No, these don't taste like applesauce nor do they don't mix well with Dr. Pepper.

Everyone has a good side. The good side makes sure you do good to others. It tells you to give the homeless man your spare change, or to give someone a ride if their car is broken down. On the other hand, everyone also has their evil, mischievous side. That side tells you it's OK to give into those nasty ideas you have. It tells you to flip the homeless man the finger and tell him to get a job, and drive by the stranded motorist and deliberately drive through a mud puddle so it'll splash all over him. Now, I'm not talking about committing murder here, I'm just talking about... misdemeanors, I suppose.

Those of you who know me, and know me well, know that I'm what my grandpa would refer to as a "turd" -- I'm a joker. Mischief is my middle name. I'm always up for a good laugh, although sometimes I may or may not go about it the right way. I've never hurt anyone during all this fun, however, I have done some things that could condemn me to the fire depths in some people's eyes. So, I must confess my sins to the world.

Once, a few years ago, I worked at a pizza place called Papa Don's in Fort Scott. The owner's children would often be there while they were doing office work, so my coworkers and I always played with them and what not. While my coworker, Brent, and I were experiencing some down time, we were eating some pickled jalapenos with mozzarella cheese -- good eats by the way -- when the owner's daughter, Aubry, came walking through the kitchen. I believe she was 6 years old at the time. She saw us eating the jalapenos and asked us what they were. This, my friends, was one of those times the angel that usually sat on my shoulder had apparently stepped out of his office; bad news, the devil was in. Brent and I looked at each other and I said, "Here, try one. They're really good." Brent backed me up by saying "They taste just like applesauce. You like applesauce don't you?" Aubry shook her head, because she absolutely loved applesauce. So I gave her one of the slices of the pepper.

She came trotting back over to us and told us she ate it. But it was very apparent that she had not; I mean, you'd know it if a 6-year-old had eaten a jalapeno. So walked over to the trash can and sure enough there was the slice was laying on top of the trash. I picked it up and said, "Aubry, you didn't eat that!"

"Yes, I did!" she said.

"Oh yeah, what's this?" I asked, as I picked the pepper out of the trash.

She kind of smiled, and Brent and I went back to trying to get her to eat a slice. We assured her over and over that they tasted just like applesauce. Finally, she gave in, took a piece and put it in her mouth. She started chewing. Then it hit her. That didn't taste like applesauce at all! It was hotter than hell! And this is the part where I do feel bad -- she started crying as she spit it out into the trash can.

"IT'S HOT! IT'S HOT!" she cried as tears streamed down her little red face.

Now, as a veteran, so to speak, of eating spicy food, I always drink milk or have some milk product handy so as to not shoot flames out at anyone while in the middle of a meal; so I reached into the tub we kept the mozzarella cheese in, grabbed some out, and told her to eat it because it would make it better. As she was eating it, you could literally see the pain easing out of her facial expression. And that's when Rayma walked in. OH CRAP! We were in trouble now! She immediately saw Aubry's face and went over to her to see what was wrong with her.

"I ate one of these and it was really hot, but Chassedi gave me some cheese and it's all better now," she explained.

I knew Rayma wasn't going to kill us or anything, but I was kind of scare of a few seconds. However, Aubry never said anything about us coaxing her into eating a slice of jalapeno. So we were saved. So ends this saga of nastiness.

This next one isn't AS bad because it involves my little sister, whom was not 6 at the time this event took place. Ironically this tale also involves jalapenos and working at Papa Don's.

One Sunday afternoon after the church crowd had left, we were all kind of chilling out in the back of the kitchen doing our odd-jobs, when somewhere in the mist of things, we decided to start messing with my sister's drink. Now, this was a normal everyday thing if you worked there -- while you weren't looking, someone would take your straw out, hold it to a lighter, melt the straw just enough so they could pinch the bottom shut and put it back in your cup. Stuff like that.

We were putting all kinds of stuff in her drink. Different spices and food products, things of that nature. I'm pretty sure she had to get a new drink about four or five times. Then Randi came up with a "master plan." She taped the lid to her drink shut so we couldn't get into it. And by tape, I'm talking about scotch tape. Scotch tape couldn't keep a gnat out of cup, so why she thought it would keep us out I'll never know. Anyway, me being a habitual evil-doer to my baby sister, I crossed the line once again.

While Randi was in the bathroom, I carried out my ultimate rein of evil! I grabbed the jalapenos, poured some of the juice into a bowl, took her straw out of her cup, and repeatedly dipped the straw into the juice while holding my finger over the top so as to hold the juice in. Then I put the straw back into her cup, releasing my finger so the juice would mix in with her Dr. Pepper. As I said, I did this repeatedly, until I heard the bathroom door open. I put the evidence away and we all went back to what we were doing, but staying close to see her reaction.

Randi came back over to where she'd been working, saw her drink had no signs that foul play had happened, and took a big gulp of the concoction. She looked up with this horrified look, covered her mouth, and ran to the bathroom (I think she threw up... my bad). Brent and I were laughing so hard we had tears in our eyes. I think I had a mild aneurysm that afternoon from the laughter. When Randi walked back in, she was not laughing. She was madder then a nest full of hornets! I mean, veins sticking out of her head, the whole nine yards! She had a few choice words to say, however I cannot repeat them because my grandparents might read this (not to mention, I'd probably get fired). I'm also 100% sure that if my little sister wasn't scared of me, she probably would've beat me to a bloody pulp. I honestly wouldn't blame her if she would have. I deserved it.

It tickles me to pieces of the shenanigans I've pulled, mind you these two are just the tip of the iceberg. I am not mass-murderer evil, but I like playing tricks once in a while, it keeps life interesting. I'm sure one day I'll get what's coming to me... or maybe I already have, who knows? I'm sure when I die, I'll probably come back as a poltergeist and mess with the living. Until then, watch your back... MUWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Peace.