On Alcohol and Sarlacci

I always knew the food’s intelligence was of a very rudimentary nature, it can barely understand the concepts of cause and effect, much less string them together; on top of that, their sense of self-preservation seems to be erratic at best.

A few days ago I intercepted a flying food box with a well placed tentacle lash. It came down near my home with a loud crash, spilling junk and food all over the place.

See, this is why it is a good idea not to let any food get away. Most food thinks of me as a mere hole in the ground they can simply skip over. They usually learn the truth once, but they have little time to profit from it before they become permanent inhabitants of my stomach.

Back to the flying box though, the food did not scatter too much, my assumption is that they were too stunned by the crash to act coherently, or at least coherently for food standards. It was an unremarkable meal with barely three courses and of average taste; flesh too firm, flavour slightly acidic and with a rough texture. Obviously this food was too old to be too tasty.

But what caught my attention was the junk. There were some large hollow-sounding boxes of a strange cylindrical shape, and there was a sloshing sound when I shook them. Filled with liquid, obviously.

This was interestingly new; there were only a couple of boxes within my reach, but I assumed they all were the same. I left them untouched and waited, hoping to see if they would be any good at attracting food.

They exceeded my expectations.

It was not two days before a flying box landed near my home. The food scrambled away at a safe distance from me, and upon examining the boxes one of them proclaimed extremely loudly:

“Guys, this is flameout!”

Loud cheers and celebrations followed, proving to me that this was, indeed, excellent food bait junk. What followed, however, was less easy to understand. Over the hours, the speech of the food became increasingly difficult to follow and understand, and their actions erratic. All of them ended up stumbling into my home without me having to do anything, except one that merely fell unconscious a few steps before reaching it.

I helpfully nudged it down. Don’t let it be said I never help others.

The strangest thing was the slight feeling of euphoria that followed. The more I thought about it, the more hilarious the situation looked to me. It was rather hard to understand, while the antics of the food were usually at least somewhat amusing, they never seemed so hilarious.

This situation repeated itself a few times. The more erratic the food acted, the more hilarious their actions were after I ingested them.

A downside of having learned food language is that, somewhat, I seem to have caught some of their irrationality. Yes, I do blame the food.

It’s the only explanation.

Having had no food in a few days, and having nothing better to do, I decided to investigate why the food acted so strange after realizing what the contents of the boxes were. So I grabbed the nearest tone…

And it was empty.

Grabbed another one, and noticed it was almost empty.

So the food had been ingesting this liquid. It was a rather foreign thought, I believe I have never found, much less ingested, some liquid before. The proposition was tempting, so I grabbed one of the boxes, banged it on a rock until it opened, and started pouring the contents down my maw.

It felt strangely warm at first, then cold.


The inhabitants of my stomach started stirring after a while, and I dissolved in giggles due to them being ticklish. I drank some more, and suddenly felt like singing a song, as I had heard the food do sometime before. I made a very good choreographed show with my tentacles and maw, if I say so myself, it was hilarious.

I have to admit that my memory goes hazy after that. I remember juggling empty boxes with my tentacles, and laughing when they came crashing down after I failed to grab one. I also remember shovelling sand out repeatedly as it fell in when I decided to try and make the loudest thumping sound I could with my stomach under the sand. I believe there was a little party going on inside my stomach, the food was probably enjoying itself too.

Next thing I remember, it was morning and I was awaken by the loudest screeching sound I have ever heard a piece of food produce. It resonated until I thought my tendrils were going to split in two. Lazily, I lashed out with my tentacle repeatedly until I hit the offending food and it went silent with a crack. I didn’t have the energy to grab it and eat it.

For some reason I was hungry. I realized then what the reason for the wandering food’s sudden screeches of fear; at some point during the night I had emptied the contents of my stomach and arranged the still living and partly digested food in funny geometrical shapes. The most impressive, without a doubt, was the five-body-tall pyramid.

I have to try this stuff next time I catch me some Jawas. It should be awesome.

This entry was posted in Desert Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to On Alcohol and Sarlacci

  1. sdaedalus says:

    I love your posts. Please…. can we have some more?

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