I have Carly Ray Jepson's "Call Me Maybe" running through my head on repeat. And I only know the chorus, so it's especially frustrating. I shouldn't have tried to turn it into a parody titled "Call Me Mayonaise." Some stairs aren't meant to be climbed. Fortunately, these stairs at Mima Mounds were, and they lead to a pleasant view. Sure, when my girl and I parked outside the trail, we heard gunshots and I thought we were being fired at by woodland gang bangers. So, naturally, I used my girl as a shield as I clambered back into the car via the cracked window. I never made it inside because we learned shortly after (via a notice a few yards away) that there is a shooting range across the meadow. Sure wish I would've known that before I broke her car's passenger window with my cheek bones. At least my modeling career isn't over.
The trail to the observatory only took a couple minutes, but I ended up diminishing my entire supply of food rations (peanut butter and jelly Aloha bars, like OMFG they're so gewd) during the journey. By the time we made it to our destination I could hear the whispers of Bear Grylls convincing me to drink my own piss. Luckily the stairs were covered in moss. I ripped the plants from their dwelling and jammed them in my mouth, sucking and slurping until the thirst was quenched. I turned to my girl and repeated the words of the wisest sex guru in the 21st century: My body is ready. Reggie never fails. With a mouth full of dried moss I advanced toward my girl.
Then Bear Grylls appeared in my mind again and sternly commanded that I drink my own piss. I told him to bugger off but the moment had passed. We climbed up the steps--it was a cool, little stairwell. The whole structure is cement, and I felt, briefly, like I was in a labyrinth. I looked behind me to make sure there was no Minotaur on my ass.
...I saw it
A water bottle of yellow liquid with my name written on the side standing upright on a hand rail. I'm like, "dafuq?" and "wtf" and "I swear to God if Bear Grylls is filming here and/or incepted me I am going to LOSE MY SHIT."
I turned the bottle over and saw a note that read: IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, DRINK THIS IN ITS ENTIRETY.
This wasn't my first gun-to-my-head scenario, mind you. I've learned that if you just do what the note says, you won't wake up with a He-Man action figure inside you.
I won't say where.
As I gulped the last drop a rustling in the bushes made our heads jerk. A howl of laughter announced a wacky, sideways hat-wearing Ashton Kutcher. "PRANKED!" he yelled in my face. "I got you! How'd you like drinking bleach?"
I was puzzled at this point. I had definitely drank urine (don't ask me how I know). I tried to tell Ashton that it was, in fact, piss in the bottle I drank, but he was moving around with such child-like vigor that I couldn't get through to him. A cameraman told me he would calm down in a few minutes. When his heart rate slowed, I told him I didn't drink bleach. His face contorted and he searched for a moment, turning up the bottle HE had hidden earlier, presumably full of bleach (fucking masochist).
"Oh," he said, before taking a sip of the bottle. "Yeah, this is definitely bleach. Don't ask me how I know."
He paused and then took another sip. "Yeah, this is definitely bleach. Don't ask me how I know."
I looked at the camera guy for help. "It's what you think; he drinks bleach."
At that moment there was another rustling in the bushes. We all jerked our heads in the direction and saw FUCKING BEAR GRYLLS MOVING AT A BRISK PACE DEEPER INTO THE MEADOW.
GODDAMMIT I DRANK HIS PISS.
This stairwell gets 3 tampered lids out of 5.