A couple years ago, I was a student at Indiana University, weighing 425 pounds and loving life. I would wake up in a pile of beer cans and fast food wrappers and lick the special sauce off empty Big Mac boxes until I had the strength to get in my car and drive the forty yards to 7-11, where I'd eat about four dozen taquitos and a backpack full of corndogs. College. Good times.
Then one day I got really fucked up and went to Subway. I hadn't been drinking alcohol, just orange soda. I guess I drank so much that my blood's PH level dropped a little. So there I am at subway, hallucinating, watching this little Indian guy make an Italian sub, but all the while I'm thinking, "This crazy fuck is building an atomic bomb!" I kinda lost my shit at that point, blacking out and causing roughly $25,000 in damage to the "restaurant."
When I came to, I was eating Sun Chips and mayonnaise, having barricaded myself behind the counter by knocking over the oven where they bake the bread fresh each day. The cops were all pissed off and waving their guns at me, but all I could do was toss shredded lettuce in the air and shout, "It's snowing sinew!" Not my finest hour in terms of behavior, but it was in terms of deliciousness: I must have drank about a gallon of chipotle cheesesteak sauce. I don't know if they added that onto the final bill. Probably.