The grossness had outgrown its glassy prison. It was time to transfer the disgusting contents to a new jar, and throw in some bits of animal.
It's a jar with gross stuff in it. It exists because of science.
It's that time again; time to revisit gross city. To question what is right, normal, and sane as we open the lid, take a whiff, shove some more gross stuff in, then quickly jam that lid back on before we start hacking away at our own noses from the pain.
Since last week, the jar has been cradling an exciting stew of santorum (not Rick, but the frothy mix of lube and feces sometimes produced by anal sex), human shit, piss, vomit, earwax and snot, a biro and apple (scientific controls), rotten veg, and drain hair. Yum.
However, by now the Gross Jar was so jam-packed with horrific effluence that we were worried it might burst, allowing the soul of the Gross Jar to escape its physical cage like some awful daemon. Basic physics told us that in order to keep topping up the jar with disgusting crap, we were going to need a bigger potty.
Faced with this dilemma, last week we acquired a large jar of pickles. Since everyone else in the office thinks pickles are what poor sailors eat while they pick barnacles off their face, the author took it upon himself to gradually empty the pickles by route of his digestive tract. Over the past seven days I've eaten the contents of this jar—don't thank me, it was a labor of love. A love of pickles.
With a brand new, polished, and clean jar we were ready to begin the maleficent transfusion. Our first move was to address the lack of animals in the jar. The decision was made to get some locally sourced produce to lay a meaty, fishy base for the contents of the old jar, which would be poured in over the top like a toxic piri-piri sauce.
First we shoved in a chicken leg. There are two, but we would need only one. We decided to throw in the one with three talons in the hope that it wouldn't be fizzed away into nothing quite as quickly by our carnivorous gross sludge.
Next, two fish heads.
Surf 'n' turf, baby ;(
Next we put in our lamb intestines. These were annoyingly big, taking up a greedy third or so of the jar, but I wasn't about to start hacking away at lamb intestines just for your entertainment. I have limits.
The smell from all this stuff wasn't pleasant, but it was bearable. Our nasal tracts have been largely eroded by the previous two installments of Gross Jar 2012. However, this lamb kebab, which had been festering in an anonymous donor's cupboard for over a week, had a slightly more pungent edge to its aroma.
Seriously, look at that thing. It's like a blue waffle's abortion. It kinda fell apart on its way into the jar, which involved a lot of picking up bits of mold off the floor. That was less fun than a funeral.
Next came the dreaded decanting of the baby gross jar into the new daddy gross jar. The jar was about to evolve, like a Pokemon, into a bigger, badder, slightly more aggressive version of itself. The offal-y, fish-y stink we had been exposed to thus far had been offensive, but we were holding our ground, being men about it.
That was until we opened the OG Gross Jar. The unholy stench coming from inside that thing instantly made me puke in my mouth. The gas in there had become slightly effervescent as well, and so we didn't hang around when I took the lid off. It jumped out and immediately started scraping at our brains, permeating our skin, reaching for our souls.
We just started fucking pouring as quickly as possible to get the thing over with.
The human shit and piss from the old jar splashed playfully over the meaty filling of the new jar like a septic marinade. Pretty soon, as we wretched away, our bodies desperately started trying to expel whatever it was that was invading our orifices, and our eyes filled with tears. I couldn't see what I was doing, and some of the mixture splashed over the side. The smell was so bad.
In the end we just stopped allowing air in or out of our bodies and held our breath until it was done. A little help was needed to get the santorum wipes and biro and apple down from their old home into their new abode, which meant having to put my hand in there. Which really fucking sucked.
Eventually it was finished. We sanitized everything we had touched and cleaned up the outside of the jar before slamming the lid on that thing hard. The dark, unholy contents of the jar is now stewing away nicely in its new receptacle. For us, the whole experience was quite dramatic and scary. We felt a bit euphoric afterwards, I imagine in the same way as people who've somehow just survived horrific car accidents.
Scientific observation: Weirdly the apple and biro (our scientific controls) seem unchanged. For some reason they seem resilient to the surrounding grossness they reside in. The apple even looks kinda OK to eat, maybe we should get someone to? Feel free to volunteer in the comments.