There may be nothing I, a straight-edge punk, love greater than cracking open a chilly one with the boys. That’s proper: a calming tallboy of crisp, refreshing H2O. Liquid Dying, my vice of selection.
Don’t get me fallacious — I don’t drink as a result of the human physique bodily wants water to outlive. No, I drink for the only real pleasure of MURDERING my THIRST™, actually DECAPITATING it with a rope of veins that I wrap round Thirst’s neck and pull tighter and tighter till I can really feel Thirst’s determined thrashing start to falter, neck ligaments snapping, the sunshine fading from its eyes because the physique goes limp in my grip. What… have I executed? I elevate my trembling fingers and stare upon them within the fading mild of day, panting for breath, my coronary heart racing like I’ve simply sprinted from the gates of hell itself with Cerberus nipping at my heels. That is the primary time I’ve actually massacred a Thirst. Slaughtered it. It’s as if one thing inside me has shaken unfastened. All of a sudden, I really feel invincible.

The boys, wordless as I MURDERED my THIRST™, shut in round me. They pound their chests and let unfastened a ragged cheer that grows louder as they flash “rock on” indicators and play exhausting AF air guitar riffs. With the hiss-pop of a dozen tallboy cans being opened, they welcome me into their THIRST MURDERING™ cabal, pouring the Alps-sourced mountain water immediately onto our naked toes till we’re dancing in a sea of Liquid Dying.
The “nation membership,” as they name themselves, is made up of equal elements ecoterrorists — who vow to remake the world within the picture of recyclable aluminum, regardless of the price — and hardcore punks so anti-establishment that they’ve come full circle to aspect with the institution once more. Flush with $2.25 million in funding from a circle of shadowy enterprise capitalists, they preserve my offshore checking account piled excessive with money in trade for persevering with to MURDER my THIRST™ till the Thirst, the Thirst’s youngsters, and the Thirst’s youngsters’s youngsters are so lifeless they need Thirst had by no means ever been alive in any respect.
By then, these Thirst annihilations have begun to bleed collectively, dissolving into one lengthy gaussian blur of chilly, hydrating pleasure. My girlfriend Janet — as a result of I’ve intercourse, with a girlfriend, utilizing my penis — begins asking questions on the place I am going after I depart for days at a time, departing stuffed with fury and returning placid, calm within the aftershock of blood lust.
“Babe, relax,” I placate her by way of speakerphone (my fingers are somewhat busy decapitating one other Thirst, this time for enjoyable). “Are you PMSing? Have some H2O. Do they make that for ladies?”

One thing enjoyable to do is to consider how these guys raised 1.6 million to promote fucking water for bros, however when girls attempt to increase cash for, like, a greater breast pump, pockets dry up— Jessica Valenti (@JessicaValenti) Could 7, 2019

THIRST MURDER™ after THIRST MURDER™ after THIRST MURDER™. I depart a path of environmentally pleasant cans and slain Thirsts in my wake, however my throat grows ever extra parched, regardless of what number of $1.83 tallboys of water I guzzle. The day Janet lastly leaves me, I shed tears (masculine eye sweat, the nation membership calls it), crushing Liquid Dying after Liquid Dying (and Thirst after Thirst, their cries not contact my ears).
As extra weeks of slayage go, the nation membership tries to reign me in, claiming I’m spiraling uncontrolled, however I’m simply so thirsty on a regular basis, I can’t cease. One after the other, the boys depart for different Silicon Valley improvements like P-HE-aches, a fruit begin up for guys, till it’s simply me, alone, with one final chilly one. I crack it open with quivering fingers. A pale moonbeam illuminates the Thirst, and in a flash, I acknowledge a well-known face. The identical dehydrated maw and gaping vacancy drying the soul out from the within. I’ve grow to be my very own Thirst.
I take one last swig of Liquid Dying earlier than tossing the aluminum can to the bottom and crushing it beneath my hardened sole. “Let’s dance,” I growl. All that’s left is my Thirst and me, a shell of the conventional hydrating individual I as soon as was. How do I MURDER my THIRST™ when the thirst is me?

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