This past weekend, I visited a quaint little shop that – at least for storytelling purposes – sold nothing but hot sauce. Lots and lots of hot sauce.
I like hot sauce. Really do. Tabasco is my table salt. But until I stepped foot in this dusty shop, I never truly understood how utterly capable hot sauce is of changing a person’s life.
That’s the stupid way of saying, “I think I’m going to get into collecting hot sauce.”
It has absolutely nothing to do with the eating part, mind you. I already have my trusted brands, and there’s little need to experiment. I smoke; it’s not like I can tell the difference between a ghost vanilla pepper and a Scotch Fuck jalapeno, anyway.
No, my new hot sauce fascination is due to the absolutely wicked bottles they come in. Wicked enough to make me type like Ron Weasley. Who I hate.
See, this weird store’s supply seemed to grossly undervalue any expiration dates normally associated with hot sauce. As I shuffled from shelf to shelf, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stumbled upon a reserve from 1976.
Incidentally, that’s the year the Seattle Seahawks played their first game. I’m just unclear on which sport.
So, more accurately, “I think I’m going to get into collecting really old hot sauce.” You’re about to find out why.
I chose the three above, and it had nothing to do with their flavors or Scoville ratings. I chose them simply because the bottle art was so reminiscent of old & obscure horror movie videocassette boxes.
So, I’ll amend things for a third time.
“I think I’m going to get into collecting really old hot sauce packaged in bottles that remind me of old horror movies.”
Behold, the breakdown bof by burgeoning bollection:
The Thing Hot Sauce: The one that started it all. As soon as I saw The Thing, I knew I’d be spending way too many waking moments focused on old hot sauce. In this case, “The Thing” refers to the sauce’s mascot, shown on the label. He’s sort of a cross between Satan and a lumpy wolf, and he sprays fiery word balloons. I adore this creature.
Maniac Hot Sauce: The store only had one bottle of Maniac, and even with its terribly faded label, I couldn’t turn it down. Here, a shadowy, red-eyed demon is simultaneously christened “the fiend of fire” and “your worst nightmare.” Maniac has more handles than World Wrestling Entertainment’s Undertaker.
I wish Maniac was a movie. I’m dying to know what he looks like when he isn’t being lit so mysteriously. Given the head shape, I’m going with the bad guy from Flash Gordon, or a narrower Ben Kingsley. Either way, shit is solid.
18 Wheels of Heat: Granted, this one isn’t as cool, and it requires a bit more imagination. It’s positioned as the official hot sauce for truckers, because if there’s anything that can stir a trucker’s groin, it’s recognition in the form of condiments.
Whatever. My attraction to 18 Wheels of Heat stems from that eerie truck on the label. It reminds me of the bad guy (Bad car?) from Duel. I want to find a desolate highway and have that thing chase and honk at me. “Psycho Killer” would be on the radio, and there’d be roadkill everywhere.
In closing, I can’t wait to add to my collection of really old hot sauce packaged in bottles that remind me of old horror movies.
Everyone needs a hobby. Some of us need 150 of ‘em.
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