If you so much as smell that Gatorade in the fridge, I'm going to be furious. That's my special Gatorade and how it came to be such:

I thought I might have sex- why, you ask? Well, I had no reason, really. Other than the wind. Which speaks to me in whispers upon gusts of pigeon coos. Regardless, I wanted to prepare for what laid ahead. I stopped at the grocery store. Upon entry, I not only grabbed rubbers, but a yellow Gatorade and a packet of hydration powder. That way, I wouldn't lose my electrolytes while making sweet sweet love.

When I arrived at the bar, I realized something that had been staring at me like a ten mile glazed donut. I spent all my money on the Gatorade. Balls!

I asked around, and a pear-shaped woman using a living scorpion as a hairpin, spotted me a 5 dollar bill. Crisp. Clean. I handed over the bank note to the barkeep and confidently uttered, "a beer for the brunette with boobs at the end of the bar."

"Cheapest beer we got is 7 dollars."

"Drats"

I handed the 5 back to the nice lady at the bar, who folded it back in my hands and said, "get yourself something nice, sweetie."

I bought a single hit of heroin from the man down the street on my way back home. Somewhere between the nod out in Washington Square Park and the coming to with my head in the freezer, I had mixed the electrolyte packet and Gatorade together in a glorious mix of hydration. Impressed with my foresight, I put the potion into the cold box for the morning- and guess who just finished heroin puking.