscous
liquid would come out of it. Upon pushing down on the pump a surprisingly slimy
substance came out like a loogie. āGross!ā Liberty Spikes laughed to himself.
The liquid almost didnāt separate from the pumpāhe had to pull it away for it
to break. āThis one’s too phlegmy.ā He concluded, rubbing his palms in quick
circles, trying to rid them of the substance. The substance never did rub into
his palms and he had to wipe them on his denim back pockets.
He peered at the last
containerāāIs it even worth it?ā he asked himself. Despite his doubts, he
walked over to the last container. Just like he had done with the others, he
pushed down on the pump. To his surprise, a perfect viscous liquid dropped
down, its scent was perfectly fragrantābeing slightly perfumed with vodka. With
a quick smear of one palm to the next, this last substance had dissolved
between his hands. āThis oneās just right!ā he exclaimed.
And just then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another table. Upon it,
there were three bowls of porridge…
