Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

The Death Cup (The Pack)

"Come on, Mitch! Stop stallin'!" Still no answer. What a wimp. This was his idea, but now he doesn't wanna do it. After Lachlan and I tweeted out that we were recording it today. Typical Bitchy Mitch. "Mitch!"

"I don't think he's coming," Lachlan says from the barstool a couple feet away, moping and looking through his posts on Twitter while we wait for the King to sit his ass on his royal throne between us so we can get started.

"Oh, he's comin', all right. Meetch!"

"Damn it, Jerome. Stop," Lachlan whines as he runs his fingers through his hair for the thousandth time. This guy's almost as vain as Preston.

"MEETCH!" My guttural screech echoes off the walls and through the house. I know the neighbors hear it, so Mitch has to hear it, too. "MEETCHELL DONNELL-R-"

"Will you shut the hell up already?" Lachy-Dachy's getting annoyed? Time to step it up a notch.

"MEEEEEEETTTTCCCCCCCHHHHEEEELLLLL!!!"

"Jer-ome! He isn't-"

"What? I said I was coming." Mitch peeks around the corner in his Benja hoodie with his hair messed up on one side and bags under his eyes. He must not've slept much again. Lachlan glances over at me and I see him roll his mutant blue eyes when he sees me grinning. I won, and he knows it. Wild Mitchells can't resist a Bacca roar at eleven at night. "So what have we got today?"

"You said we were doin' a Death Cup of Dreams. I don't know what that is. You tell us." Mitch raises an eyebrow at me and nods as he wanders over to the fridge and starts digging things out. Pickle slices, mayonnaise, raw eggs, spinach leaves, spicy grated cheese, salsa, pepperonis, Kool Aid pouches, chocolate milk, an orange cream sicle, frozen blueberries, and last but not least, sardines. Lachlan looks more horrified every second. This's too much fun already. I'd drink a cup of everything else just to watch him eat a sardine.

"Where are those chips?" Mitch asks, looking between me and Lachy like we should be guilty or something.

"What chips?"

"Those nasty ass reuban sandwich chips that everyone hates."

"I dunno," Lachlan mutters with a shrug, looking innocently up at Mitch with his big blue doll eyes. So of course Mitch turns to me.

"I didn't eat the shittin' things. Glare at this guy - Chipotle was closed last night when we got done recording. He had to eat something." Mitch turns back to Lachlan, who gets up and sulks back to his room to retrieve the bag of pukey-lettuce-flavored chips. He tosses the bag at Mitch, who squishes it and crunches them up before grabbing the three dice outta the infamous drawer of crap and three disposable red Solo cups. Ain't no one gonna wanna clean this shit up.

"You ready, boys?" Mitch asks and Lachlan puts on his happy face while I pop Mitch's phone into the tripod. I hit record and sit back in my seat, waiting for our grand leader to lead us in. "Hey, what's going on, doods? It's Mitch, or BajanCanadian, here with Jerome and Lachlan for another Death Cup Challenge!"

"Of death," I add for good measure, and Lachlan nods in agreement. He's already eying that jar of pickled sardines. Fish, fish, fish, boyos.

"Of death," Mitch echoes as he grabs the dice and starts shaking them around in his hands. "So this is how this is going to work: we each get one death die, and the highest roller has to add the ingredient to their cup. When all of the ingredients are gone, we drink."