"Salads Almost Ruined Me"

So, there I was on a Friday night eating a salad at the local diner when a group of my buddies showed up. They all ordered the salad as well, and we started shooting the breeze. It started out like normal conversations: our jobs, the weather, sports, and girlfriends and the lack thereof. After a few more salads, it started going into sillier topics: the history of knock, knock jokes, if we were all females, and my favorite was what kind of power tool would you be.

After the tenth salad, my buddy stood up and shouted, "Let's go to Vegas!"

We all gave him a funny look when I finally asked, "When?"

"Right now! Let's do it!"

I chowed the rest of my salad before I stated, "Hell yes! Let's go!"

We all paid our tab, and left the diner. I felt a little woozy from all the lettuce, so I let the most sober person drive my car. We piled in, and headed towards the highway. I tossed down another salad I took from the diner, and ended up passing out in the backseat. As we left the city, I was dead to the world.

I woke up somewhere in the middle of the desert. I look out the window, and saw we were still on the highway. I smiled when I saw the sign that stated Vegas was only a hundred miles away. My buddy hands me a bag of salad and some ranch dressing. I started chowing down on the bag, hoping I would feel better once we make it to our destination.

Five bags later, we made it to the strip. As we got out, we all killed off another few bags of Caesar salad, and entered The Mirage. We quickly got a room, and headed upstairs. We did a shot of bleu cheese dressing followed by a small salad after making the infamous Vegas pledge.  After pounding back another salad, we left our cell phones in the room, and headed out onto the street.

I found my head spinning a little from all the lettuce I've consumed as I walked into a casino. I sat down at a blackjack table, and began to play. I started winning, turned my meager forty bucks into a couple of hundred. I kept playing as the waitress started bringing me tomato salads and shots of olive oil. I felt invincible at the table.

A few hours later, and twenty fruit salads later, I was back down to twenty bucks, and my stomach was churning. I left the table before I lost it all, and began stumbling my way back to the room. I almost made it back, but one of buds grabbed me, and dragged me into a salad bar. I groaned as our table was quickly covered in leafy greens and bottles of dressing.

Around three that morning, we both stumbled out of the restaurant. As we tried to make back to our room, we walked into a gentlemen's retreat. I still don't know how my bud talked me into it, but I ended up getting an escort. The room we picked out was a garden that was filled with every salad imagined. I won't repeat what happened, but to this day, I can't think about a Cobb salad, and not get aroused.

At the crack of dawn, we began heading back towards The Mirage. I almost felled down a few times as we crawled our way back to the room. My buddy stopped, and hurled all over the sidewalk right next to a police car. The cops weren't too thrilled with green puke all over the trunk. I tried to hold back my nausea, but I lost my dinner all over the passenger door. They got out, and quickly tossed the cuffs on us. I passed out when they began driving us downtown.

I woke up in a prison cell with a pounding headache, and my mouth tasted like ranch dressing. I walked over to the sink, and washed the taste out of my mouth. I tried going back to the bunk, but ended up tossing my croutons into the toilet. Whenever I thought I was done, my stomach would erupt once more. I finally got the last crouton out of my body when there's a tapping sound behind me.

I turned around, and felt my heart sank. Standing outside the cell was my wife with a look of pure anger on her face. She shook her head, and whispered to the officer. The cop unlooked the cell door, and motioned me forward. I pulled myself off the floor, and slowly approached them. Once I was outside the cell, the cop closed the door, and told my wife to take me home, and reduce my salad intake.

The instant we got outside, she slapped me across the face hard, and told me I was getting help the second we got back home. Needless to say, the drive home wasn't pleasant. My buds and I were trying to recover from a wild night of salads in Vegas while my wife drove. By the time we made it back to the city, we all were ready to confess our sins to avoid the nagging from my wife.

The next day, I found myself in a meeting for SA, or Salads Anonymous. My wife insisted I come here, or end up alone. I felt uncomfortable sitting here, but after Vegas, I realized I had a problem with salads and dressings. So, I decided to do what was best, and stop eating salads forever. To make my wife happy, we agreed from now on, it's bacon only, no more salads. If not, she will find a man that loved bacon as much as they loved her.

A year later, I can't look at a salad, and not get sick to my stomach. I've been salad free ever since I left Vegas. The good side was my marriage was better then ever, and I lost some weight. I thought I wasted so much of my life on salads. To this day, I owe my happiness and my love to bacon. Without bacon, I don't know where I would be, but probably dead thanks to salad. I never knew bacon would save my life, and to that, I owe it thanks.