The anticipation grabs at me like a Psychotic Serial Killer trying to tear my ribs out. I wait and wait, and the waiting is harassing me, tempting me with the gratification of discovery, only to pull it away from me at the last second. Finally, I feel my hand grabbed and forced into the jar and the sludge that resides inside it. The first thing I notice is that the stuff is cool, like toilet water clean from a flush. The next thing I notice: It’s Sticky. I feel like my hand has been engulfed in the flesh of a decomposing whale washed up on shore. As I move my hand through the intestine-like material, I wonder what it could be: Gelatin? Cold Vomit? Pureed Meerkat? The stuff sticks to my hands like a small child clinging to its mother. I rest my hand in there, pondering what this material could possibly be. Eventually, I draw it out, and let the cool water wash off the sticky stuff.
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