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In which Hank decides to take a break from the intensity of the election to tell you a spicy tale from his past as a summer camp counselor.

Don't Forget to Vote, America!

Thanks to Jeremy Smith for helping coax this story out of my memory and give it structure:


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A Bunny
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((') (')
Hank: Good morning, John. The election here in American is tomorrow and we've talked about the election every video for the last, like, four videos and I'm sure you're gonna talk about it tomorrow, so today, I want to tell you a story. One of the best kinds of stories in all of the different kinds of stories; a hot spicy summer camp story. Now, you're probably jumping to some conclusions right now, the first one being that, at the time of the story I was a camper with little or no experience in the ways of the world. But you'd be wrong, this actually happened while I was a counselor at the summer camp, though I am happy to say that there are no campers involved. And you might be thinking that this story is going to take place in one of the cabins or deep in the forest in a starry night or at least, you know, on the tennis court after dark, but no, it happened in the kitchen. Maybe you're imagining me and some starry eyed brunette on the painted white tables in the cafeteria as the winds of a summer storm howled outside, but no. They were actually like, 12 other people there. And at the end of the night, I fell asleep with an ice cube on my lips. So are you ready? It was late at night, a steamy August night, a bunch of counselors and I were not on duty and we had put the campers to sleep, and what do you do when you're an off-duty counselor and all your kids are asleep? You raid the kitchen, that's what you do. Sometimes, you'd find like, leftover desserts or entrees from that evening's dinner, but no such luck on this night, we just had chips and salsa. Which is fine, because I like chips, and I'm okay with salsa, actually, at that time, I wasn't a huge salsa fan, 'cause I didn't like spicy stuff at all. Huge spice wuss. And also, all the chunks in salsa, like anything that might contain actual nutritious value, I didn't like that either. So basically, my strategy was like to try and get the flavor of the salsa, without getting any actual chunks on the chip, so just getting the liquid on it. But my favorite possible outcome in a salsa-chip dipping situation is that there's been a chip that's been sitting around in the salsa for a long time like an Oreo soaking up all the milk, chippy-goody-salsa-goodness chip, kinda soggy. And I know that sounds gross, but I really like it, so when I spotted a chip like covered in salsa in the salsa bowl, I was super excited about this, so I scooped it on up with another chip and I plopped the whole thing in my mouth. What I did not know was the story of this chip. It had a long story. It used to be corn, for example. That was a long time ago in the history of the chip. But more recently, that chip had been used by a fellow counselor who thought that the salsa was not spicy enough. So he had doused the chip with a kind of novelty hot sauce, the kind of hot sauce that says on the label, 'do not use more than one or two drops at a time'. This bottle of hot sauce contains 92,000 servings of hot sauce, and it's like, this big. The kind of hot sauce that's named like [bleep]blaster or Satan's Revenge. The kind of hot sauce that measures hotness in megatons and comes in bottles shaped like coffins and lists insanity as the first ingredient. That kind of hot sauce. He had put on the chip and swirled around into the salsa and I had taken that chip that was soaked in this death sauce and I put it in my mouth and I chewed and I swished it around and then I turned 80 different colors and I almost died. By the end of the night, I had poured a gallon of milk into a bowl and I was putting my face into it, 'cause it wasn't--it spread out of my mouth, insert head into milk and breathe milk. I was in the walk-in refrigerator, pushing my face against things, just like licking it, aaughh. After I finally gave up on trying to make the pain subside, I just left with a giant cup full of ice, went back to my cabin, laid down with ice in my mouth and on my lips and eventually fell asleep. When I woke, my mouth was still burning. And the moral of this story is: vote. If you can. Remember, take a picture of yourself at your polling place or with a ballot and we will send you a free DFTVA sticker, and please make sure that everyone you know votes as well, this is the one time a year when it's okay to be a little bit obnoxious. John, I'll see you tomorrow.